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About this blog

Lurching about, limping, gimping, and sometimes stumbling inside the house I sometimes feel I am making some progress.

 

Not so sure when I was still in hospital in rehab and the therapists and nurses constantly warning me about the dangers and probability of a broken hip.  As if a broken hip is a right of passage for stroke victims recovering.

 

I don't know.

 

I've been pretty steady inside so far.  There have been times when my balance has been threatened and I have been able to recover, but I know I am going to have to break this habit of leaning on things as I move about, because I keep having visions and perceptions of falling and cracking my melon on something, especially in middle of night when I get up from sleep and go into bathroom across the hall to pee I always instinctively lay the heel of my right hand on the sink right inside the door.

 

Everything is a balancing act, but I am determined I am going to be walking independently again, eventually, even if I do end up not walking perfectly.

 

I follow these two physical therapists on Youtube for tips on exercises for foot drop and my left arm and hand, and today, on their recommendation, I shelled out $125 for an ankle brace device that they say will correct that problem, at least artificially.  So, we shall see.

 

I have fallen down only twice since returning home, both times outside on concrete, most recently on Mothers Day, outside a motel, in the rain, at 6AM.  All I could do was lay there and laugh at the absurdity of it all.

 

So far I have not suffered any further injuries, but I know I need to slow down when I am scrambling about.

 

Pre-stroke I had been saving for what I had expected to be a move to a new residence 150miles north of where I am now, but since I am probably going to require some assistance from here on out I have lost hope for independent living and have been throwing money around left and right on crap I know I don't need, but guess I am filling a void to compensate.

 

Time will tell, I suppose.

Entries in this blog

 

overcoming pride

Since my stroke, I have been living as a guest in my niece's home.  Her daughter, my sis, also lives here, in the finished basement of an older tri-level home in a very small Indiana town.   Honestly, life here suits me fine.  I have everything I need, even though I need help with a few things.  I do feel that I am capable, both physically and mentally, to live on my own, in my own place, and sometimes I do feel some slight guilt at my imposition on the niece and her family, but she did invite me, without limitation, to stay as long as I like or need.  I don't want to feel like I am taking advantage of her or my sister for their generosity and hospitality.  I do pay my share of rent and bills, but more important is the fact I am able, while living here, to save money.  Up to, in most months, $700-800 per month, and am aware that the longer I can deal with the guilt feelings I can save a good sum of money ,if I stay another 18 months, to get me started in a new, independent existence, probably a couple hours north of here where I would be closer to doctors and medical treatment.   This is something that is constantly gnawing on my mind, and I am a very impulsive person.  so I am a bit scared that one of these days I am going to succumb to impulses and move out prematurely before I am really prepared financially.   This is something I have dome many times over in the past.  I can actually admit to occupying over 20 different addresses over the past 14 years, including a couple homeless periods when I lived out of my car in Florida.   I honestly, as an unattached single person kind of enjoyed the homeless lifestyle, free of responsibilities, but in my current physical condition I think I would be too vulnerable to attempt the homeless thing again, as tempting as it may be.   Truthfully, too many lingering and transient periods of hopelessness and thoughts of self harm haunt me, so indecisive I be, for now, until hopefully my mind settles enough to make rational decisions.   My mind, with all it's crevices and dents, is a prohibitive factor in my decision processes.  at least I am able to recognize this about myself.   I always had this dream of just living from day to day sleeping wherever I could find a spot for the night, constantly moving, indulging the generosity and hospitality of whatever stranger presented opportunity, but then I would catch myself, suddenly recognizing my own limitations in the socialization department.   WTF is wrong with me?  At times like these I feel even more of a freak than normal...   But it must come out, and empty this mind of this scrambling, I must..   Just one more rant of admitted loneliness to deal with so, happy Sunday, I guess, for now.

beingnobody

beingnobody

 

Lamentations tumbling dice...

So many things in this squirrel cage mind...   My three year anniversary of completion of radiation and chemo for throat cancer approaches..YAY!!, I guess, but not sincerely feeling it.   I turned 62 a few days ago.  I was worried about that one.  Both my eldest sister and oldest friend passed last year, each within weeks of, but short, their 62nd birthday's.  I had envisioned some omen there, but here I am yet.   So my Oncology appointment, along with a ENT appointment, a Primary care appointment and Psychiatry appointment, topped off by a good old fashioned colonoscopy Oct 2nd.   So very much joy awaits me, and then hopefully, should I survive it all, a return to my sedate, reclusive, and non-eventful existence.   I did have the brief excitement this week of taking a roadside tumble on my little Pride Go-Go scooter at about 1AM a couple days ago as I went out in an insomniac fit to check mail.  Luckily, mailbox directly across street from house, and traffic was light, but I was barefoot, and in great distress and foot pain trekking that short distance, hobbling and wobbling, without cane, back to my humble abode to seek assistance retrieving my trusty steed.  A slight roll in the gravel and grass, coupled with the humility of clawing my way to my feet and accessing the damages to my person and properties.   Here I sit, days later, again at my post, typing my woes and apparent self pity into the ever accepting abyss of humanity.   The Psychiatrist appointment, of course I dread, with his never ceasing inquisition into my possible inclination toward self harm or community endangerment, which I always deny, with pause.  I don't know that I can ever really say that I have no thoughts of self harm, because I do, constantly, but not continuously.  I can't say a day goes by that I do not contemplate my death, in one way or other.   The most that I can really say about life any more with all my "baggage," is that life is tolerable, acceptable, I guess even satisfying, in some way that I would in no way be capable of explaining.  I could NOT say, however, that life is actually "enjoyable," beyond the occasional brief, yet transient moments that flutter in and out of my awareness like a feather in a hurricane.   The most enjoyable moments of my existence really seem to spring forth from the moments that I am struck with the inspiration and motivation to write.   I do love writing, even the hunt and peck, one finger style writing that I have adapted, and to which, no doubt, many others in the stroke community have become familiar with.  I take a lot of online college courses via Coursera, edX and Khan Academy.  I need that daily stimulation and mental challenge.   I do think that this particular episode of my writing has reached it's conclusion, and that perhaps sleep, for a brief period is now imminent.   Happy Friday.
 

wasted days ad wasted nights

Good intentions failed, or at least in transitory hiatus.   I had felt fairly confident in my situation immediately following my stroke and recovery.  I am still moderately functional, and with the lifestyle I led pre-stroke being essentially sedentary and reclusive I imagined a post stroke existence not remarkably different.   The mind that perceives is the mind that deceives.  Reality is setting in, with an attitude of vengeance.  The VA approved me for 8 physical therapy appointments, but after 5 visits, thoroughly discouraged and disgusted with myself, I gave up.   I was seeing or feeling no progress, and my therapy was routine and regimented, so I just figure I would save the travel and just do the exercises alone, at home, however,,...   Motivation and self discipline are not playing nice together and I am slipping into a pre-depressive slump of staying up all night binge watching on Prime and Netflix.  My mind admittedly slips toward the abyss leading to that dark place from which return is dubious.   My optimism, good spirits and attitude have deserted me and I have begun contemplating an unsatisfactory future.   Woe is me, but for now I'll make an effort, minute by minute, day by tedious excruciating day, to continue.   That is, for now, my hope.
 

irony bite

Isn't it odd, in this time of technological marvel and information overload, that so much of the material we access online is so outdated?   Along with my recent stroke I am also a throat cancer survivor, approaching my 3 year remission anniversary on Sept 29.   I found that when I was first diagnosed and started researching my situation that the majority of the data online regarding  prognosis and such,.. You know, The ultimate question of "how long do I have?" was so outdated.   And I mean really outdated.  Like a decade outdated, according to my doctors anyway, who still to this day warn patients against relying on information gotten from the internet pertaining to nearly anything medical.   Same thing I was told by neurologists at the VA when I was recovering from my stroke.   Doesn't seem fair.   It seems like information would be updated or more current... but yet...I follow a lot of medical journals and medical social media and it seems like even when information from a "new" study is published or posted online, that deeper scrutiny ultimately reveals in many cases that what is being currently posted is really just something that has at it's base a pretty ancient (relatively speaking) point of origin.   Late night/early morning musings.
 

Wearisome

I have previously mentioned that I have a reclusive nature, but since the stroke I am beginning to realize my perception of my reclusievness was more personal choice than I was admitting to myself. Now, post-stroke, with my newly acquired limitations of dexterity, I am faced with more a forced state of semi-isolation.   It's an eyeball opener.   I realize now that pre-stroke I still had the choice at any time to venture forth into society, but now that is not the case.  Now I am dependent on a driver to leave home property, and even though I most move freely at home without assistance of cane most of the time hobbling, limping and gimping about, that I lack the nerve or confidence doing so in public.   Thus I rarely go to any location that does not have the little handicapped scooter/cart thingamajiggy.  I do really enjoy these thrice monthly excursions with my sister, but otherwise I rarely anymore leave my room at all other than a few times a week venturing out front to the driveway, which is expansive, and sitting on the veranda just watching nature.   In my room I sit most of the day in front of the window getting plenty of sunshine and fresh air, but little physical exercise..   I have ordered all these physical rehabilitation aides that I never use but I do try to use my hand as much as I can.   Problem is I don't know if I'm coming or going anymore because my schedule has been so compromised.  My sleeps routine has turned into a veritable *beep* show and it is, I have to admit, dragging my spirits down low.  The recent high profile suicides lay heavy on my mind, because I can so relate to the conditions precipitating these sad endings of life.   The only way I can get a restful sleep is to finally in the wee hours of darkness submit to the swallowing of a portion of a Trazadone, maybe half a Vicodin and a muscle re;azer then talking to the magic dragon.   This typically knocks me out until my regular schedule begins with my sister bringing me my every morning two eggs/ smokey link sausage and toast w/jelly and a glass of ice milk.   This rant, if you have not yet figured it out, submitted at 3;30am-ish, is a prelude to my consumption of above and respite from insomnia.   Oi Vey, as they say in the motion picture machines
 

every day

I went to my first post stroke Neurology consult on Tuesday.  Talked about either increasing Baclofen dosage or prescribing something stronger.  Not sure what, specifically that would be.  Also said they would work on the outpaient physical therapy I've been awating word on.  And ordered a compression glove for the left hand issues.   I'm trying to remain optimistic but honestly, most days I don't leave my room all day other than bathroom trips, unless my sis takes me to Walmart for essentials, usually late at night, which is just spectacular with me.  I do use the wacky tobacco to keep me sane and help me sleep, but otherwise I don't smoke tobacco or drink alcohol, or even coffee.  I been working on future saintdom for many years even though I'm not a "believer" type.  If I am allowed to say such things here.  I know some sites frown on folk like myself. Ah well, tv awaits...again.
 

Apprehension to insomnia

Neurology appointment in 6 hours.  Mind racing, just because.  Sleep elusive.   Woe is me.   Not again this song and dance.  Pervasive, stalking me.   Weariness embraces me but drowsiness escapes me. Make it stop.  I want off.   I miss sleep.  Deep,undisturbed sleep.   TICK   TOCK .....
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