More Recovery

(Originally published 03/25/08)

Yeah, I managed to lose the brace but I still had a long way to go. My arm and hand were still pretty much useless and I still needed the sling a good part of the time to avoid a shoulder separation and I could barely hold anything. Still, there had been improvement. I was also learning to use my right hand after thirty-one years as a southpaw. I joked a lot about my "spaghetti arm" but it depressed me that I couldn't do a lot of things.

Until something like this happens, one doesn't realize how much a person needs two functioning hands and arms. Even hugging my babies was nearly impossible. I also felt guilty about the burden on my family. I was Supermom and I handled everything -- from raising kids to taking care of our home and family finances. My friends started taking me to lunch where I always ordered things that were easy to manage.

They insisted that I attend our bowling banquet. I was league secretary and they insisted that I be there and shouted down my protests that I couldn't cut my steak. The funny part came when I asked the waitress to have my steak cut up for me. She wasn't too amenable. I got testy and told her that with what the league was paying, if I'd asked her to eat it, too, she shouldn't have a problem. My friends giggled as she took my steak back to honor my request. Ellen said she was glad to see I hadn't lost my spunk.

Some of my friends couldn't cope with my disability and disappeared. Others, like my neighbor Louise, were cheerleaders and dragged me out and about with nary a care. I doubt I could have progressed without their encouragement. What I really got tired of was people (total strangers) asking what happened to me. I know that most meant well but it made me cranky. I had a lot of spasticity in my arm and the fine motor coordination in my hand and fingers were resisting recovery and my arm would "weird out" unexpectedly and shook uncontrollably. It was both embarrassing and scary and I learned to think it into submission.

Depression was, is, and always will be my worst enemy. I discussed it with a friend who had MS and we came to the conclusion that if we weren't depressed, we'd be crazy. Our lives had been turned upside down and we were dealing with things that no one should have to bear. We made a pact that if either of us got depressed, we would call each other and tell each other not to quit -- that we were strong women who would and could prevail. The key to our pact was that we had to call back the next day and say that we going to be all right. That went on a couple years until her husband was transferred out of state. I stopped getting Christmas cards from her about fifteen years ago so I assume that the MS finally killed her. The good news is that she lived long enough to get her children raised. I know that was her goal.

I was still going to therapy and still trying to do more. I determined that sitting on my butt wasn't going to accomplish anything so I became dedicated to get back to a semblance of a normal life. The therapy staff tried to help but they were used to stroke patients who were a lot older than me so my case was a challenge.

I decided that I didn't really like Rhonda's cooking and set about learning to cook one handed. I took a great deal of pride in my cooking skills -- I'd even won first prize in a local cooking contest for a dish I invented and my husband was delighted to come home to a meal I cooked. When I achieved a modicum of skill, I invited Buffy to join us for dinner.

She was early (I know now that it was on purpose) and joined me in the kitchen to talk and watch me as I went about finishing the preparations. The next day at therapy, the staff teased me about my progress and wanted to know when their invitation was coming. I guess Buff gave me a great report. As I progressed, I'd turn up with home-baked cookies for them every so often. I still couldn't write but spent time while I was watching television trying to learn to be right-handed. I found that doing crossword puzzles was therapeutic. Printing capital letters in small boxes eventually gave me the control and confidence I needed to learn to write. What really frustrated me is that I couldn't work with my son who was learning how to print. His printing was better than mine! My goal was to come up at least a signature so I could sign checks and I did but my handwriting is still lousy.

Boredom was another enemy. I have never been a television person. Watching TV for me has always involved folding laundry, making "to do" lists, or doing needlework all of which were difficult. Amazing how many of the things we are required to do in life require two hands! I found a freestanding embroidery hoop, and proceeded to start a counted cross stitch project. Threading needles was difficult at first but I prevailed and finally could do so without help as my therapy continued.

My therapy was reduced to two days a week and we cut Rhonda back to only coming on the days I had therapy. I was still making progress but it was coming more slowly. I needed the sling less and less and managing my daily life reasonably well. Imagine the day my husband came home from work and the living room furniture had been rearranged! How had I accomplished that? With my feet! And yeah, I caught hell for that.

My concentration improved and I was reading again to my delight. I am, and always will be, an inveterate reader. Come September, the kids were back in nursery school and I signed up for my helper days despite their telling me that I didn't have to do them. Bowling started again and my team insisted that I come back. I was a lousy bowler to begin with and I'd always bowled right-handed but because of the slight drag in my left leg I had a hard time and my miserable average got worse. My teammates didn't care. None of us were very good bowlers -- we were there for fun. Besides, we had a hell of a handicap! Yeah, there were those who felt that I should have quit but quitting wasn't me.

I still wasn't driving and hated having to depend on others. I was making progress and had pretty much resigned to that my left arm and hand would never be one hundred percent. I kept up with the exercises but realized that trying to do things was probably the best thing. Sometimes I cried in frustration but mostly I stayed as positive as I could. And yeah, I prayed a lot.

Next week I'll have a bit more on recovery and in following weeks I plan posts on some of the funny things that happened and some of the truly amazing things that happened as a result of all this.

Happy Blogging!!!!!!!

Kay