It's no secret that waking up paralysed makes one suddenly realize how much we take for granted. Apparently what I have is considered a form of paralysis. For about 3 weeks now I've been telling everyone "no, I'm not paralyzed I just can't really move." Um duh, Gellie. It wasn't until I saw a copy of my off work order that read "hemiparesis" that the light bulb went off. I'm paralysed.
Sure I'm gaining movement. I'm no Christopher Reeves but its slowly sinking in I'm the "D" word. I can move my arm - not with ease, but I can move it. I can make a fist - not to hold anything, but I can sort of clench it. I can't walk, but I can move my leg. I can stand with a walker and take very wobbly steps. Still wheelchair-bound for the most part. So that's the obvious. Those are things that scare us: not walking, writing, brushing teeth with the hand you're meant to. But what doesn't occur to you until you've lost these abilities is all the other little things taken from you.
For the past 22dys a whole team of people have been putting my things away for me, drying my hair, moving my phone charger to a "logical" place, and you know what? It blows. They put my shit where I can't reach it and don't dry my hair right so it wets my back so I can't slip on a sports bra because it bunches up and sticks to my skin which makes me short of breath which makes me dizzy so I have to stop what I'm doing even if a boob is still hanging out to catch my breath so I don't keel over. Right about the same time some unsuspecting nurse assistant waltzes in to check your blood sugar and feed you colorful meds that you don't even know the names of.
Ah hell. This wasn't supposed to be a rant. This may all sound trivial. But when this is every moment of everyday of your life you can't help but wonder when the fuck will I gain some autonomy over my own life again.
I can deal with watching local channels instead of cable, decaf instead of coffee which I learned the hard way makes me ill, and I've even learned to write with my left-hand. Not pretty or fast, but I can do it.
Funny. My carefree hippie self used to think that people who allowed themselves to be naked in front of others were so free. Now it feels like I won't be free until I can go a full 24hrs without someone seeing me naked.
Oh and salt. I must say that going 22dys with almost zero salt is enlightening. It has made me realize that I LOVE SALT! FOR FUCK'S SAKE, PASS THE DAMN SALT! Mrs. Dash can suck it. No really, this wasn't supposed to be a rant.