That has been the approximate length of time since my first stroke. That was the day my new normal began, that was the day the last high heel was worn, the last day my hand hung at my side and I could control it.
Two years, it seems unbelievable. I still fight each day to not wobnle or limp as I walk, to not have my hand curl or shake and have people wonder if I have cerebral palsy, was in a car accident or tried to overdose on drugs. The pitying looks have become common place and I try to keep up when sqdly the reality is I can’t.
My body had changed; I still hurt and I twitch and people don’tderstand why. I either can’t sleep fue to the nody pains otor my body shuts down, chronic fatigue.
I laugh at my antics and my falls. I have to laugh or I’d cry. I have gotten stuck in my closet, I have spilled food, I have stumbled and sometimes my words come out hilariouslu funny. I pray often and I do trust in my faith.
I don’t ask any longer to be the me from two years ago. She is a remembrance. I am who I am now. Still standing, still working on renewing and rebuilding myself.
Trying not to dwell on what once was but on what I am now and what I will become.
Am I happy I had two strokes–no, but I am blessed that I am alive, that I have a family who helps me. A husband who is my caregiver, pharmacist, chauffeur, and dresser.
I am blessed that I am loved by God and my family.
I played this song at church today, it seems apt–I’ll Praise You This Storm.