Eight months and counting, and I am at something of a low ebb.
Physically, I can point to the progress I've made, which is consistent but slow. My eyes continue to improve, although I sometimes worry that I'm deluding myself; it's worth it to remember that it takes babies a good six months to get their eye musculature coordinated, and that my diplopia is unlikely to resolve faster than that. Stroke is making me patient.
Sadly, I've confirmed that I have an intention tremor in my right arm and hand. and to date there's been nothing much that western medicine could do about it. Acupuncture has been generally good, though, and I try to remain optimistic that the needles will beat the tremor. There are worse things to suffer, of course, and learning to be left-handed wouldn't be the end of the world.
My left face is still palsied, and my left eye doesn't shut on its own still, but both are improving. Again, slowly.
I don't understand why my blood pressure remains so high without medication; I've added a beta blocker to the mix to the other three pills that are there to manage my hypertension. It seems unreal that, when I am fitter and healthier than I have been in many years, something so primitive and fundamental is beyond my power to affect without medicine.
As I improve physically, though, the brutal reality of life comes on the horizon; to date my focus has been on recovery. It is hard to laugh when every positive sign is met with yet another failure. It's been days since I last fell over, and at least then I didn't hurt myself at all, but any time I'm feeling a bit more deft, I can expect to land on my ass soon enough.
Excellent as it has been to recover in Dorset, I miss New York keenly, more for the friends I haven't seen in so long than anything else.
This depression is no stranger, and even less a surprise now that I have brain damage. I know it will pass, and until then I just need to keep soldiering on towards recovery. Today, though, it feels like hard work.
Physically, I can point to the progress I've made, which is consistent but slow. My eyes continue to improve, although I sometimes worry that I'm deluding myself; it's worth it to remember that it takes babies a good six months to get their eye musculature coordinated, and that my diplopia is unlikely to resolve faster than that. Stroke is making me patient.
Sadly, I've confirmed that I have an intention tremor in my right arm and hand. and to date there's been nothing much that western medicine could do about it. Acupuncture has been generally good, though, and I try to remain optimistic that the needles will beat the tremor. There are worse things to suffer, of course, and learning to be left-handed wouldn't be the end of the world.
My left face is still palsied, and my left eye doesn't shut on its own still, but both are improving. Again, slowly.
I don't understand why my blood pressure remains so high without medication; I've added a beta blocker to the mix to the other three pills that are there to manage my hypertension. It seems unreal that, when I am fitter and healthier than I have been in many years, something so primitive and fundamental is beyond my power to affect without medicine.
As I improve physically, though, the brutal reality of life comes on the horizon; to date my focus has been on recovery. It is hard to laugh when every positive sign is met with yet another failure. It's been days since I last fell over, and at least then I didn't hurt myself at all, but any time I'm feeling a bit more deft, I can expect to land on my ass soon enough.
Excellent as it has been to recover in Dorset, I miss New York keenly, more for the friends I haven't seen in so long than anything else.
This depression is no stranger, and even less a surprise now that I have brain damage. I know it will pass, and until then I just need to keep soldiering on towards recovery. Today, though, it feels like hard work.
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