Time Passes, Slowly

Nearly three years on from the set of strokes that gave me brain damage, I don't know what I expected, but my life is not wonderful. Perhaps I thought I would have got better, faster but I haven't. I've been a lot more depressed, and consequently inert, than I thought I would be.

Looking back, I underestimated how debilitating the impairments I live with are. Individually, they don't seem that bad, but in combination they're frustrating. They are also binary: improvements are great and all, but the underlying problem still obtains. My vision has improved a little, but I still have double vision and oscillopsia, so my visual world is… bad.

Ataxia seems like it wouldn't be so terrible, but I can never just stand up, or just turn around, or even just walk down the street. I have to pay attention, I have to be conscious, and even then I can never be certain that my limbs won't betray me. Two and a half years ago, I thought I would be leaving my stick behind. I was wrong. It's an inconvenient necessity that is ever-present. The few times and please I leave it at the door are relished, but times of great care.

The tremor is laughable, but all-encompassing. Try only using your off hand for anything. Then imagine cutting an onion with a knife hand that shakes at random. It is quite tricky. I don't even bother thinking about the facial palsy, and speech impairment.

All of those things are improving, but it is taking such a long damn time that I find it quite tough, quite a lot of the time.

I seem to have no good news, although I am sure the slow, steady improvement is a good thing. From the inside it is exhaustingly slow, and utterly tedious.

So, if I shut up for a while, it's most likely because I am heartily fed up with being a shadow of my physical self, and just want to go play video games and not think about reality for the duration. I'll be back, probably just the same as before.