...is letting go, not taking part', as Coldplay sang on X&Y. To borrow another phrase, this time from the author Margaret Cezair-Thompson, I have to 'small-up' my life. By the time a week has passed since my discharge from hospital, I'm learning to manage this recovery thing. My friends and work colleagues keep me in mind and I have many visits. We go for walks or coffee and they generously bring meals for the freezer, cake or gifts. But I'm learning that I can manage about an hour at most, that outings and visits must be balanced with rest and that if I achieve one task or job in a day, then I'm doing well.
Letting go of work is the hardest thing. I have to accept that a project close to my heart may have to be abandoned because I'm not there to steer it. I can't influence the decision. It's theirs to make and mine to accept. What's clear is that I'm not going to be back to help with it. The headaches persist and finally, I check in with the G.P. She's clear that a return to work, four weeks after the 'event', is being over optimistic.
But I am making progress. By the end of the week, I've abandoned my stick and I think I'm walking almost normally. There are definite periods when the buzzing in my head has lifted. I take a taxi to a pre-arranged appointment with my beauty therapist. Why cancel? The need is desperate. The taxi drops me half an hour early and I'm made tea and taken to the relaxation room, where I recline on a day bed and watch the sparkling lights in the ceiling. I've never had time to use the relaxation room before. But I'm worried how the back of my head feels when I'm flat on the table.
The next day I go to the hairdresser, again for a pre-arranged appointment and after checking on the internet, I don't use the backwash since there is a link between the backwash and stroke. I kneel on the chair and lean forward over the sink. My face and sleeves get soaked and I miss the head massage. Some advice, specific to cerebellar haemorrhage, would help so much. I don't know if I should even be doing these things, particularly as another bleed might leave me seriously impaired.
I speak to the secretary of one of the consultants. She doesn't know if there's anything to report from 'Nottingham'. I say that I feel I've been abandoned without advice and guidance. I can feel my frustration and anger rise and I waste hours mentally drafting a letter of complaint. I have to reign in my outrage as I can feel the harmful stress levels. I've always believed I deal with stress well but that's intellectually. Who knows what's been going on physiologically? I decide to use my feelings to improve my blog, even if no one ever reads it and I'll aim to make the best use of my outpatient's appointment, when it comes. Complaining will only make the medics defensive and I need them 'on-side'.
I investigate the link between vaccinations and stroke on the internet and there doesn't seem to be anything but I'm not convinced as both arms still ache from the jabs I had on the day of the stroke. I also find some potential leads to account for my own stroke; AVM or Arteriovenous Malformation or a condition called Reversible Cerebral Vasoconstriction Syndrome.
When my children were small, I had a tendency towards hypochondria. I couldn't imagine them growing up without me and this made me fearful about my health. I dealt with it using strategies based on cognitive behaviour therapy (CBT) and I may have become too dismissive. I now know there were warning signs I shouldn't have ignored.
In the first week home I gain 3.5 lbs. in weight, which is half a pound a day. A friend points out I've got bigger things to worry about but at this rate, I'll be huge in a matter of weeks. The main problem is a lack of exercise but one thing is certain, I'll have to 'small-up' my portions as well.
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