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.
