Recovery

(Originally published 03/18/2008)

Going home from the hospital was not an easy task and a definite adjustment. Buffy had taught me how to get in and out of bed (believe it or not -- there's a trick to it with one working arm)and navigate stairs since our bedroom and bathroom were upstairs and that helped a lot.

I had excellent help in Rhonda who took care of the children's needs when my husband was working and she really worked hard to keep our home livable. I was tired a lot and slept a lot. Isn't it funny how one goes home from the hospital and needs a rest?

My four-year-old son quickly noticed that Mommy had a harder time going down the stairs than going up them (my therapy mantra: good foot to heaven; bad foot to hell) and when I came downstairs, he would come and hold my hand to help.

As I said in the previous segment, my left leg was infinitely better than my left arm and the latter was barely functional. Still, I managed somehow. I still preferred company to phone calls and could barely concentrate on television. Kate, two, would come and cuddle up as I sat in her dad's recliner and I would talk to her about how much I'd missed her and read her stories. "Green Eggs and Ham" was just about the most I could manage for reading material.

I sat with my Nerf ball (courtesy of occupational therapy) squeezing it to try to get mobility back in my hand and fingers. Sometimes I had to pry my fingers from it as they decided they didn't want let go. Other times, my whole left arm decided to go haywire and shook uncontrollably and I'd have to grab it with my right hand to make it stop. The worst part was if it started around someone who didn't know or understand what was wrong and asked stupid questions. It was frightening and still is although it rarely happens these days unless I’m really stressed.

The hardest part was that I am a born lefty so eating, writing, and anything that required two hands was all difficult to put it mildly. Dressing also required a major effort. Can you button a shirt or tie your shoes one-handed? I can but learning it was not a walk on the beach. It came with concerted effort and a lot of tears. Learning to use my right hand was seemingly impossible but I fumbled -- more often than not, literally -- my way through. I knew I had to get better.

One of the hardest things I had to do the first week home was arrange transportation to my thrice-weekly therapy sessions, which would begin the next week. I started calling friends to see if they could help and quickly discovered that was a nonstarter. It's one thing to make a double batch of dinner and drop it off (which stopped as soon as I came home) and another to be a bit inconvenienced. It looked as if I wasn't going to be able to go to therapy and I was upset. I called my rehab nurse in tears and she told me to call the Red Cross. I did and they arranged to have on of their volunteers pick me up for my sessions. Getting home was easy -- my husband came by the hospital when he left the office for the day and took me home.

The bulk of my therapy was what they call "range of motion" which involves the therapist manipulating the affected limbs in the way they would normally work. The Dynamic Duo was intensely interested in where Mommy went and I eventually asked Buff if they could come watch. She said yes so they came along one day and decided that Buffy was great and therapy was pretty interesting. One Saturday morning, Buffy scheduled a session and my husband came with me and she taught him how to do the exercises with me and from then on we did them every night before bedtime. Jane, my OT, would check in once a week to ask what tasks were difficult for me and bring me hints and gadgets to help. Progress came in small increments and I learned to appreciate small triumphs -- like putting on my coat without my arm spazzing out and actually letting go of that damned Nerf ball without having to pry it loose. Such accomplishments would make me grin like a fool.

Two of the hardest side affects to combat were depression and loss of control of one's emotions. The depression part was easy to understand: stroke patients have suffered a loss and there's a tendency to grieve and one goes through all of Kubler-Ross' stages of grief. The emotions thing was difficult for me, as I'd suddenly start weeping or laughing and had no idea why. It wasn't easy for those around me either and made me feel worse.

As I gained strength, I started doing things around the house and by May I had an almost normal gait and kicked that damned brace and the ugly brown oxfords to the curb! I wasn't ready to go disco dancing (yeah, it was the '70s) but I managed a slow dance (wearing one-inch heels) with my husband when we went out to dinner to celebrate our anniversary! Hubby said that accomplishment was a true tribute to fashion's power over women. I reiterated that life is too short to wear ugly shoes. I still believe that.

Next week I'll be back to continue this journey of recovery. Thanks to all of you who are following this -- I appreciate your support and friendship!!!!

Happy Blogging!!!!!!!!!!!

Kay