Challenge 4: Highway Driving

I'm feeling more confident about my driving now, but still I haven't done much highway driving. I've done a few three- or four-minute trips, but I wanted to go further.

Specifically, I wanted to drive to Lincoln, a town that's about 15 minutes west from my house. I can imagine Robert Frost composing poetry while strolling through the woods and the small, rolling orchards of Lincoln (although I'm guessing that he--like me--wouldn't be able to afford a house there). The landscape is beautiful, but the bigger draw for me is chance to visit farm animals there. I used to take the kids to see the cows, pigs, and sheep at a community farm, but I confess: it was mostly a good excuse to do something that I wanted to do myself anyways.

So I drove in Lincoln and back on Tuesday. Unfortunately, I knew that the driving would be very tiring, so I didn't actually do anything there--I pulled over in a parking lot, rolled down the windows, and breathed deeply for about 5 minutes. And then I turned around and drove home. I'm looking forward to driving there again, and getting out to visit with the animals.

Challenge 3: Personal Landmarks

There's a water tower in my town that looks like the pantheon. It's on top of one of the highest hills in the town, and it's about a half mile from my house. I hadn't walked to the water tower since the stroke.

When my kids were little and I couldn't stand one more trip to the playground, I would trudge up the hill with the kids in the double stroller and go to this small circular park. It has great views of Boston. It also has crabapple trees, which are just right for little kids to climb on, and the grass has tons of dandelions to pick. My kids were also intrigued by the series of manholes in one area of the grass, and we would hop from one manhole cover to the next.

Last Sunday I asked the kids if they were interested in walking up to the water tower. My son--who's acting more like a teenager every day--had other plans: hanging out with his friends, playing Mindcraft, and going to the hardware store with his dad. My daughter--who sometimes begs me to go on a walk--of course had no interest in walking that particular day.

So I walked up there by myself. Afterward I was pretty exhausted. According to my pedometer, I took about 2800 steps. I've been on longer walks, but not by much.

Maybe I can bring grandchildren there one day.

Challenge 2: Banking

Neal and I used to share many of the tasks related to money. Like many people who have aphasia, my math skills were affected. Neal took over all the financial chores after the stroke. My math skills are much better now and I don't have problems handling money on a day-to-day basis, but I still don't do much of the household bookkeeping.

But the other day I realized that I hadn't deposited a check for more than three years, and that banking is a life skill that I needed to reclaim. Since we had some miscellaneous checks at the house, yesterday I endorsed the checks and drove to the ATM. The procedure for depositing checks had changed since the last time I did it. I didn't need to fill out a special envelope now: I fed the checks into the ATM, they were scanned right a way, and I confirmed the amounts. Neal had warned me about the changes, so I was prepared. It wasn't a big deal.

But still, afterwards I had a fleeting sense of disorientation--as if I had just returned home after being in a country for a while where time seems to pass more slowly.

Challenge 1: Planned Spontaneity

On Friday I took my kids on spur-of-the-moment outing to Wilson Farms, a deluxe farm stand that I love. I've been there two or three times since the stroke, but this was the first time I went there with the kids and without another adult to help. I hoped that it could be a short trip with something to please everyone: a talking bird in the greenhouse (kids and me); luscious displays of fruits and vegetables (me);  barn with a few animals (kids); free samples of prepared foods (everyone).

Shopping--especially with kids--can be challenging, with or without a brain injury. Things didn't start out well. On the way there, my daughter was cranky enough that I had to pull over to wait for her to stop whining. Then, when we went into the greenhouse, we learned that the talking bird it had died. And then, my daughter balked at the idea of going into the barn without me (the stairs aren't very accessible). Thankfully, my son went in by himself and was entertained by the animals for a while.

When we went into the main store,  the crowds were in a pre-Easter frenzy. I had to respond to my kids' constant requests for purchases: kids' gardening gloves (no); garden clippers (no); pink tulips (no); daisies (yes); 3 lbs of strawberries (no, just 1 lb); a pint of blackberries (no); cheese (yes). My daughter was also in a frenzy about finding free samples. We came back about $25 poorer, with provisions we probably could have lived without.

In the end, it wasn't a disaster, but wasn't a great triumph, either.  But it did get me closer to my real goal: having spontaneous adventures, especially with my kids. These days I tend to plan every outing meticulously, because it's such a fine line between something that might bring joy to my family and me--or bring me to the point of utter exhaustion and frustration. But at some point, I would love to be able to get out without much preparation--and go.

The flowers I bought weren't very happy that I was
so spontaneous that I forget to put water in the vase first

Four Weeks, Eight Challenges

When I meet someone for the first time now, I'm not sure if they know that I had a stroke. They see that I have a limp and use a cane; some people might notice that I’m a little slow in answering questions; or another person might notice that I don’t use my right arm much. But I think people don’t always realize that I have a brain injury.

But I actually want to tell them about the strange journey I’ve been on over these three years. If I’m having a bad day, I might want  some sympathy and understanding for all my disabilities, especially the invisible ones: the fatigue; the spasticity; the tendency to be easily  overwhelmed--I could go on and on. (And I want some sympathy for my husband, too.)

On good days, I want to tell them about how much progress I’ve made, and continue to make. For instance, just since the new year, I drove myself to PT and back; I’ve tried several new recipes for dinner, instead of the old tired recipes that I’ve been using since 2010; I’ve taken my kids to the doctors, by myself--to name a few accomplishments.

So I’m going to make a series of posts about my recent “firsts”--things that I just started to do for the first time since the stroke. I’m also going to challenge myself to try new things on a faster schedule.  And then, of course, write about it. My goal is to challenge myself twice a week for four weeks.

I always think that I’m pushing myself a lot, but I know that having a public deadline can make things happen faster. Wish me luck.

Dependence

Last week a friend invited me to a get-together at her new home. I was feeling adventurous, so I drove myself. It was the first time since I got my driver’s license back that I drove to a place I’ve never driven to before. It was very nice to be self-sufficient. I even had the mental and physical energy to remember to stop and get some flowers on the way there.

But driving myself is also bittersweet. For almost three years, I’ve relied on rides from so many people: friends, family, neighbors, writing group members, fellow church-goers, friends of my parents, caregivers--to name a few. I know that for the people who have gave me rides, it has not been without cost: most people have many other commitments that compete for their time. But for me, it has been one of the unexpected gifts for me of the stroke. Without that space in time that cars can provide, I would have missed out on so many interesting stories. People have talked to me about their the work projects; their own family dramas; the political causes they're dedicated to; their pet peeves; their personal histories that they wouldn’t divulge with children around. There are so many corners in people's lives I wouldn’t have discovered without my years of forced dependence.

The Words to Say It

A little more than a year after stroke, my therapies were winding down. I needed to try something new, maybe a class. Several family members and friends suggested seated Tai Chi or yoga classes. I tried to be enthusiastic.

People assumed that I would be more comfortable in a chair. It was hard for me to move, right? But when I finally went to the gentle, i.e. seated, yoga class, I knew it was the wrong thing. I stopped going.

At that point in my recovery, there were still so many thoughts that I couldn’t articulate because of my aphasia. But there were other thoughts I couldn’t say because my vocabulary, even pre-stroke, didn’t include many neurological terms. I was lucky that I had heard the word aphasia before the stroke, thanks to writer Oliver Sacks. But the word proprioception--and the concept--were still new to me. After the stroke, it took me a long time to figure out that the general feeling of loss on my right side was different than say, the numbness I had felt from local anesthesia at the dentist’s office. In fact, I’m still mulling over the difference between lack of sensation and lack of proprioception.

So I couldn't explain that it felt precarious to do exercises in a chair, especially the flimsy chairs at the yoga class. Not because of balance issues, really, but because I didn’t know where the right side of the chair--or my body--was.

About a year ago, I found a great yoga teacher. She comes to my house about once a month. Most of the standing poses are beyond me, although sometimes my teacher cajoles me into trying a standing pose with the kitchen table to stabilize me. But usually, we work on the living room floor. When I need to stand up, I do have enough strength to haul myself up with mostly with my left leg, or  using the couch as a prop.

But I like being on the floor. There aren't any edges.