This week was my three year anniversary marking my release from the hospital. Three years ago I returned home for the first time following a stroke and three months in hospital–from stretchers to wheelchairs to walkers to crutches to home.
Then the last three years of physio, ergo and logo. If anyone reading this has friends or family with stroke, then consider this encouragement. Improvements can occur even three years after the stroke.
The sunflower to me is hope, inspiration and enthusiasm. Growth. Health. The photo is only part of the picture. My wife has planted a garden and meticulously cares for the plants with love as she has me. This photo is the glorious proof.
Stroked out. Just about three years ago that I was no better than a ‘side of beef’ on a gurney in the back of an ambulance. Four weeks later I was in a wheelchair on the way to a neuro-rehabilitation clinic in the Berner Oberland.
When I arrived, my wife wheeled me to the end of the hallway for a look out through the window. This is what I saw.
Magic in the landscape
What I thought? Only to be able to walk this path. Well it happened. First time sitting up. First time getting out of bed by myself. First time standing. First time with rollator. First time standing without rollator. First step on stairs. First time up one flight of stairs. First time down one flight of stairs. I don’t understand how. Great physiotherapists. Great ergotherapists. A miracle. Faith.
I walk every day now in the Berner Oberland–no rollator–no sticks. Unbelievable.
And that image, that path–magic in the landscape. Thankful.
Hope, I hoped I could take that walk. Hope can be grasped. Step by step. Every morning.
…want to hear about this stroke update. That’s ok because you don’t have to read it. I want to put words to what I felt today.
About 18 months ago I was in bed, a vegetable in a windowless and clockless emergency ward. Tubes everywhere. Nothing that worked before was working.
Gradually things sank in, internal clouds started lifting and I started thinking. Still unable to get out of bed. If only I could speak again. If only I could clean myself again. I dreamed if only I could walk in the country…oh such a dream. Then the rehab began. Then the hard discipline became essential. Little step by little step.
Below is where I walked today. I almost melted with joy and happiness. Wish fulfilled.So many to thank.
I had to write this. Stroke is more common than many realize. This may be helpful to those for the first time encountering stroke affected close friends and loved ones.
Just about a year ago, I was visiting a nice park in Paris. It was a quiet Sunday morning. Roses and irises were in full bloom. The day was clear. The sun, getting higher, was bright and warm. There were plenty of public benches in the park. All the benches were empty. I looked for one in the shade with a good view over the gardens.
I sat down and immediately felt very tired. I then felt strangely obliged to do what my normal public bench common sense would never allow—lean over and lie down, using my day pack as a pillow. Everything went dark. After some unknown amount of time, I heard voices; but I couldn’t see anything. Still all dark—like my eyes were shut tight. I couldn’t open them. That’s how I remember it. But I could hear more and more voices, the voices of families that I figured had started visiting the park.
Well, that was the stroke onset. Making a long uncomfortable story shorter, I was then three weeks in an emergency ward of a Parisian hospital. Lots of strange stuff. But here is the quick and dirty. Couldn’t write, couldn’t walk, couldn’t swallow. Feeding tube in the nose, IV in hand, arm, everywhere, you know the ‘find the vein’ hospital drill. Nurses firmly reminding me ‘ne bougez pas’, like I had a choice. Fortunately, I knew French. That brain skill remained. I could not move in the bed. No toilet. No cleaning. The nurses did everything for me. I had time and capacity to think.
‘Was this mypeak recovery? Is this the rest of my life? Will I ever leave the hospital? Will I ever see my family? Will I ever walk again? Will I ever be able to feed myself? Will I ever be able to clean myself?’ That was some depressing sh*t.
So one year later, aftera lot of will power, therapy and the gracious help of family, therapists, nurses and staff, I am walking in my own neighborhood with my family. I am writing, eating and cleaning myself in what I tell myself is d*mn near a normal life. Every case is different, I am told; but this post is about hope and continually taking one small step at a time.
On a walk this week, I took these three Spring photos to depict the hope and glory and reality of the human condition.
Will every flower that’s happy please stretch out your petals toward the sun?
Who can’t feel the beautiful richness of the season?
The remnants of this tree, as it becomes repurposed by other natural elements, remind me of the struggles of every human, having gone through three score and ten. No one gets out without giving up some, without losing some. But in the end, even in the remnants can be found a certain beauty.
Been away awhile. In May 2017, while walking in Jardin des Plantes in Paris, I had a stroke and have been recovering since. Lots of things have happened. Will write more in due course
