Fears…

Another OK day. Lots of walking, some enjoyable visiting at Tim’s with a group of men. A chance to read and cook. AND…a low blood pressure reading after lunch. For some reason, lately, by post-lunch BP readings have been higher than I like 130 over ?. Today – 111!  A small triumph. I only wish I understood how come this happens the way it does. Perhaps ten I could influence it.

As I walked today, I reflected on something I have noticed recently. In the past few years, I have been seen as the “go-to-retired guy” as far as Sunday supply was concerned, all over the Presbytery. I’ve lead worship in Lacombe. Rimbey, Red Deer – nearby and neighboring communities. Now, I fear that, because of my stroke, I will be “demoted,” no longer seen a s someone who can be counted on for support. I suppose what I fear of “Retirement” in the most practical sense.

I like being important in the way I have been. Little on-going responsibility, plenty of face-time with congregations, and gratitude that I was able and willing to be “there.” Having no role will be frightening for me…IS frightening for me. I suppose I will simply have to wait until my fear is either demonstrated in reality, or does not. At the moment, simple fears like this emerge to annoy me in the process of trying to return to a somewhat normal life. I find it hard to imagine myself as a useless old man, the object of concern and pity. Sigh…

Sobering…

Visited the Optometrist today to have my eyes checked. This was a mandatory requirement before I can have my driver’s license renewed. It was a tiring experience. It was clear to me that the stroke affected my vision in more ways than I had realized. My peripheral vision has narrowed, and my left eye is considerably weaker than my right eye.

An altogether sobering experience. It made me realize that, had the bleed gone further, I might be blind! As it is, my new glasses will cost me in excess of $1000.00 Once I see the doctor, she’ll fill out the appropriate medical form to re-instate my license. I got to wondering this afternoon if my license had been formally suspended, or if the doctor just told me not to drive. I realize that no one actually told me about this. I was in Tim’s at the time, and some R.C.M.P officers were having coffee near me, so I asked them what the protocol was. “Depends,” was the answer. If the doctor wrote to Motor Vehicle Branch to suspend my license, then, I would have license until the medical form went in. They suggested I go to the Registry office to check on the status of my license.

Dr. De Witt was pretty emphatic in ER that I should not drive…that I could not drive for three months. It wouldn’t surprise me if her acted on that. This isn’t a problem for me, unless the suspension were to lag over the time when I need to be able to drive Beatrix to Edmonton to hospital. I will check in when my next appointment is with Dr. Swartz.

It all gets pretty technical when you are in it. It’s only afterward that you…I… begin to ponder the impact of impaired vision. I remember how poor my father’s vision was after spending years in the dark underground.

So…another dimension of being brain injured is the “collateral damage” in my eyes. Sobering…

Anxiety again…

Anxiety again…only this time on the inside. After my experience with the Cable Guy, and my reflection on how anxiety producing that was for me, I became aware of other points of anxiety in my life at the moment.

As my general health improves, I am encouraged…tempted…to do more things, go faster, try harder. And as I go about this, my brain begins to caution me: “don’t raise your blood pressure…slow down…” This kind of inner rumination creates a very internal and personal kind of anxiety. “Is my blood pressure rising? Should I stop doing this? Am I about to stroke again?” I try to figure out if the way I am feeling internally could be a measure of rising or lowering blood pressure, with all that this measure means to me.

The other day I had a headache. Not a “sore head,” as I’ve mentioned previously, but a headache. It wasn’t too bad, but I haven’t had headaches for years. Of course, I began to worry about what it meant. Was my BP up? Was I in danger? Of course, this kind of inner rumination is itself a manifestation of anxiety, so I only make matters worse!

One occurrence that fed into this pattern was that, for two days hand running, my BP was quite high at the mid-day monitoring. This puzzled me…well, really, it shocked me. What could this mean? Should I take the BP before I eat lunch? Should I lie down for a while first?

Reflecting on this whole story as I walked home from Church and Tim’s today, I began to wonder at the self-absorption demonstrated through all this. It’s terribly easy either to become a total denier of symptoms and go one’s merry way, or to become a hypochondriac about it, as I believe I am in danger of doing. I’m sure I talk about it a lot to Beatrix, and I certainly think about it a lot, especially when my head is aching. The experience of having a wonderful deep-tissue massage, and then having my BP going way up afterward, actually scared me quite a bit.

I’m experiencing this ‘monitoring’ behaviour, and the anxiety that I attach to it, as a real annoyance. It’s also a failure to trust…whether that’s God, or simply the human process of healing, I don’t know. Anyway, that’s where I am today.

A brain-damaged man…

Today the Cable Guy came from Shaw to change our Internet and give us a land line again – part of the deal. (Main reason we took it – free LD!) He was a young man I knew from the pool, so we established that early on. He was quick, efficient, busy around the house, looking for the easiest way to bring lines in.

He wasn’t in the house ten minutes before I began to feel the anxiety, the pressure. Just like earlier in this process. It began to feel like a full-fledged anxiety attack. I took my BP. It was way up, close to the red zone. I closed the door and lay down for a time as he worked. In an hour I dropped the BP almost 20 points.

But the anxiety was there. When he was setting up, of course Shaw Help was unavailable on line. Of course…He outlined everything I would have to do to get email hooked up, and the phones started. I had taken a phone out earlier and managed, after a lot of head scratching, to set the date and time. I looked at the instruction book for setting up the features. I could read it, but it was small print, and it just overwhelmed me. I am a brain-damaged man. The awareness began it creep into my consciousness. June had tried to prepare me while I was in hospital to always remember that fact, to protect myself. Today, it wasn’t protection; it was an awareness of vulnerability and danger…

When Robin, the Cable Guy, gave me the written instructions for setting up, I swallowed hard. I sat down t do it, and because I felt totally swamped by the amount of information he had left me, I dot only part of it right. Because of my confusion, we lost our old, simple email addresses, and have new and more complicated ones. All because I couldn’t “see” his instruction #2 on the page.

We – Beatrix and – sorted it out in the evening. But she was on hold for like an hour, and I could do nothing. I am a brain-damaged man. Important information, but it doesn’t protect me at the moment; it threatens me; it undermines my sense of competence. I feel like a “retard, “ to use the language of my youth. I feel diminished, like who would ever trust me to do anything, when I get so easily overwhelmed and thus defeated. I feel as though I have been removed from the company of people I would call my peers, and set aside in a category of cracked eggs, usable, but not much…and you can’t trust them for long.

I feel a step or two closer to the end of my life because I am suddenly not a part of the “people you can count on to do things.” I am a brain-damaged man. And here I am, writing at 4:00 AM, wide-awake, head singing. A bad day, saved a bit by a walk, but a day in which my awareness expanded around just how far I have yet to travel in recovery. Will I ever get there, or will I just be what I am now until the end of my life – a brain damaged man?

Days go by…

The days go by, and they go…and they go down. I feel bored sometimes, and then I reflect on the quality of my life, and its finiteness…At times I experience awe, and other times fear. But I am always aware…

 Pulling grass from the gravel beds the other day, I became acutely aware of how flabby my body has become over four and one half months of enforces inactivity. My back and buttocks and hamstrings are still protesting. In response, I went for a deep-tissue massage today. It felt really good, but I was surprised that in the afternoon, my BP was uncharacteristically high. I began to wonder if somehow that was related to the massage. I may cancel my Friday appointment just in case, and talk to my physician about it.

Night times are becoming interesting. Going to sleep with nature sounds in my head is wonderful. My favorites are the rain forest – train and cackling birds, hooting owls. I also like ocean waves breaking on the shore. I conk out quickly with that in my head. If I wake up in the night, I reset the iPad to play some music. Strangely, I can’t fall asleep earlier to music. It engages me and keeps me awake. At 3:30 or 4:00, I can choose music –Cello is best – and I doze off. However…and there is a “however,” I dream and the music theme is always in the dream. I can not remember any of the dreaming so far, I just know that I’ve had an interesting night. BUT…no waking up for an hour or two. I feel like a living example of Angus’ (my grandson) paper on the effect of music on the brain. It’s strange and wonderful. Perhaps even healing.

Yesterday and today my head has hurt some of the time. This is not the same as a “headache,” it’s just that it “hurts” inside, sort of. The Doctor tells me I should lie down when this occurs, because it’s a message that the brain needs some healing time…no stimulation. No TV (I cheat with the radio…) just quiet.

How long will I live with this? The other night, while I was waiting to fall asleep, I pondered that. I might die…right now, or tomorrow in the pool, or while talking to the Cable Guy, who’s coming tomorrow AM to set us up with cable Internet and telephone. Thoughts like this aren’t helpful so far as going to sleep is concerned. I stop and listen carefully to the rain forest sounds.

As I have noticed lately, my attention span is not lengthening as fast as I’d like. Here I am, a few paragraphs in, and I’m tired and turning away from you all. Sorry. Next time…

Weakness…

Set up and demonstrated our new power washer this morning. Effortlessly cleaned the back wall of the house. Big Plan: next Saturday, for the first time in a decade, we will take everything out of the garage, and clean it, power washer and squeegee! And then put everything back in place in a clean garage. Or so it says here.

The title of this entry might give you a clue to the question mark that hovers over this plan. I want to do it; we have to do it…but I don’t know if I can do it. Wrestling with the hoses and couplings this morning, and fooling around in the driveway garden for 15 minutes, left me ready for a nap…a lie down…a break.

I am weak; physically weak. There is nothing like 4 and one half months of lying around, either dragging a catheter or “not getting excited” about anything, to turn all your muscle tone to cold porridge. Mush. I am appalled at the little I can do before I’m done. It amazes me that I can walk quite a few Kms without trouble. But lifting, pushing, twisting…you name it. I’m done.

My gratitude, so far unexpressed in this entry, is that I am able to do anything at all!  I could be dead, or crippled. I am able to do more and more. But muscle tone will take months, perhaps years, to return. And maybe it never will return. The ‘accepting of things I cannot change’ is the hardest part of the program that I’m in. Definitely.

Back in the water!

After a CAT scan and a visit to my MD, I finally got the green light to get back into pool exercising…on a limited basis; two mornings a week, 45 minutes each time. I can also walk at my normal pace…, which is a lot faster than I’ve been walking for the past two months. What a great feeling to be back in the water. I was a little nervous at first, but that soon gave way to the awareness that the workout, which I would have considered “light” back in January, was tiring me out!

I reflected on the way home – a 40-minute walk, each way – that I have lost a considerable amount of “fitness,” and that it will take me many months to regain that. I have to constantly remind myself that I can re-enter the world of fitness exercising v-e-r-y slowly. This will be difficult for impatient me, but necessary, if I want to protect my health and my life. When Dr. Bakshee was explaining the nature of this stroke to me, he made it very clear that a second one of this nature could be fatal, and that avoiding this would be largely up to me. Sobering.

Tonight, I’m quite tired. Besides the 80 minutes of walking this AM, and a 45 minute workout, I walked to Tim’s this afternoon, about 20 minutes each way. My legs are weary, but otherwise I feel quite good. It feels like the “recovery” process has turned a corner, not a MAJOR one, but a small one. I have so much further to go, and I must keep the pace down, down. No long walks tomorrow. Sigh…

Hitch…

Mother’s Day…it has been a long time since I had a living mother, but my memories of her speaking and doing are still very strong. She was a powerful influence on my early life. From the ages of 6 until 12, she was a single parent due to WW2.

Had another “upset” this week past. Sick stomach, growly guts, no energy, retreat. I have no idea if this was related to my current plight, but it hit me hard. It opened the doorway for depression, which landed on me with a thump. Being without energy, and therefore unable to actually do anything, I sank. Thoughts of “will I ever recover the physical status I enjoyed before?” “Will ever become focused again, or care about so many of the things that occupied me with enthusiasm in the past?” “What value if my life this way?”

About 48 hours of this, during which I monitored my BP to see if there was any impact. I could see none, but that didn’t stop me from moping. I even passed up an opportunity to walk to the corner for the mail!

Since walking is the only expression of energy I am allowed these days, I cherish the time given to it. Oh yes, I tried doing a little yard work on two occasions this week. They became another reason to sink into depression. I cut the front yard grass…very small. Moved to the back and made one circuit of the yard…larger…and was out of steam. I also was breathing hard, which made me nervous. Ditto for pruning Juniper bushes. One, then stop. I found it shocking to discover how much muscle tone I have lost since stopping pool workouts in January. I am a bundle of flab. I have not gained weight, but it has been…redistributed, and morphed into blubber.

When and f I am able to return to a full and active life, it will take me many months, perhaps years, to regain my muscle tone. Easier at 40…more difficult at 79…or 80. So work on being patient, and on trying to discover meaning and value in who I am these days. That is difficult for an old workaholic, who now has little desire to work, but who wants to feel like he has contributed something.

Guests tonight for dinner. Simple preparation, but I am anxious about the event. No reason; these are old friends – a young woman with whom I worked at the Alberta Hospital, and her delightful partner. Anxiety appears to be my current fallback position when something “new” comes up. Injury? Or age? Sigh. More tomorrow…

Another learning…another step

Spring is upon us…we all hope. In any case, the yard is calling for attention. So I decided to try and give it just a bit…not too much, mind you. “Don’t get excited…keep your blood pressure down…” So out I went. I pushed the lawnmower around the perimeter of the yard to pick up leaves, and found myself breathing hard. So I stopped.

I have developed a plan to replace the plastic under the gravel in our beds with black fabric cloth, so in preparation for that task, (to be done later in the summer with my grandson’s help), I decided to prune the juniper bushes…Fail!

I managed one, and a part of a second. Squatting, pulling, snipping…I was exhausted in ten minutes…and breathing hard…blood pressure again. I stopped and reassessed my body. I couldn’t believe how tired I was, and how anxious about the exertion. Being out of the pool and away from brisk walks since January 15 (it is now May 8), I realized that as well as having a brain problem, I am seriously out of shape, and getting back in shape will be a slow process, not to be undertaken as if I were an Olympic athlete.

So, I’m encountering another step along the recovery path: pace, careful assessment, seeking assistance, recognizing that the way I was, is not the way I am, nor the way I will be. All of this likely seems obvious to any of you reading these lines, but I am a slow learner. Or perhaps, like most folks recovering from an injury that doesn’t look bad from the outside, I am in denial…again.

In any case, I have broached the subject with my lovely 14-year-old grandson, who seems quite enthused by the offer: “I have muscles of steel, Grampa!” Who wouldn’t love that response? I was very careful to make sure that I told him that I needed him, and that I would compensate him. The first assertion is for my sake: I do need him, or someone. The second assertion is for his sake: he is immensely valuable to me, and I won’t take that for granted.

Next is the conversation with his parents about arrangements, and then, I’m off to buy fabric, etc. Another step…

A setback…of course

As usual, I spoke too soon. It’s 1:30 AM Sunday, and I haven’t been completely asleep yet. I’m awash with a host of feelings. Some of them are erotic, some are related to disgusting and overwhelming wealth and consumption, related to a movie we watched last evening.

The Queen of Versailles is a film about the family of one of America’s wealthiest and tasteless men. And it’s about his over-the-top purchased trophy wife who was a beautiful young divorcee when he married her, and who is now, at 43 – 30 years younger than her husband – is a statuesque replica of what a woman becomes when she buys all her beauty as well as everything else she ever wants. ‘The Queen’ is the reigning symbol of the movie. She is tall and slender, with a bust line that appears to grow exponentially with every scene. She is beautiful, but exhibits a bland shallowness that I found sickening, threatening. She is the mother of eight children, each demonstrating the sickness she symbolizes. They are devastated by the financial crisis of 2008 in the US. "It's bank's fault for getting us addicted to cheap money!" (On the only occasion her children had to fly commercial to some place, one of them asked, “What are all these people doing on our plane?) Mother’s answer was shallow and vapid and offhand. Could any of us become this shallow and wasteful. How easily could I become this was just “because I could?”

This couple are in the process of building the largest family home under one roof in the USA. We’re talking 30 bathrooms, 10 kitchens, a staff of more than 25. The whole thing is  modeled after Louis XIV Palace at Versailles in France. At one point we are shown a storage facility filled with the artifacts to be placed in the finished house. One area contains $5 million worth of marble slabs!

I have to pull myself back here. You see how this has got me? Can you feel me sliding into manic-mad state? I’m sure my blood pressure is climbing. (“Don’t get excited about things,” Dr. Baksee advised. How can my brain take in such disgusting scenes and not be overwhelmed.

This is natural for me, but I feel infinitely more vulnerable to it in my present state. Although I have railed on about this film above, I feel myself being without adequate words to describe the turmoil I feel, the rage that swirls around inside me. I felt lime I was looking at the reason so many in the two-thirds world hate America, hate us, for being North American rich. And I feel frighteningly vulnerable to those feelings and actions this night. “If I could,” would I be as totally self centred and wasteful as this man and woman? I feel like I teeter on the brink of something here, that frightens me. My broken brain can’t fully comprehend it or articulate it. I haven’t been able to “read” this movie with full comprehension. I’m still trying spell out every overblown word…what does it mean?…How can I make sense of it?…Where does touch my life…?

I’m going back to bed now. I’m sure if I sit here I can ramble on like this, searching for the comprehension I need, but without any more success than I have found. The film is on Netflix if you want to see it. Prepare yourself. It makes “slasher” movies look tame. Next time…and thank you for reading this to the end. I need help on this one…for sure.

Smooth sailing…for now.

It has been a few days since I have written, which likely occurred because my life has been relatively smooth, and recovery likewise. I’ve had no interrupted sleep for a few nights now, no anxiety attacks, and only one or two headaches. My short-term memory remains non-existent. However, I am able to walk at a slightly swifter pace without breathing hard, and my regular blood pressure reading is relatively normal and comforting.

What I have been reflecting on is the part played in recovery by the presence and goodwill of other people. When the patient is severely hampered or debilitated, assistance is mandatory to do even the simplest things. For a formerly fully functioning person to request assistance in toileting, self-esteem can take a dive. My most difficult times were/are when I am unable to read something properly, or make simple mistakes in comprehension, and someone has to correct me or set me straight.

I am blessed with friend and family members who have been nothing but kind, helpful and supportive over the past two months and more in this regard. I’ve had cards, phone calls, people asking me in the store or the library or Tim Horton’s how I am doing, and if there s anything I need. A ‘coffee and theology’ friend has driven me here and there in town, and even to worship in another town! A Lodge Brother was gracious enough to help me pick up a repaired computer from the West Edmonton Mall on a Saturday afternoon!  No journey for the faint of heart!

Beatrix’ Continuing Education plans unfolded over the past two weeks, so she was out of town. I was quite anxious about being alone for this period. Beatrix arranged for a variety of people to stay in touch with me and be available if I need to be taken to hospital, shopping, etc. As it turned out, I didn’t need to call on them, but I was relieved to have their phone numbers handy just in case.

My children were and are a great support and comfort. Although none of them are lose by to participate in any of the “doing” that I might need, they have phoned almost daily to make sure I am alive, fed, and well. All of them are busy professionals, my son busiest of all these days. In the past few months he has been involved in the death and burial of his stepfather and his father-in-law. He was very close to both these men. Just the other day, another close older man – a man I called “friend” for over a half century – has taken ill, and I imagine Keith will invest considerable time in looking out for him over the next few months.

Of course, my life would be impossible without Beatrix. Not only impossible, but empty as well. She is a constant support, advisor, monitor, driver…and she loves me as well! How lucky can I get, to be wrapped up with someone I love and who is so loving and non-judgmental to me? I am relieved and pleased that she is home from Pittsburgh and Edmonton, and actually has this weekend for us to spend together. Hopefully this means that my life will continue to get better, at least for the time being.