It is now approaching the second anniversary of my brain surgery (or as I invariably type “my brian surgery – which, of course causes auto-correct to go into minor meltdown because “brian” should be upper-cased and it isn’t when your dyslexic fingers have merely transposed an “i” and an “a”).
I am by no means back to normal (or perhaps that should be “back to norman”?), but I am improving by small increments every week.
I use the term “small increments” very deliberately. Way back in June 2014, after I left the Royal Free Hospital’s Neurological Rehabilitation Unit in Edgware, North London, having learnt to walk again(albeit just a few wobbly steps and only indoors), the senior physiotherapist told me that from then on I shouldn’t expect huge improvements. I should expect improvements to happen “in small increments.”
And she was right; the increments are small; too small and too slow sometimes for my impatient nature, but if I remind myself what I was able (or rather un-able) to do back then, it reminds me how lucky I am to be walking around (even walking around outdoors), though I must look really comic on uneven surfaces when I am very wobbly (I am even wobbly on flat surfaces, but we’ll ignore that) …
I again cook and prepare meals daily, which brings me neatly to my least favourite subject: weight and diets. I have no idea what I actually weigh as the scales don’t seem to shift even though I appear to be almost back to my pre-surgery/pre-Steroid size. I know this because most of my clothes fit me again although I still can’t wear many of them since my lack of dexterity prevents me from dealing with zips or buttons. And I still can’t wear tights without putting my profoundly undisciplined fingers through them when pulling them up. Nor can I wear shoes or boots with any kind of heel, which means there are items of clothing I refuse to wear on the grounds that they only look good worn with heels.
Conversely, I am, again lucky, in that S/S16’s hottest shoes are flats: plimsolls, luxe trainers, brogues, espadrilles, sliders and the rest… so at least when I am compelled to accessorize with flats I may look dumpy, but I am perfectly on trend.
I have written in the past about the difficulty of wearing make-up. My dexterity and my sight, which both caused problems applying make-up, have improved slightly and while my fingers are still jumpy, I can apply concealer, BB Cream, under-eye highlighter, bronzer and blusher. And, more importantly, I have just enough energy left at bedtime to remove the make-up…
I am extremely fortunate in not having lost my cognitive abilities, but there is a certain comedy value in my remaining symptoms…The moment I am tired, my voice gets slower and a bit deeper, like a toy with its battery running down…
I hit myself in the face occasionally with my still twitchy (i.e ataxic) left arm, mostly while lying in bed.
Generally, the past 22 months have been a lot like climbing out of a deep, dark hole and you need determination and grit to get out of it. But if I possess those qualities, I have no idea where they came from. I didn’t choose “grit” or decide to “do battle.” So I do wonder whether we are endowed with these qualities in our DNA or at a molecular level, rather than as a result of character or nurture?
Please let us know what you think. True grit, nature or nurture?…
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12 Comments
I am so pleased that you are now able to wear some make-up, it shows that things that are important to you are worth persevering with. Well done. Your battle must be very hard but you are really trying hard and seem to be getting there in small stages. Give yourself a big pat on the back. Life is hard enough and you are recovering from a huge curve ball. Congratulate yourself on what you have achieved.
Julie, thank you so much for your very kind and encouraging comments. They really mean a lot to me
Well done on being able to tell your story, it must offer hope to many people facing life changing traumas
Thanks so much Doreen for your kind and encouraging words which really mean a lot to me
In have nothing for admiration for you on all fronts – well done! you are progressing and facing every challenge with courage and Humour – you are a wonderful example to everyone of us – I feel privileged to know you, and send love and indeed thanks for being who you are xxx
Thanks so much Hazel. Your kind and encouraging words really mean a lot
I can empathise and sympathise with you Jan having just ‘celebrated’ the anniversary of my skiing accident. We all know how important health is but its only when we are incapacitated in some way that we truly know the importance of mobility and good health. Jan you have achieved amazing strides in your recovery and each time we meet, the advancement is evident. We all wish we could wave a magic wand and everything would be as before but it takes perseverance, patience and above all, the dedication to keep doing our prescribed exercises! My resolution this year is to do mine more diligently.
Lastly the qualities you referred to, in my opinion, are something that we don’t know we process until we are called upon to use them!
You become either a victim or a survivor and you Jan, are a survivor!
Much love Pammy X
Thank you so much Pammy, from one Survivor to another!
Jan, so brave of you to share such a personal experience and to enlighten people to the little things in life that you always automatically take for granted. I never would have thought of not being able to do these little things as a matter of course, but realise how devastated I would be if I couldn’t! Thank you x
Thank you so, so much Tracey, for your kind words. They really mean a lot to me
Excellent, Jan! You’re well on the road to recovery. It may be long, and daunting and frustrating at times but just keep plodding on. Slowly and surely. Keep moving and know that you are improving all the time. You may have the occasional step backwards but nothing’s perfect.
I believe (from personal experience) that we are all stronger than we think and that ability comes out when needed if we aren’t too afraid to let it. Sometimes we have to be out of our comfort zone to progress. Nurture may help, but it’s the body’s survival instinct kicking in where it can.
Just remember, every time you pass a reflective surface, SMILE at yourself! Your brain will notice it and you’ll be lifted a little.
Happy plodding!!
All the best – I hope 2016 will be a wonderful year for you.
Hi Helen. Thank you for your very inspiring and positive comments. I will take your advice on board! What a lovely message yours is, with which to start 2016