Another Saturday…

It’s been almost a week since I’ve been here. It has been a strange week, plenty of ups and downs. Last Sunday afternoon, I attended an historic event in Edmonton. In a huge Alliance Church, they ordained the first woman to be ordained in that denomination, at least in the west. Helen Chan worked hard to get me involved in a CPE unit, so she could be my student. Because of the rigors or reapplying for status as a Teaching Supervisor, and my intervening illnesses, she never did get to be my student. It was very interesting to see how another faith-strain manages these events, and to see the diverse interfaith community Helen has gathered around her. Quite a moment.

I did make an intensive effort to work out in the deep-water pool, though. Five times in all, including three seven AM workouts. These are wonderful, since the area is so quiet and peaceful.

These don’t appear to give me a problem so far as blood pressure is concerned. Still the little emotional upsets are the bigger threat. I did manage to achieve one of my goals for completing my exit from St. Andrews. I had a long talk with my colleague there, and managed to share some of the things I have been thinking about almost incessantly since March. It appeared to go well, and I managed to express myself without feelings interfering, so I was rational and logical and empathic.

Also had a long chat with my son Keith one evening. He called, and we talked for nearly an hour. That was a healing and relaxing time for me. Another milestone today: with the help of the Bendara girls, I finally hosed out the garage, a project 10 years in the making. The power washer is amazing. I’m not sure it looks like I want it to look, but it’s a whole lot better. I was concerned lest it is too strenuous for me, but so far, I seem to be faring quite well.

It seems to me that the further along this recovery process I go, then less interesting my blogs become. Less drama and anxiety; more careful tending to inner signs and effects, and trying to pace myself. I guess the task is, “keep on keeping on.”

Reflection time…again

 It has now been almost seven months since I suffered the stroke. All my medical support people tell me that I’m doing very well, recovering nicely. It’s very reassuring…until I begin monitoring my body more closely as I go through my day. I notice many deficits that they pass over or minimize in their evaluations.

I get short of breath when I walk my 3.5 km quickly. At times, my eyesight seems fuzzy. My memory lapses continue to be embarrassing and unpredictable. My sleep is broken for no reason, or I can’t drift off in a reasonable time.

Now, none of these are life threatening, but they are life style threatening. My personal physician thinks the shortness of breath may be due to the narrowing neck of my aortic value. Investigation and potential heart surgery appears to be in my near future. The fuzzy eyes will send me back to the optometrist to have my eyes tested again, to see if there has been deterioration, or if my imagination runs away with me. For memory? I need to write virtually everything down so it doesn’t get lost in the heat of the moment.

All of which begs the question of “recovery.” Of course I am better. I walk every day, work out in the deep water three or four time weekly. I read as long as I can, and work on Sunday stuff enough to prepare, although my focus time is shorter, and it tires me more.

Moat of the deficits are so internal that only I would notice them. Although, realistically, anyone who spends any amount of time with me will notice little ways in which my “brain-damaged” state reveals itself. I write all this to remind myself that I am different, though the same person. Expectations that I lay on myself are frequently unreasonable, and catch myself scolding me over things that I can’t or don’t do. “Remember…you are a brain damaged person!” This can certainly be used as an excuse for things that are unpleasant, but I try not to do that…much. I will need lots of serenity to accept the things I cannot change as I live into what future there is for me.

Mid September…already!

Over a week since I’ve posted. I’ve thought about it a lot, but somehow it escaped my memory in time to keep me from writing. Many painful days this week. My lower back has been very sore, and the slightest bending and stretching work…like pulling up a stuck stake, or digging out a patch of sod, leaves me with a day’s agony.

I notice more and more than physical exercise, while it raises my blood pressure, doesn’t seem to threaten me. Internal upset, anxiety, or anger, or worry, is the dangerous stuff.

Discovered again just how much we miss the grandchildren. Watched two intense movies; A Late Quartet and The Secret’s in Their Eyes. The latter is an Argentinian film, which develops in a different manner from US movies. And all the actors were unfamiliar, which made it more interesting. We needed Emma’s expertise with scripts, scenes, and direction, to enrich us.

The pool re-opened this morning, after a two-week closure for cleaning, repairs, etc. It felt really good to get in the water and work out comfortably. I think the 7:00 AM deep-water workouts are going to be fine. It’s a great way to start the day!      

I’ve undertaken some preaching assignments for the fall. End of September and most of November. I’m gelling the jump on the September service. Oh! And I have a Communion to do in Innisfail on October 6. We’ll see if my focus and concentration have improved since July.

Beatrix has been through another step in the process of having breast reconstruction. She handles these events so well. Only one meltdown after this one. Understandable. Change is so difficult as you get older, even if the change is perceived a positive.

Well, back to sermon preparation and research…

Block party!

Block Party on our street last evening. Big portable barbecue, portable fire pit in the centre of the street, kids everywhere, tons of good food…and fattening food as well. Many folks from two streets gathered and became better acquainted with one another. I spent some time ‘evangelizing’ two guys into the world of Scots whiskey. Perhaps we’ll share a snifter at Christmas time, when there will be another event.

The weather wasn’t fine, but it didn’t rain, and the chill was kept at bay by the potable fire-pit, which blazed away all evening, giving off warmth and smoke. A few of us sucked up the smoke, and were transported back to youthful days around campfires, roasting potatoes and corn filched from someone’s garden.

The food, of course, was abundant and calorie laden, apart from the table full of salads that were to be had. I quite enjoyed the event for a while. I talked with a couple of not-so-near neighbours whom I hadn’t met before, as well the young guys I tempted into thinking about Scots whiskey.

After about an hour and half, I was stiff and ready to walk the four houses to our door. I volunteered to take our camp chairs home, assuming that Beatrix would be along shortly. Of course, in that hope I was mistaken. It was after dusk had turned into near-darkness, another hour at least, before she came in, brimming with neighbourhood news and gossip. Apparently, quite a few folks had hung around the fire and visited after I left.

I was surprised, because I had come in feeling tired and a bit overwhelmed by all the socializing. The whole thing reminded me that I have still some distance to go to be ready for such sustained, and for me, intense, interaction. Had I tried to remain with Beatrix, I would have been exhausted, and I’m sure would have drawn further and further into myself for “protection.”

I’m not so fragile and anxious as I was in the days after the stroke when a few minutes with a handful of people had me scrambling for isolation. But I can take the presence of a large number of strangers for only a short time, and then my emotional energy gives out, and I need solitude, and more silence. Still an area of needed recovery for me. Part of the way home, but not there yet.

The road back…long

Recovery. I write about it all the time, and try to figure out if I’ve recovered from the stroke or not. And some days I find lots of “un-recovered” parts of me. To day, I stopped in to see a man who was the chair of the St. Andrew’s Board while I was there. He4’s a really good guy, and we had a good talk, a sort of closure-making talk. And then tonight I watched a documentary on Netflix about a young woman, a girl really, who joined the US Army at 19 and went to Iraq, where she became a sergeant and commanded men under her.

Her name is Robynn Murray. How ironic that is. One of Beatrix’ old University friends is named Robin Murray. The most profound irony is that Robin grew up across the ally from us when we lived at 557 Waverley in Winnipeg. I remember her as an 18 year old, in a bright red suit, very pretty, a girl like the other Robynn.

Robynn is still trying to recover from Iraq, from pointing her weapon at families and stripping them of all humanity (her words) and losing her own in the process. Watching the film, entitles Poster Girl, was a glimpse into hell and the road out of it. It’s about recovery.

I don’t live in hell, but it’s just down the street, around the corner, and I have to walk past it every day. I tell others and myself that I am well, I’m fine…and from the outside, that’s how it looks. But then, I encounter my inability to concentrate for more than a few minutes on any mental work. Or I realize that I can only read for a few minutes before I have to take a break. Or that I’ve read all kinds of books recently, and can’t remember a single thing I’ve read. How do I recover from that? Maybe it’s the stroke, or maybe it’s just the aging process. I’m old, and getting older, and I can’t recover from that. I’m going to have Diego tattoo on the inside of my left arm, the phrase from the Serenity Prayer, “…the courage to accept the things I cannot change.” That’s the best I can think of to do in the way of recovery at the moment: realize where I am, and accept that.

Bad day today. Bent over to pull weeds from a flowerbed, and now my back is on fire and broken, or so it feels. Old…broken…done. Perhaps tomorrow will be better.