Two years ago today I suffered the stroke that is responsible for the state I find myself in today. Best described as up a creek without a paddle. Not at all an anniversary to be celebrated, but like Pearl Harbor, it forever will be a day I will commemorate. Not a day to celebrate, but surely a day that changed my life. For a long time I mistakenly believed that the day my stroke occurred was September 22, even wrote about it previously. However, Jonell has informed me that in fact, it was the 21st. I am much more inclined to trust her memory over mine. Besides, those early days in the hospital are a blur to me. Pretty much just short little home movies, the really old black-and-white type without sound. I guess the most difficult part of suffering from LiS is learning to cope with the loss of autonomy. Waiting on someone to do every little thing for you, from positioning me in bed to adjusting my glasses is exasperating. It happens so frequently that I just type out on my screen and wait until someone checks on me rather than disturb them, otherwise, I’d be asking for things nonstop. You simply don’t realize the number of times you unconsciously go to scratch an itch, until you can’t. And believe me, it isn’t easy to allow, I should say need, others to clean your most intimate body parts. That has been one of the hardest parts of my LiS to get used to. Truth be told, I still struggle with it at times. There have been a few blessings that have occurred as a result of my LiS, I can’t say that they justify everything that I’ve been through, but I can’t imagine never having met, much less becoming friends with many really amazing people. Also, early retirement has given me the opportunity to be closer to my wife and daughter, otherwise, it would have been years before that would have been able to have happened. When you’ve had your whole life stolen from you, you try to hold on to anything you can color as positive. Sometimes no matter how hard you try, all you end up doing is thinking how hopeless it all seems. I confess to spending many nights crying myself to sleep. They say you’ll never walk again. They say there’s no coming back from this. Still, I try to remain positive. If you believe in the old saying, Into each life a little rain must fall, you have to agree I’ve had a hurricane pass over me. And like hurricanes are apt to do, it has left behind a trail of destruction and tears. Like in a real hurricane, some recover and some don’t. I’ll not let the things I can’t do take away from the things I can!
