There's Always a Way! February 2023
The season is still winter for many areas. Here, in Alberta, Canada, were having a typical winter, filled with snow, ice and freezing temperatures. Before my strokes and brain surgery I, like many Canadians, made the most of the cold season. We would go skiing, skating, snowshoeing, and tobogganing. When my children were small, a favourite would include me laying on a crazy carpet, them piling on top of me and we’d whoosh down the snowy hill. It was great fun.
The only thing constant in life is change. The children have grown up and I cannot participate in the season like before. Last winter I really didn’t venture out, still healing from brain surgery. As my recovery progressed, I finally accepted the fact I needed a walker if I wanted to go out at all. We had borrowed one from an amazing organization called Medi-Lend, at no cost.
The walker let me go out but with its hard little wheels and square design I was limited to smooth, flat, even pathways. I live in rural Alberta and while there are some very nice trails many are not made for regular walkers. Ken, my husband had previously gotten me a used running stroller. With its three-wheel design and air filled tires, it was better but not quite what I needed. I wanted to get out more, especially with our dog, Arthur, whose energy abounded.
I started researching and typed in, all terrain walkers, not having much hope. There is a stereotype that if you need a walker, you only want to go on gentle walks, no more adventures. That’s not true, I still want to go out, have adventures, explore. I’m sure many people with mobility issues feel the same way. Then I found it! A link to a website that boasted all terrain walkers. “The Trionic Veloped – A Modern Alternative to a Rollator!” I clicked into it, a feeling creeping up my spine, telling me this was it. The more I read the more excited I became. The first sentence read – “If you lead an active lifestyle, the Veloped is your ideal choice of a wheeled walker.” It went on to tout its ability to negotiate tough terrain, saying the three-wheel design was more off-road capable than any four wheeled walkers.
Could this really be true? A walker designed for people who still wanted adventures. A walker for exploring and taking the less travelled trail. It had a special extra wheel in front to climb curbs, roots and other obstacles and proclaimed it turned “gravel, grass, snow and off-road trails into pure pleasure instead of a bumpy and unpleasant venture.” They even had a model specific for hunters to “overcome rugged hunting ground.”
This is probably sounding a little like a testimonial and I guess it is. It has changed my life. It is truly the only off-road capable walker. Two obstacles, not on the trail, stood out. They are only made in Sweden, and they are cost prohibitive. I couldn’t get it out of my mind though. I was always a very active, adventurous sort of person and I was sorely missing it. I didn’t want to be constrained to smooth, even paths forever.
There is always a way. Ken found that the company had a distributor in Canada. He contacted them and found out the Veloped was, in fact, a medical mobility aid. He then contacted his insurance company and they said, if it was deemed medically necessary, they would cover a portion of the cost. We went through the process of getting it authorized as a necessity and voilà, we ordered the Veloped.
Surprisingly, it only took three weeks to get here, all the way from Sweden. It changed my life, at least my access to it. We could take the rugged trails at the lake again. I explored the fields behind our house with Arthur. Now, during winter, I can tackle the deep snow that wasn’t cleared, and the snowbanks and ridges left by snowplows. As much as society has improved with access, winter comes with inherent challenges, exacerbated for someone with mobility issues.
There are some things I still just cannot navigate but really, there is so much more I can with my All Terrain Walker! I have so much to be grateful for; I can walk and now with my Veloped I can hike, explore, and have adventures. I am so thankful for this company that had the vision to realize that needing a walker doesn’t mean the end of outdoor adventures.
Following the wise words of Confucius, “Wherever you go, go with all your heart,” I’m following my dream of exploring the outdoors again. It wasn’t easy but anything worthwhile usually isn’t. Life is a journey, as I’ve often said, filled with problems to solve, lessons to learn and moments to treasure. And adventure isn’t just backpacking in the mountains or skydiving; it’s a way of thinking to overcome the obstacles of everyday life, to find an adventure that’s right for you. I’m finding my adventures daily and taking the less travelled trails with my All Terrain Walker and Arthur!
The only thing constant in life is change. The children have grown up and I cannot participate in the season like before. Last winter I really didn’t venture out, still healing from brain surgery. As my recovery progressed, I finally accepted the fact I needed a walker if I wanted to go out at all. We had borrowed one from an amazing organization called Medi-Lend, at no cost.
The walker let me go out but with its hard little wheels and square design I was limited to smooth, flat, even pathways. I live in rural Alberta and while there are some very nice trails many are not made for regular walkers. Ken, my husband had previously gotten me a used running stroller. With its three-wheel design and air filled tires, it was better but not quite what I needed. I wanted to get out more, especially with our dog, Arthur, whose energy abounded.
I started researching and typed in, all terrain walkers, not having much hope. There is a stereotype that if you need a walker, you only want to go on gentle walks, no more adventures. That’s not true, I still want to go out, have adventures, explore. I’m sure many people with mobility issues feel the same way. Then I found it! A link to a website that boasted all terrain walkers. “The Trionic Veloped – A Modern Alternative to a Rollator!” I clicked into it, a feeling creeping up my spine, telling me this was it. The more I read the more excited I became. The first sentence read – “If you lead an active lifestyle, the Veloped is your ideal choice of a wheeled walker.” It went on to tout its ability to negotiate tough terrain, saying the three-wheel design was more off-road capable than any four wheeled walkers.
Could this really be true? A walker designed for people who still wanted adventures. A walker for exploring and taking the less travelled trail. It had a special extra wheel in front to climb curbs, roots and other obstacles and proclaimed it turned “gravel, grass, snow and off-road trails into pure pleasure instead of a bumpy and unpleasant venture.” They even had a model specific for hunters to “overcome rugged hunting ground.”
This is probably sounding a little like a testimonial and I guess it is. It has changed my life. It is truly the only off-road capable walker. Two obstacles, not on the trail, stood out. They are only made in Sweden, and they are cost prohibitive. I couldn’t get it out of my mind though. I was always a very active, adventurous sort of person and I was sorely missing it. I didn’t want to be constrained to smooth, even paths forever.
There is always a way. Ken found that the company had a distributor in Canada. He contacted them and found out the Veloped was, in fact, a medical mobility aid. He then contacted his insurance company and they said, if it was deemed medically necessary, they would cover a portion of the cost. We went through the process of getting it authorized as a necessity and voilà, we ordered the Veloped.
Surprisingly, it only took three weeks to get here, all the way from Sweden. It changed my life, at least my access to it. We could take the rugged trails at the lake again. I explored the fields behind our house with Arthur. Now, during winter, I can tackle the deep snow that wasn’t cleared, and the snowbanks and ridges left by snowplows. As much as society has improved with access, winter comes with inherent challenges, exacerbated for someone with mobility issues.
There are some things I still just cannot navigate but really, there is so much more I can with my All Terrain Walker! I have so much to be grateful for; I can walk and now with my Veloped I can hike, explore, and have adventures. I am so thankful for this company that had the vision to realize that needing a walker doesn’t mean the end of outdoor adventures.
Following the wise words of Confucius, “Wherever you go, go with all your heart,” I’m following my dream of exploring the outdoors again. It wasn’t easy but anything worthwhile usually isn’t. Life is a journey, as I’ve often said, filled with problems to solve, lessons to learn and moments to treasure. And adventure isn’t just backpacking in the mountains or skydiving; it’s a way of thinking to overcome the obstacles of everyday life, to find an adventure that’s right for you. I’m finding my adventures daily and taking the less travelled trails with my All Terrain Walker and Arthur!
Connections December 2022
It’s that time of year again. The snow is falling, temperatures are dropping, and decorations are pulled out of boxes to be placed lovingly around the house. It’s Christmas time, still a difficult time for me. Strokes and brain surgery keep me adjusting to my newest normal, but it also affected my entire family. It’s been hard on everyone. Last year, to manage, I didn’t adhere to many of our usual Christmas traditions. (You can scroll to December 2021 to read “Let’s Skip the Traditions”)
It's still tough but as I said last year, life is change and if it wasn’t stroke, maybe something else would have challenged our family. That’s the beauty and the hardship of life; we can’t predict the unexpectedness of some life events and time ruminating about it is time wasted. Life can change in an instant, as anyone who has gone through a life-altering event can attest to. We have to appreciate every moment for as much as we plan, we don’t know when it might all change.
The other day, I was appreciating my ability to still take our pup, Arthur, for a walk. It was a chilly, winter day. My thoughts meandered about, and the wintery weather started me reminiscing about days past when I was a runner. I loved running on cold winter days, seeing my breath plume out, the sky an incredible blue and the crisp air, sparkling with ice crystals.
The air is still cold, and the sky is still blue but so much else has changed. But has it really? Life is linked through a series of unseen threads that pull everything together and let us find connections in even the most unrelated matters. As I continued my walk, several of these threads met and my thoughts tied together my stroke recovery to running a marathon.
When I entertain thoughts about what I used to be able to do it often involves running. I loved running and completed several marathons. Anyone who has tried to run a marathon may be agreeing with me about the challenges it comes with. And anyone recovering from stroke and trying to find their newest normal, every day may be like running a marathon. It’s both mental and physical. This is where my thoughts intertwined, and I started comparing the two.
Running a marathon is hard, very hard. It hurts, sometimes you feel like you can’t breathe. Your legs feel like they have iron rods in them, heavy, inflexible and jarring. You can feel each and every toe and the bones in your feet are screaming in protest. You look up and you are only at kilometer 19 out of 42!
Sometimes you just desperately want to give up. But then, you pass a water station and kindly volunteers shout out words of encouragement while handing you a cup of Gatorade. People you don’t even know are on the sidelines, cheering you on. A passing runner tells you, “Keep going, you got this!”
From somewhere deep inside, you find a little spark. It’s just enough to take one more step, then another. Before you know it, you’re at kilometer 38! You’re almost there. You put your head down, focus on placing one foot in front of the other. It doesn’t matter if you finish first, last or somewhere in the middle. It doesn’t even matter if you finish. You had the courage to try, and you know you gave it your best. There’s always another day to try again.
The comparison to post-stroke life is amazingly similar. You work hard, you train, you practice your skills, whether it’s learning to use your hand again or convincing your eyes that the floor really isn’t moving. You just put your head down and focus on the task at hand. No one else can do it for you, there’s just you and only you know when enough is enough.
There are days, no matter how much I think I have recovered lost skills, things just won’t come together. It doesn’t matter how much I’ve trained, practiced or if it was easier yesterday. That’s where, just like running, stroke recovery needs to be tempered with knowing your limits and when to take a break. That’s when I like to settle down with a cup of tea and read a book I’ve read before.
Whether it’s running a marathon or working on regaining lost skills, no one can do it for you, but there is lots of support. So many people want to help you succeed, lend their expertise, and cheer you on. It all does seem connected; training for a marathon, recovering from stroke or any other life-altering event.
Christmas time, for me, is like a training run in the marathon of life. Some parts are hard, even hurt a little but others are like crisp, cold mornings when each step feels like a crystalline pathway to the sky.
There, I think I just may have woven a grand tapestry out of my thoughts comparing the two, stemmed from the threads of trying to make the best out of a Christmas that looks different since my stroke. What unseen threads in your life are pulling things together for you?
It's still tough but as I said last year, life is change and if it wasn’t stroke, maybe something else would have challenged our family. That’s the beauty and the hardship of life; we can’t predict the unexpectedness of some life events and time ruminating about it is time wasted. Life can change in an instant, as anyone who has gone through a life-altering event can attest to. We have to appreciate every moment for as much as we plan, we don’t know when it might all change.
The other day, I was appreciating my ability to still take our pup, Arthur, for a walk. It was a chilly, winter day. My thoughts meandered about, and the wintery weather started me reminiscing about days past when I was a runner. I loved running on cold winter days, seeing my breath plume out, the sky an incredible blue and the crisp air, sparkling with ice crystals.
The air is still cold, and the sky is still blue but so much else has changed. But has it really? Life is linked through a series of unseen threads that pull everything together and let us find connections in even the most unrelated matters. As I continued my walk, several of these threads met and my thoughts tied together my stroke recovery to running a marathon.
When I entertain thoughts about what I used to be able to do it often involves running. I loved running and completed several marathons. Anyone who has tried to run a marathon may be agreeing with me about the challenges it comes with. And anyone recovering from stroke and trying to find their newest normal, every day may be like running a marathon. It’s both mental and physical. This is where my thoughts intertwined, and I started comparing the two.
Running a marathon is hard, very hard. It hurts, sometimes you feel like you can’t breathe. Your legs feel like they have iron rods in them, heavy, inflexible and jarring. You can feel each and every toe and the bones in your feet are screaming in protest. You look up and you are only at kilometer 19 out of 42!
Sometimes you just desperately want to give up. But then, you pass a water station and kindly volunteers shout out words of encouragement while handing you a cup of Gatorade. People you don’t even know are on the sidelines, cheering you on. A passing runner tells you, “Keep going, you got this!”
From somewhere deep inside, you find a little spark. It’s just enough to take one more step, then another. Before you know it, you’re at kilometer 38! You’re almost there. You put your head down, focus on placing one foot in front of the other. It doesn’t matter if you finish first, last or somewhere in the middle. It doesn’t even matter if you finish. You had the courage to try, and you know you gave it your best. There’s always another day to try again.
The comparison to post-stroke life is amazingly similar. You work hard, you train, you practice your skills, whether it’s learning to use your hand again or convincing your eyes that the floor really isn’t moving. You just put your head down and focus on the task at hand. No one else can do it for you, there’s just you and only you know when enough is enough.
There are days, no matter how much I think I have recovered lost skills, things just won’t come together. It doesn’t matter how much I’ve trained, practiced or if it was easier yesterday. That’s where, just like running, stroke recovery needs to be tempered with knowing your limits and when to take a break. That’s when I like to settle down with a cup of tea and read a book I’ve read before.
Whether it’s running a marathon or working on regaining lost skills, no one can do it for you, but there is lots of support. So many people want to help you succeed, lend their expertise, and cheer you on. It all does seem connected; training for a marathon, recovering from stroke or any other life-altering event.
Christmas time, for me, is like a training run in the marathon of life. Some parts are hard, even hurt a little but others are like crisp, cold mornings when each step feels like a crystalline pathway to the sky.
There, I think I just may have woven a grand tapestry out of my thoughts comparing the two, stemmed from the threads of trying to make the best out of a Christmas that looks different since my stroke. What unseen threads in your life are pulling things together for you?
Changes and Challenges! November, 2022
When I awoke from brain surgery, just a little more than a year ago, I knew I would be facing some challenges. At first, I couldn’t walk, I couldn’t use my right, dominant hand, I couldn’t see properly, I couldn’t taste or smell, I couldn’t even hear properly. But I wasn’t too worried. I was just so thankful to still be alive and able to think. I was mostly still me. I knew through hard work I would improve.
I have gotten many of my abilities back, although adapted for my newest normal. I can walk with a walker. My right hand usually cooperates, and I can even play my bass again, although holding a pick is difficult. I had already lost my career after my first stroke, so thankfully I didn’t need to deal with that again. My sense of smell has somewhat returned, although my husband does the sniff test to see if the milk has gone bad. I can taste some foods; I still love hot pickled peppers, but I lost my love for cheese and can no longer stomach any type. (Scroll down to read August’s Mindful Musing “No Cheese, Please”)
But one skill, and privilege I haven’t gotten back, is driving. I haven’t driven a car for over a year. Me, who used to commute over 700 kilometers a week for work. It’s because of my eyes. They have improved immensely but….
Like with so many other things, I manage my vision and compensate to make the best of it. But when the rubber hits the road (yes, pun intended) all my vision problems caused by my brain injury prevent me from getting my driver’s license back. They took my license away while I was still in the hospital last year. To get it back I need to go through a driver retraining program and test from a specialized rehabilitation program for drivers who had their license revoked due to a medical concern.
It's quite a bizarre situation. I have 20/20 vision but yet I can’t see properly. It’s a list of other complications that get in the way. Each condition uses many letters of the alphabet, like Oscillopsia and Binocular Diplopia, but all together challenge my vision.
Part of my amazing healthcare team now includes a neuro-ophthalmologist; it’s quite a title. The one taking care of me could be Mr. Rogers brother. He is so kind and gentle, and an amazing doctor. A neuro-ophthalmologist is a doctor who specializes in complex eye disorders caused by the brain and central nervous system. My eye challenges are due to the location of my brain injury.
Strokes can cause so many changes in a person. Many may be subtle and not recognized by people who do not know the stroke survivor well. Brain injury being an invisible injury is aptly named and I can put on a good act of confidence and independence. Many do not realize the effort it takes for me to see straight, nor do I want them to. I depend on others for many things but not being able to drive is a hard one for me. It’s taken away a key part of my independence. Or has it?
As with so many situations, the only control we have is how we respond to the construction zones of everyday life. I see my wonderful, compassionate eye doctor again in the new year. My eyes have slowly been improving, and I will keep doing my vision exercises.
I have decided to dig into my tenacity and try. I will give the driver retraining my best shot. Luckily, they start in a simulated environment, and I have a vast amount of experience as a driver under my belt, which may help.
Not trying is not an option. I do not know if I will be successful, but I do know that I will give it my best effort. I need to be confident that I am safe. I could not live with the thought of hurting someone, but I can live with knowing I tried my best. Driving may not be in my future. That’s okay, there’s always another way. I have friends, I have family, and I can walk with my walker.
My husband is my usual driver. We’ve joked that if I am not able to return to driving, I will get him a chauffeur’s cap with the name “Chives” on it. I don’t know why but it sounds like a good name for my chauffeur. I’ll probably sit in the front with him though.
You never know what’s around the next corner and your life can change dramatically in an instant. It’s okay, that’s life. There will always be unexpected challenges and maybe even a few life-altering events. Don’t forget - you are in control; in control of how you choose to deal with the detours and roadblocks on the highway of life!
I have gotten many of my abilities back, although adapted for my newest normal. I can walk with a walker. My right hand usually cooperates, and I can even play my bass again, although holding a pick is difficult. I had already lost my career after my first stroke, so thankfully I didn’t need to deal with that again. My sense of smell has somewhat returned, although my husband does the sniff test to see if the milk has gone bad. I can taste some foods; I still love hot pickled peppers, but I lost my love for cheese and can no longer stomach any type. (Scroll down to read August’s Mindful Musing “No Cheese, Please”)
But one skill, and privilege I haven’t gotten back, is driving. I haven’t driven a car for over a year. Me, who used to commute over 700 kilometers a week for work. It’s because of my eyes. They have improved immensely but….
Like with so many other things, I manage my vision and compensate to make the best of it. But when the rubber hits the road (yes, pun intended) all my vision problems caused by my brain injury prevent me from getting my driver’s license back. They took my license away while I was still in the hospital last year. To get it back I need to go through a driver retraining program and test from a specialized rehabilitation program for drivers who had their license revoked due to a medical concern.
It's quite a bizarre situation. I have 20/20 vision but yet I can’t see properly. It’s a list of other complications that get in the way. Each condition uses many letters of the alphabet, like Oscillopsia and Binocular Diplopia, but all together challenge my vision.
Part of my amazing healthcare team now includes a neuro-ophthalmologist; it’s quite a title. The one taking care of me could be Mr. Rogers brother. He is so kind and gentle, and an amazing doctor. A neuro-ophthalmologist is a doctor who specializes in complex eye disorders caused by the brain and central nervous system. My eye challenges are due to the location of my brain injury.
Strokes can cause so many changes in a person. Many may be subtle and not recognized by people who do not know the stroke survivor well. Brain injury being an invisible injury is aptly named and I can put on a good act of confidence and independence. Many do not realize the effort it takes for me to see straight, nor do I want them to. I depend on others for many things but not being able to drive is a hard one for me. It’s taken away a key part of my independence. Or has it?
As with so many situations, the only control we have is how we respond to the construction zones of everyday life. I see my wonderful, compassionate eye doctor again in the new year. My eyes have slowly been improving, and I will keep doing my vision exercises.
I have decided to dig into my tenacity and try. I will give the driver retraining my best shot. Luckily, they start in a simulated environment, and I have a vast amount of experience as a driver under my belt, which may help.
Not trying is not an option. I do not know if I will be successful, but I do know that I will give it my best effort. I need to be confident that I am safe. I could not live with the thought of hurting someone, but I can live with knowing I tried my best. Driving may not be in my future. That’s okay, there’s always another way. I have friends, I have family, and I can walk with my walker.
My husband is my usual driver. We’ve joked that if I am not able to return to driving, I will get him a chauffeur’s cap with the name “Chives” on it. I don’t know why but it sounds like a good name for my chauffeur. I’ll probably sit in the front with him though.
You never know what’s around the next corner and your life can change dramatically in an instant. It’s okay, that’s life. There will always be unexpected challenges and maybe even a few life-altering events. Don’t forget - you are in control; in control of how you choose to deal with the detours and roadblocks on the highway of life!
“God made the world round so we would never be able to see too far down the road.” – Isak Dinesen |
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NO Cheese, Please! August 2022
Since my stroke and brain surgery last year I've been adjusting to my newest normal, but there’s been some changes I never anticipated. I have accepted that running, a previous staple in my weekly schedule, may not happen again. But I am so grateful to be able to walk with my walker, instead of being in a wheelchair. Nothing ever gets so bad it can’t get worse! (Scroll down to March 2022 to read my Mindful Musing just about that.) And it’s much better than what it could have been.
The biggest surprise is cheese. Yes, cheese. The day before my brain surgery, my husband made me hot, yummy cheese melts for lunch and my son made a favourite pasta with tomatoes and lots of cheese for supper. We had family nicknames for each other and mine was Mouse for all the cheese I ate.
Cheddar, Mozzarella, Feta, Gouda, Havarti, even a Greek specialty of fried cheese flambeed with Ouzo, called Saganaki. Almost any type of cheese, I ate it, daily. We went though blocks of cheese every week. Several days after brain surgery, cheese had no appeal. At first, I thought it was just the aftereffects of surgery, but no.
As time went on, my reaction to eating cheese grew. My go to for most meals was cheese but now, when I took a bite, my stomach would clench and my whole body would react, telling me in no uncertain terms: Cheese is WRONG! What happened during the surgery? I have no idea, neither does my neurosurgeon. Something changed and I have a complete reaction, emphatically informing my entire being that eating cheese is WRONG!
I can still remember how I loved cheese, just like I remember my love of running. I see commercials or cooking shows, displaying food with hot, melty cheese. Initially I think, yum! I want that. Then my brain registers what it is I’m thinking about and that’s it. No cheese for me. Life is change but this is one change I never, ever expected. I miss cheese.
So, cheese is just another nail in the coffin of what stroke took from me. But this is a resurrection narrative. First and foremost, I’m still here, writing (or complaining) about my changes. For that I am tremendously grateful. Secondly, the changes have steered me in some different directions. Instead of running outside, music blaring in my headphones, concentrating on the next mile, I am walking. I am listening to the birds and sounds of nature. I stop to appreciate flowers or other beautiful parts of nature. I even have the time to take pictures and have discovered a love for photography. And now, new foods.
Previously, my menu was always guided about how much cheese I could have in a meal. Without cheese (and a lack of sense of taste) I have discovered a whole new world of dishes I may not have previously tried. I love spicy Mexican, Middle Eastern and East Indian foods. Recently I tried sushi and discovered how much I love it, especially the pickled ginger. All these foods offer many cheese-less items, filled with spices that I can taste.
Along with all these new flavours, my new diet might be a little healthier too. Instead of an ooey gooey four cheese pizza, I’m enjoying a cheese-less pizza, topped with tomato sauce, loads of sautéed vegetables and a generous dose of hot pickled peppers. (And you can order pizza without the cheese!)
As I’ve said many times before: Life is change. The only thing we have control of is our reaction and subsequent choices to what life throws our way; it’s a constant readjustment to our surroundings. Compared to surviving strokes and brain surgery, not being able to eat cheese is pretty far down the ladder of importance. I may miss it, but I’m adjusting. And I’m choosing to find enjoyment, maybe even adventure, in discovering other foods that are becoming favourites.
And my brain agrees with my new food quests, as long as it stays cheese-less!
The biggest surprise is cheese. Yes, cheese. The day before my brain surgery, my husband made me hot, yummy cheese melts for lunch and my son made a favourite pasta with tomatoes and lots of cheese for supper. We had family nicknames for each other and mine was Mouse for all the cheese I ate.
Cheddar, Mozzarella, Feta, Gouda, Havarti, even a Greek specialty of fried cheese flambeed with Ouzo, called Saganaki. Almost any type of cheese, I ate it, daily. We went though blocks of cheese every week. Several days after brain surgery, cheese had no appeal. At first, I thought it was just the aftereffects of surgery, but no.
As time went on, my reaction to eating cheese grew. My go to for most meals was cheese but now, when I took a bite, my stomach would clench and my whole body would react, telling me in no uncertain terms: Cheese is WRONG! What happened during the surgery? I have no idea, neither does my neurosurgeon. Something changed and I have a complete reaction, emphatically informing my entire being that eating cheese is WRONG!
I can still remember how I loved cheese, just like I remember my love of running. I see commercials or cooking shows, displaying food with hot, melty cheese. Initially I think, yum! I want that. Then my brain registers what it is I’m thinking about and that’s it. No cheese for me. Life is change but this is one change I never, ever expected. I miss cheese.
So, cheese is just another nail in the coffin of what stroke took from me. But this is a resurrection narrative. First and foremost, I’m still here, writing (or complaining) about my changes. For that I am tremendously grateful. Secondly, the changes have steered me in some different directions. Instead of running outside, music blaring in my headphones, concentrating on the next mile, I am walking. I am listening to the birds and sounds of nature. I stop to appreciate flowers or other beautiful parts of nature. I even have the time to take pictures and have discovered a love for photography. And now, new foods.
Previously, my menu was always guided about how much cheese I could have in a meal. Without cheese (and a lack of sense of taste) I have discovered a whole new world of dishes I may not have previously tried. I love spicy Mexican, Middle Eastern and East Indian foods. Recently I tried sushi and discovered how much I love it, especially the pickled ginger. All these foods offer many cheese-less items, filled with spices that I can taste.
Along with all these new flavours, my new diet might be a little healthier too. Instead of an ooey gooey four cheese pizza, I’m enjoying a cheese-less pizza, topped with tomato sauce, loads of sautéed vegetables and a generous dose of hot pickled peppers. (And you can order pizza without the cheese!)
As I’ve said many times before: Life is change. The only thing we have control of is our reaction and subsequent choices to what life throws our way; it’s a constant readjustment to our surroundings. Compared to surviving strokes and brain surgery, not being able to eat cheese is pretty far down the ladder of importance. I may miss it, but I’m adjusting. And I’m choosing to find enjoyment, maybe even adventure, in discovering other foods that are becoming favourites.
And my brain agrees with my new food quests, as long as it stays cheese-less!
My New ALIVE Day! June 2022
I’m ALIVE!
Every day you wake up to greet a new day is a great ALIVE day. The origin of ALIVE Days is military in nature, for veterans who survive combat, it’s a celebration of their survival and has been adopted by stroke survivors as well. I wrote about ALIVE Days last year on my “strokeversary”, the date I survived my first stroke. I never, ever could have imagined that just a month after I wrote about celebrating the anniversary of surviving my first stroke, I would have another hemorrhagic stroke. It left me with even more challenges and plenty of worry.
To combat the newest stroke, I had brain surgery. I wrote about it in a previous Mindful Musing. (You can scroll down to read: It's Been Awhile, October 2021). It also changed my “strokeversary”. My new ALIVE day is June 29. The day I survived brain surgery and had the malformation removed from my brain! It’s a dual celebration.
I’m not planning a big party or anything, but I will be celebrating that I have a new ALIVE Day. There is so much for me to be thankful for. While I was still in the hospital last summer, I was desperate for some type of release from the emotional chaos of recovery. I couldn’t believe I had survived my stroke and my surgery. And despite various deficits, I could still think.
To help me manage, I needed the cathartic effect of putting my thoughts onto paper, even though I could barely hold a pen. The words needed to be liberated from my brain, so I tried. It took lots of time, and plenty of effort but it was great therapy. I was able to tune out the chaos of hospital life and put pen to paper. After deciphering my scrawls, I’ve decided it will be included in the new memoir I’m writing about my journey, but I want to share it now, with all of you. So much has happened since that first stroke…
Please read my thoughts below:
Phone calls with loved ones, caring, compassionate texts and messages, help from an aide to straighten my blankets. So much kindness. Everyone’s love and care protects and envelopes me; like a warm, soft cloak wrapped around my shoulders, keeping out the worst of the raging winter blizzard. It’s woven with love, strength, prayers, and positive energy. With my cloak of care firmly in place I can heal. I can move forward, do what I need to do and be who I need to be.
People are so kind in their words, so generous in their support and actions. It surrounds me and reaches in, touching my soul. There is no choice. With so much love I can’t help but improve and get better. I must try my hardest, give it my all. One step at a time, to get stronger and gain back my independence just so I have an opportunity to give back to all these amazing people. To have a chance to pay it forward to anyone who needs a smile, a helping hand, a prayer, or a candle lit for them.
It's a choice that’s really not a choice. It’s like a cherished, healthy baby; thriving, loved, well cared for. They don’t make a choice when they start to sit up, roll over, crawl, walk. It’s just the way it is. The natural succession of growing and learning. Some take to it faster than others, but they are milestones achieved by most.
That’s me; it’s just the way it is. Soon I’ll be sitting, then standing, then walking again with my cloak of love and support helping me every step of the way. My success belongs to all who have helped to weave the fabric. I know I am not alone. I am forever grateful. I want to succeed to a place where I can have the honour of being a thread in someone else’s cloak.
Thank you to all who were there for me so I can celebrate my new ALIVE Day and have a chance to give back!
Every day you wake up to greet a new day is a great ALIVE day. The origin of ALIVE Days is military in nature, for veterans who survive combat, it’s a celebration of their survival and has been adopted by stroke survivors as well. I wrote about ALIVE Days last year on my “strokeversary”, the date I survived my first stroke. I never, ever could have imagined that just a month after I wrote about celebrating the anniversary of surviving my first stroke, I would have another hemorrhagic stroke. It left me with even more challenges and plenty of worry.
To combat the newest stroke, I had brain surgery. I wrote about it in a previous Mindful Musing. (You can scroll down to read: It's Been Awhile, October 2021). It also changed my “strokeversary”. My new ALIVE day is June 29. The day I survived brain surgery and had the malformation removed from my brain! It’s a dual celebration.
I’m not planning a big party or anything, but I will be celebrating that I have a new ALIVE Day. There is so much for me to be thankful for. While I was still in the hospital last summer, I was desperate for some type of release from the emotional chaos of recovery. I couldn’t believe I had survived my stroke and my surgery. And despite various deficits, I could still think.
To help me manage, I needed the cathartic effect of putting my thoughts onto paper, even though I could barely hold a pen. The words needed to be liberated from my brain, so I tried. It took lots of time, and plenty of effort but it was great therapy. I was able to tune out the chaos of hospital life and put pen to paper. After deciphering my scrawls, I’ve decided it will be included in the new memoir I’m writing about my journey, but I want to share it now, with all of you. So much has happened since that first stroke…
Please read my thoughts below:
Phone calls with loved ones, caring, compassionate texts and messages, help from an aide to straighten my blankets. So much kindness. Everyone’s love and care protects and envelopes me; like a warm, soft cloak wrapped around my shoulders, keeping out the worst of the raging winter blizzard. It’s woven with love, strength, prayers, and positive energy. With my cloak of care firmly in place I can heal. I can move forward, do what I need to do and be who I need to be.
People are so kind in their words, so generous in their support and actions. It surrounds me and reaches in, touching my soul. There is no choice. With so much love I can’t help but improve and get better. I must try my hardest, give it my all. One step at a time, to get stronger and gain back my independence just so I have an opportunity to give back to all these amazing people. To have a chance to pay it forward to anyone who needs a smile, a helping hand, a prayer, or a candle lit for them.
It's a choice that’s really not a choice. It’s like a cherished, healthy baby; thriving, loved, well cared for. They don’t make a choice when they start to sit up, roll over, crawl, walk. It’s just the way it is. The natural succession of growing and learning. Some take to it faster than others, but they are milestones achieved by most.
That’s me; it’s just the way it is. Soon I’ll be sitting, then standing, then walking again with my cloak of love and support helping me every step of the way. My success belongs to all who have helped to weave the fabric. I know I am not alone. I am forever grateful. I want to succeed to a place where I can have the honour of being a thread in someone else’s cloak.
Thank you to all who were there for me so I can celebrate my new ALIVE Day and have a chance to give back!
Plans Are Made To Be Changed! May 2022
Life is all about change. I have written about this topic several times. My life has had some major, unexpected changes. But that’s life, it’s unpredictable and tomorrow’s plans can suddenly be turned upside down. Just the other week, spring turned into a blizzard, complete with six inches of fresh snow.
I had another recent disruption in what I thought were well laid plans. I am blessed to have two wonderful, older sisters. I know they are always watching out for me and have been there for me, literally, my entire life. I’ve learned a lot of life lessons from these two wonderful siblings of mine. I shared some wisdom from my middle sister in a previous newsletter, on visualization. (scroll down to January to read it)
My eldest sister will soon be celebrating a milestone birthday. My goal was to be there in person, to help her rejoice the gift of another year. My eldest sister has a passion for life. She is ready to laugh, try anything new, and join in any suggested adventure. Logistics that would bog down most people do not bother her. She always has faith that it will work out. I get tired just thinking about all she tries to fit into one day. She lives her life to the fullest, just as she wants to.
With her smile and ability to laugh at anything, including herself, some people have described her as a breath of fresh air. She is always sending me messages that are inspirational or provide a good chuckle. Ten years ago, I had the opportunity to be at another milestone birthday of hers. I was a very different person back then. It was no problem to work fulltime, hop on a plane for the weekend (did I mention she lives over 3,000 kilometers away) and be back at work on Monday.
Things have changed for me, more significantly since my latest stroke last June. With memories of my old self and trying to manage my new normal, my husband and I started planning to be there for this birthday. There seemed to be multiple roadblocks popping up. We tried to mitigate each one, thinking we could make it work. Was the universe trying to tell me something? I wasn’t listening.
I was pushing myself, determined to be there for the birthday celebration. Then I got sick. Stroke already presents me with enough challenges daily that anything extra really brings me down. I was struggling with my health. My mom suggested I needed a wheelchair at the airport, not just my walker.
The universe kept sending signs that maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Less than a year ago I had undergone major brain surgery. I was still being monitored by my neurosurgeon. I can’t even stand to have my shower. Suddenly, the signs became clear, and I finally read them. I was rushing things.
Life is unpredictable. Plans are developed only to be altered. Nothing is so uncertain as a dead sure thing, or so the saying goes. I wanted to be part of the festivity, to be there with all my family. But I needed to temper that with common sense and respect to my own health. I will be there, just not on the expected date. We will celebrate, another time.
Stroke has taught me many things but learning to go with the flow and listen to what my body is telling me is paramount. Even now I sometimes get confused between my old self and my new normal, thinking I can still do the things I use to. Telling myself I needed to be at the party and there for my sister is a prime example.
Luckily, I recognized my reality before I pushed myself too far. Even my sister was starting to have some concerns. I may have been worried about delaying my visit, but she immediately quelled my qualms, blowing away my doubts over disappointing her.
When the time is right, I will be there. We are all learning that plans are made to be changed. As one of my old co-workers always said, “Just go with the flow.” I am grateful that I was even able to consider going. Recovery is a slow a process, so is getting use to my new normal. By being flexible I can enjoy life to the fullest of my new abilities. With having sisters that understand my new normal, often better than I do, I can truly embrace the new me!
I had another recent disruption in what I thought were well laid plans. I am blessed to have two wonderful, older sisters. I know they are always watching out for me and have been there for me, literally, my entire life. I’ve learned a lot of life lessons from these two wonderful siblings of mine. I shared some wisdom from my middle sister in a previous newsletter, on visualization. (scroll down to January to read it)
My eldest sister will soon be celebrating a milestone birthday. My goal was to be there in person, to help her rejoice the gift of another year. My eldest sister has a passion for life. She is ready to laugh, try anything new, and join in any suggested adventure. Logistics that would bog down most people do not bother her. She always has faith that it will work out. I get tired just thinking about all she tries to fit into one day. She lives her life to the fullest, just as she wants to.
With her smile and ability to laugh at anything, including herself, some people have described her as a breath of fresh air. She is always sending me messages that are inspirational or provide a good chuckle. Ten years ago, I had the opportunity to be at another milestone birthday of hers. I was a very different person back then. It was no problem to work fulltime, hop on a plane for the weekend (did I mention she lives over 3,000 kilometers away) and be back at work on Monday.
Things have changed for me, more significantly since my latest stroke last June. With memories of my old self and trying to manage my new normal, my husband and I started planning to be there for this birthday. There seemed to be multiple roadblocks popping up. We tried to mitigate each one, thinking we could make it work. Was the universe trying to tell me something? I wasn’t listening.
I was pushing myself, determined to be there for the birthday celebration. Then I got sick. Stroke already presents me with enough challenges daily that anything extra really brings me down. I was struggling with my health. My mom suggested I needed a wheelchair at the airport, not just my walker.
The universe kept sending signs that maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Less than a year ago I had undergone major brain surgery. I was still being monitored by my neurosurgeon. I can’t even stand to have my shower. Suddenly, the signs became clear, and I finally read them. I was rushing things.
Life is unpredictable. Plans are developed only to be altered. Nothing is so uncertain as a dead sure thing, or so the saying goes. I wanted to be part of the festivity, to be there with all my family. But I needed to temper that with common sense and respect to my own health. I will be there, just not on the expected date. We will celebrate, another time.
Stroke has taught me many things but learning to go with the flow and listen to what my body is telling me is paramount. Even now I sometimes get confused between my old self and my new normal, thinking I can still do the things I use to. Telling myself I needed to be at the party and there for my sister is a prime example.
Luckily, I recognized my reality before I pushed myself too far. Even my sister was starting to have some concerns. I may have been worried about delaying my visit, but she immediately quelled my qualms, blowing away my doubts over disappointing her.
When the time is right, I will be there. We are all learning that plans are made to be changed. As one of my old co-workers always said, “Just go with the flow.” I am grateful that I was even able to consider going. Recovery is a slow a process, so is getting use to my new normal. By being flexible I can enjoy life to the fullest of my new abilities. With having sisters that understand my new normal, often better than I do, I can truly embrace the new me!
In the Cookies of Life,
Sisters are the Chocolate chips |
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Nothing Ever Gets So Bad... March 2022
Nothing ever gets so bad it can’t get worse. This statement seems to be the epitome of a pessimist’s personality. True? Maybe not.
I must admit, my mother is the one who introduced me to this idiom. Yes, my mother. Initially, I thought she must be the president of the naysayer’s club but then something interesting happened. I took the time to think about it. It was while I was in the hospital, after brain surgery. I recalled my mother’s saying and that’s when it hit me.
Things were bad but they could have been much worse. I was actually really lucky. Sure, I was going through some pretty tough and scary times but, I was alive. I could think, I could talk, and I had amazing people, giving me unending love and support. Some of my fellow patients were not so lucky.
When I was at, what I thought my worst, I looked around at all the things happening in the hospital and realized I was surrounded by so much good fortune; from my caring nurses to the expertise of my surgeon, and all the wonderful people sending prayers for my recovery. In examining this seemingly negative, cynical phrase I discovered a statement full of hope and gratitude.
Let me explain: We all have bad days and bad luck. When things seem to be going against you, recall this phrase. A peculiar thing starts to happen. You start to feel grateful that it’s not worse. By embracing your misfortune, you can take a step forward toward better times. You realize it hasn’t gotten that bad, if it had, things couldn’t get worse. If things can get worse, they’re not that bad. It’s a loop that directs your thoughts back to a place where you can manage your problems.
I finally recognize the wisdom in my mother’s assertion. She led me down the path of my own self-discovery to accept the bad that happens and appreciate that it’s not worse. It’s a starting point to make my life better and find my own happiness. It helps me to take charge of my “bad” situation and make it better. I know I’m not starting at the bottom because it could have been worse. I’m already on the staircase of recovery.
It's amazing how a little reflection can bring about so much insight. What I had thought was a simple pessimistic statement has ended up being one of my favourite sayings, filling my days with promise and appreciation. It turns out mother really does know best.
Thank you, Mom.
I must admit, my mother is the one who introduced me to this idiom. Yes, my mother. Initially, I thought she must be the president of the naysayer’s club but then something interesting happened. I took the time to think about it. It was while I was in the hospital, after brain surgery. I recalled my mother’s saying and that’s when it hit me.
Things were bad but they could have been much worse. I was actually really lucky. Sure, I was going through some pretty tough and scary times but, I was alive. I could think, I could talk, and I had amazing people, giving me unending love and support. Some of my fellow patients were not so lucky.
When I was at, what I thought my worst, I looked around at all the things happening in the hospital and realized I was surrounded by so much good fortune; from my caring nurses to the expertise of my surgeon, and all the wonderful people sending prayers for my recovery. In examining this seemingly negative, cynical phrase I discovered a statement full of hope and gratitude.
Let me explain: We all have bad days and bad luck. When things seem to be going against you, recall this phrase. A peculiar thing starts to happen. You start to feel grateful that it’s not worse. By embracing your misfortune, you can take a step forward toward better times. You realize it hasn’t gotten that bad, if it had, things couldn’t get worse. If things can get worse, they’re not that bad. It’s a loop that directs your thoughts back to a place where you can manage your problems.
I finally recognize the wisdom in my mother’s assertion. She led me down the path of my own self-discovery to accept the bad that happens and appreciate that it’s not worse. It’s a starting point to make my life better and find my own happiness. It helps me to take charge of my “bad” situation and make it better. I know I’m not starting at the bottom because it could have been worse. I’m already on the staircase of recovery.
It's amazing how a little reflection can bring about so much insight. What I had thought was a simple pessimistic statement has ended up being one of my favourite sayings, filling my days with promise and appreciation. It turns out mother really does know best.
Thank you, Mom.
The Power of Visualizing: January 2022
As promised, here are my thoughts on a technique I recently learned. This technique really helped me get through my stroke, brain surgery and recovery in the hospital. I still use it today, in many aspects of my life. Facing brain surgery was one of the scariest moments of my life. It was offered as a choice but really it wasn’t. If I wanted to improve my health and lower my risk of another, potentially worse hemorrhagic stroke, I had to have it.
To help make this monumental decision my husband, Ken, and I talked with one of my sisters. We had already talked at length with the neurosurgeon, getting all the necessary information. My sister was a nurse practitioner and had worked specifically in neurology and stroke. After sharing the information, she let us in on a technique that helped us immensely.
VISUALIZATION
Visualization is a method of looking ahead into your future and visualizing your desired outcome. It helps to create your dream and then pursue it with confidence. It is a technique that has been used successfully by athletes, entrepreneurs, and me, someone wanting to survive and recover from stroke and brain surgery.
My sister first explained, in more detail, the medical side of the operation. Then she went on to impart her wise words; “don’t focus on the operation or being in ICU. Focus on what your life will be like in 3 months. Think about life with the malformation gone. Think about living with reduced risk of another stroke. Focus on the good things and the good things will come.”
I started thinking about life after the surgery. I started thinking about how I wanted it to look and what I wanted to do. It gave me the strength to face the surgery head on. I knew it would be difficult but by looking ahead to when it would be better, it was better. It was a powerful tool to manage those first few days when every minute hurt.
Soon after my surgery it was discovered that I wasn’t able to walk. By visualizing my future in three months, I knew I’d be okay. I wouldn’t even contemplate the thought of not being able to walk again. Instead, I saw myself walking and started breaking down my future dream into small, manageable goals. And I knew I didn’t have to do it alone. With my husband, the doctors, and therapists I slowly moved ahead, literally one step at a time.
Together we celebrated each small success, from learning how to maneuver my own wheelchair to being able to stand again. Visualization let me see my dreams for recovery, laced with hope and hard work. The dream gave me the tools to set achievable goals. With visualizing where I wanted to be I never once lamented over where I was or what I couldn’t do. It was only a matter of time, persistence and “Never Give Up” attitude.
Visualization activated my subconscious, making it easier to set goals and recognize what I needed, step by step. By visualizing my dream, I attracted the people and resources required to achieve my goals. Lastly, it built and sustained my motivation. I was going to walk again, no question!
And I am, my dream achieved. I still use a walker or hiking poles, but I’m walking. Dreams sometimes need to be adjusted. Ultimately, I would like to walk independently but I’m thrilled with where I’m at. Recently I took our dog, Arthur, for a walk by myself. Just me, my walker and Arthur. I’m a survivor!
My future is filled with hope for better things to come. By visualizing what I want, my recovery will never stop. Most importantly, I can continue to give back and try to help others. Visualization is so valuable in helping our dreams come true, whether in everyday life or facing life altering events. What does your future look like?
To help make this monumental decision my husband, Ken, and I talked with one of my sisters. We had already talked at length with the neurosurgeon, getting all the necessary information. My sister was a nurse practitioner and had worked specifically in neurology and stroke. After sharing the information, she let us in on a technique that helped us immensely.
VISUALIZATION
Visualization is a method of looking ahead into your future and visualizing your desired outcome. It helps to create your dream and then pursue it with confidence. It is a technique that has been used successfully by athletes, entrepreneurs, and me, someone wanting to survive and recover from stroke and brain surgery.
My sister first explained, in more detail, the medical side of the operation. Then she went on to impart her wise words; “don’t focus on the operation or being in ICU. Focus on what your life will be like in 3 months. Think about life with the malformation gone. Think about living with reduced risk of another stroke. Focus on the good things and the good things will come.”
I started thinking about life after the surgery. I started thinking about how I wanted it to look and what I wanted to do. It gave me the strength to face the surgery head on. I knew it would be difficult but by looking ahead to when it would be better, it was better. It was a powerful tool to manage those first few days when every minute hurt.
Soon after my surgery it was discovered that I wasn’t able to walk. By visualizing my future in three months, I knew I’d be okay. I wouldn’t even contemplate the thought of not being able to walk again. Instead, I saw myself walking and started breaking down my future dream into small, manageable goals. And I knew I didn’t have to do it alone. With my husband, the doctors, and therapists I slowly moved ahead, literally one step at a time.
Together we celebrated each small success, from learning how to maneuver my own wheelchair to being able to stand again. Visualization let me see my dreams for recovery, laced with hope and hard work. The dream gave me the tools to set achievable goals. With visualizing where I wanted to be I never once lamented over where I was or what I couldn’t do. It was only a matter of time, persistence and “Never Give Up” attitude.
Visualization activated my subconscious, making it easier to set goals and recognize what I needed, step by step. By visualizing my dream, I attracted the people and resources required to achieve my goals. Lastly, it built and sustained my motivation. I was going to walk again, no question!
And I am, my dream achieved. I still use a walker or hiking poles, but I’m walking. Dreams sometimes need to be adjusted. Ultimately, I would like to walk independently but I’m thrilled with where I’m at. Recently I took our dog, Arthur, for a walk by myself. Just me, my walker and Arthur. I’m a survivor!
My future is filled with hope for better things to come. By visualizing what I want, my recovery will never stop. Most importantly, I can continue to give back and try to help others. Visualization is so valuable in helping our dreams come true, whether in everyday life or facing life altering events. What does your future look like?
Let's Skip the Traditions: December 2021
Christmas; a time for traditions and family gatherings. There’s a comfort in the same old songs, decorations, even food, with recipes handed down from generations. But life is change. We can’t remain static. Sometimes, with substantial change, those time-honoured traditions are just too difficult.
That’s how I am feeling about this Christmas. I was creating a lot of stress for myself, trying to make a traditional Christmas work for everyone I care about. I am still recovering from another stroke and brain surgery, mixed in with worry for others. My self-made stress was exacerbating my symptoms and impeding my healing. Then, when I felt like I was just about to fall off the edge, I had an epiphany, (with wise words from both my sisters).
Christmas is just a date. It’s the feelings, the love, how you treat others – how you treat yourself, that truly matters. If things need to be different, that’s okay. No one is judging me. The people who care about me know my challenges and want to help. I need to let go of my own expectations of how I think it should be.
I was caught in a trap of my own design, but one I am all too familiar with; my deep-seated practice of taking on too much. You’d think by now I would have learned. But old habits die hard, and they keep whispering in my ear, “You’re the only one who can do it all.” I have improved, a lot in fact, but Mephistopheles still sits on my shoulder, tempting me to feel responsible for everyone and everything.
Through experience, surviving 3 strokes and brain surgery, I am altering my behaviour. Christmas is looking different this year. The actual date, celebrating the birth of Christ, is up for debate. If historians and scholars cannot say with alacrity what day Jesus was born, why do I have to adhere to a certain date? The answer is, I don’t.
To manage my own health and recovery, my family’s needs, and an ongoing pandemic, we’re doing things different. I’m embracing the change. It’s almost like a breath of fresh air, letting go of all the expected practices. I haven’t forgotten them, and may do them once again, we’ll see. So much in my life has changed, holding onto past expectations is too hard. Love, kindness, and an abundance of gratitude, that’s what counts. It’s not what type of food, the same decorations or even the songs, it’s our behaviour; how we treat each other, and ourselves.
I’m not lacking Christmas spirit. The opposite is true. I want that Christmas spirit all year long, not just one or two days, without the need for keeping up traditions. I’ve been granted yet another chance of life. Maybe that’s spilling over, turning the usual into something new. Or maybe all that other stuff is just noise and I want to focus on what really matters.
I’m learning that it’s alright to let go of the past as I get used to my newest normal. Every day is important, tomorrow is not promised. I’m not letting the pressure of keeping up traditions take away from spending time with the people I love. It’s like the Who’s in Whoville. The Grinch took away all their usual Christmas celebrations, but it didn’t change the Who’s feelings for the season. To quote the book, “Christmas will always be just as long as we have, we.”
I’m so thankful for everyone who make me a “we”. This is just one more lesson I have learned, and wanted to share, while riding the roller coaster of life. Christmas doesn’t come in a box, nor is it about the traditions. Every day we can “Welcome Christmas - While we stand heart to heart and hand in hand.”
That’s how I am feeling about this Christmas. I was creating a lot of stress for myself, trying to make a traditional Christmas work for everyone I care about. I am still recovering from another stroke and brain surgery, mixed in with worry for others. My self-made stress was exacerbating my symptoms and impeding my healing. Then, when I felt like I was just about to fall off the edge, I had an epiphany, (with wise words from both my sisters).
Christmas is just a date. It’s the feelings, the love, how you treat others – how you treat yourself, that truly matters. If things need to be different, that’s okay. No one is judging me. The people who care about me know my challenges and want to help. I need to let go of my own expectations of how I think it should be.
I was caught in a trap of my own design, but one I am all too familiar with; my deep-seated practice of taking on too much. You’d think by now I would have learned. But old habits die hard, and they keep whispering in my ear, “You’re the only one who can do it all.” I have improved, a lot in fact, but Mephistopheles still sits on my shoulder, tempting me to feel responsible for everyone and everything.
Through experience, surviving 3 strokes and brain surgery, I am altering my behaviour. Christmas is looking different this year. The actual date, celebrating the birth of Christ, is up for debate. If historians and scholars cannot say with alacrity what day Jesus was born, why do I have to adhere to a certain date? The answer is, I don’t.
To manage my own health and recovery, my family’s needs, and an ongoing pandemic, we’re doing things different. I’m embracing the change. It’s almost like a breath of fresh air, letting go of all the expected practices. I haven’t forgotten them, and may do them once again, we’ll see. So much in my life has changed, holding onto past expectations is too hard. Love, kindness, and an abundance of gratitude, that’s what counts. It’s not what type of food, the same decorations or even the songs, it’s our behaviour; how we treat each other, and ourselves.
I’m not lacking Christmas spirit. The opposite is true. I want that Christmas spirit all year long, not just one or two days, without the need for keeping up traditions. I’ve been granted yet another chance of life. Maybe that’s spilling over, turning the usual into something new. Or maybe all that other stuff is just noise and I want to focus on what really matters.
I’m learning that it’s alright to let go of the past as I get used to my newest normal. Every day is important, tomorrow is not promised. I’m not letting the pressure of keeping up traditions take away from spending time with the people I love. It’s like the Who’s in Whoville. The Grinch took away all their usual Christmas celebrations, but it didn’t change the Who’s feelings for the season. To quote the book, “Christmas will always be just as long as we have, we.”
I’m so thankful for everyone who make me a “we”. This is just one more lesson I have learned, and wanted to share, while riding the roller coaster of life. Christmas doesn’t come in a box, nor is it about the traditions. Every day we can “Welcome Christmas - While we stand heart to heart and hand in hand.”
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I promised to talk about some of the sage advice I received before my brain surgery but this seemed more timely and on my mind to muse upon! Next time for sure, I will share some of the wisdom I learned and used that helped me get through. |
Its been awhile: October 2021
Greetings 7 Jars Friends! I’ve missed you all, I haven’t written a newsletter since May. I have so much to share, my rollercoaster life having a few loops de loop of late. I was just getting ready to write June’s newsletter when stroke struck again!
Yes, I had another bleed, causing another stroke. There was no clear reason why, it just did. Another adage I’ve often used, sometimes bad things happen to good people. The bleed was significant but as in the past, it was in an area considered inoperable. I had returned to the starting line of recovery instead of the comfortable middle of the marathon where I had been just the previous week.
Neither Ken, my husband, nor I really comprehended the seriousness of this newest stroke. Unfortunately, it was familiar territory. It was bad, to be sure, but manageable – been there, done that. But then we spoke with my neurosurgeon. This bleed was bigger than the one that had caused my first stroke. Luckily it had bled mostly into my fourth ventricle, a cerebral spinal filled cavity within the brain. If the blood had gone elsewhere…the doctor let those words hang.
We were dumbfounded. But wait! There was a gift within this calamity. The bigger bleed had pushed the cavernous malformation out a little. The doctor now felt it could be reached and removed successfully through surgery. The opportunity in the challenge, as I am so fond of saying. The threat was now turned on its head with leaving it being riskier than the surgery.
Having surgery was disguised as a choice, but it really wasn’t. It’s like a woman in labour suddenly deciding she’s not ready to give birth. We think we are in control but as with so many things in life, we are not; we’re only in control of our response. With the love and support of those close to me, I responded the only way I could, with hope for a better future. I could not live with the risk anymore. I had to take down the sword hanging over my head, now by only a wispy strand of thread. Surgery it was – in FIVE days!
The preparation for surgery was overwhelming but thankfully I had the support of my family, friends and doctors. Together we navigated through physical exams, blood work, consent forms, and numerous phone calls. I could not imagine managing this on my own. The support that everyone freely gave wrapped me in cloak of comfort and care, a treasure beyond measure.
As you may have guessed the surgery was a success. There are still many miles on the road of recovery, but I am grateful to be continuing my journey, managing each detour while ensuring I have plenty of rest stops. My family and friends continue to surround me with kindness, their support endless even after so long. I owe it to each one of them to continue giving it my best during my healing in hopes that one day I can be part of someone else’s cloak in their time of need.
Yes, I had another bleed, causing another stroke. There was no clear reason why, it just did. Another adage I’ve often used, sometimes bad things happen to good people. The bleed was significant but as in the past, it was in an area considered inoperable. I had returned to the starting line of recovery instead of the comfortable middle of the marathon where I had been just the previous week.
Neither Ken, my husband, nor I really comprehended the seriousness of this newest stroke. Unfortunately, it was familiar territory. It was bad, to be sure, but manageable – been there, done that. But then we spoke with my neurosurgeon. This bleed was bigger than the one that had caused my first stroke. Luckily it had bled mostly into my fourth ventricle, a cerebral spinal filled cavity within the brain. If the blood had gone elsewhere…the doctor let those words hang.
We were dumbfounded. But wait! There was a gift within this calamity. The bigger bleed had pushed the cavernous malformation out a little. The doctor now felt it could be reached and removed successfully through surgery. The opportunity in the challenge, as I am so fond of saying. The threat was now turned on its head with leaving it being riskier than the surgery.
Having surgery was disguised as a choice, but it really wasn’t. It’s like a woman in labour suddenly deciding she’s not ready to give birth. We think we are in control but as with so many things in life, we are not; we’re only in control of our response. With the love and support of those close to me, I responded the only way I could, with hope for a better future. I could not live with the risk anymore. I had to take down the sword hanging over my head, now by only a wispy strand of thread. Surgery it was – in FIVE days!
The preparation for surgery was overwhelming but thankfully I had the support of my family, friends and doctors. Together we navigated through physical exams, blood work, consent forms, and numerous phone calls. I could not imagine managing this on my own. The support that everyone freely gave wrapped me in cloak of comfort and care, a treasure beyond measure.
As you may have guessed the surgery was a success. There are still many miles on the road of recovery, but I am grateful to be continuing my journey, managing each detour while ensuring I have plenty of rest stops. My family and friends continue to surround me with kindness, their support endless even after so long. I owe it to each one of them to continue giving it my best during my healing in hopes that one day I can be part of someone else’s cloak in their time of need.
