Today I am less modest. Because this dude walked! Still with tons of help, sure, but it was a HUGE improvement over yesterday. I was lifting my feet with the best of ‘em and all felt stable and safe. This new training regimen is a pain but it is having an effect.
All this joy makes me want to try harder. Does that mean I have not tried my best? Or is “training as hard as I can” a moving target that moves up with success?
How fitting that the sun is shining today.
When I was living in the hospital I was placed in a ward considered top ten worldwide for brain injury. It is likely then that the personnel had gotten the best education possible. Still, and somewhat surprisingly, they made tons of mistakes. One could see them thinking “this usually works”. The paradox, of course, was that there was no way for me to protest.
It seemed that the less one had read about caring for the brain injured, the better one was. More really was less. One nurse I think used her motherly instinct to make me feel calm. Doctors, on the other hand, always left me feeling more worried. And their general attitudes makes me want to puke. If pay was judged by how good seeing them felt, doctors and nurses should swap.
Getting to this position is no problem at all. Even with a heavy weight vest on. The problem is lifting a leg to take a step. It is like my feet are cemented to the floor.
Probably everybody has heard a retiree say “I have been so busy since I retired”. I think this is BS. They love not having anything to do, and they want to keep it that way. Like the people who say “money does not buy happiness” are all rich. Not to many starving children going through garbage would say that. The rich just do not want competition, so they make up some story about it being less than it is.
But somehow I can relate. Before my strokes I was working at least twelve hours per day. That is obviously gone. But still I can not find an idle moment. Relearning to walk takes time.
On my way to the dentist. This is the only time I am outside. My eyes are not used to the light. Pushing me is the driver. They are all sympathetic. With me is one of my assistants, my friend.
Today I went to a big (maybe the largest in Sweden) for some dental work. When there, I always feel relaxed and calm. I think now I know why. It is because nobody gives me a second glance. They are so used to people in wheelchairs that I am wholly uninteresting. They do not care about my story. Anyway, they have heard much worse. Outside of a hospital, I am the center of attention, the focus of everybody’s questions. Maybe it is good for my mental health to now and then be boring.
When I am not training or sleeping, this is where I will be. My computer treats me just like before the strokes; like an idiot. Sometimes my daughter builds and gives me a present. Those are the best days.
Although going from a coma & locked-in syndrome to this is a medical lucky roll of the dice, I would be hard pressed to say that what I feel now is better than then. When in a coma I felt absolutely nothing – now I think about the friends I am not seeing and how much training is left before I walk.
Oddly, this was the best time. I was totally out of it. My brain had just been operated on, and I had no idea of the suffering to come.
I have long argued that we as humans regulate the amount of pain we allow into our lives. We allow ourselves to buy that cup of coffee when we for the same money could feed a starving family in Africa for a week. Every day we prioritize own pleasure overs desperate needs.
The same is true with the positive. You know your best friend? Likely, there is somebody in this world you are even more compatible with. You just haven’t met them because you have stopped looking. Happy with what you have, you kick back, satisfied.
I was that person. And then my stroke thrust me into the open arms of people my laziness had previously hindered me from meeting. And it was a good experience. Sure, lots of morons but some real winners as well. Thank you, stroke, for breaking the ice with some winners.
My life is a late painting by Dali. Everything is so incredibly strange. Everyone can see that it is a bit off, but nobody but me knows how odd it feels. An example; I married the prettiest and smartest woman in the world. Pure luck, but I am fortunate to have her in my life. And today she changed my diaper. All I can do is laugh.
Just like when I see good surrealism. Trying to make sense of it is a losing game. Just laugh and enjoy.
I have little other choice.