How a woman without her voice accomplishes things
Now the hard part began…
I wanted to have my rehabilitation my way. No cookie cutter approach, please!
There were a few aspects which were of utmost importance to me, in fact I couldn’t get them out of my head. It was like being all alone with my thoughts, circulating like a wild kaleidoscope of butterflies, just waiting for me to tame them, make them mine.
For starters, I was results driven. My leg would run again, my hand would write again and my voice would carry for many years to come. In fact, it had to be the Stacie I knew from before. I had the notion, floating around in my head, that anything less than this seemed like failure.
Looking back, the me I was working towards was one that was a much better, more intuitive and wiser me.
I didn’t know it at the time, and perhaps I don’t even know what it means today, but the wheels started moving in this direction, the right direction.
I knew that it had to be now. I was too aware that every moment spent thinking about the work that lay ahead of me, and not doing the work, was a moment wasted. Even from my fog, I sensed this.
See, I wanted the best for my therapy and also myself.
To me, the most important thing about my recovery, I reckoned, was that I could smile at the beginning and end of each day. The days would be long and hard, but I knew this. I craved this chance to learn, to take action. Thus, it had to be a place where I felt happy.
I needed that space.
So I got cracking on the one thing that I was able to control, articulating what my recovery would look like. I began on my journey slowly, deliberately formulating a plan from my hospital bedside.
This new Stacie, Stacie 2.0, was definitely starting to crystalize from within my writings, one or two words at a time.
I wasn’t mute. In fact I, being that strong willed, fire-eater of a girl, could make my opinions known to most. The poor nurses could attest to this. That was not the problem.
The problem, and I can say this only by looking back, was trying to make the pieces of the puzzle fit together and controlling all of the crazy, foreign influences surrounding me. To make sense of these, would take me many hours of therapeutic writing.
My inability, here in this moment, to formulate complete, actionable thoughts was something that I was going to vanquish come hell or high water. I had to focus on this goal in order to make well thought thru, legible and convincing arguments for myself.
You see, I didn’t know what I was working towards with all of that writing, but I found it cathartic.
I wrote my goals for my therapy. And it took me ages! Line by line I wrote, for more than two hours each day, until the words formed magic in front of my eyes.
I outlined what I needed from my therapists and what they should know about me.
I started with each goal I could think of, from all areas of my life, from the physical (such as tennis - I just wanted the chance to beat Katja!) to the emotional (how would I calm down when the demons came hollering) and everything in between.
From there, I delineated what it would take to meet each goal that I set for myself. For instance, beating Katja at tennis was just a dream that I conjured up, a spark to light the fire of my competitiveness, to get me going in the right direction.
To meet this goal, I had to think of my every step. This was the tough part because it required me to think cognitively about what tennis is and how to be back on my game.
For starters, I had to list out my questions to ask my doctors and therapists. Could I safely play tennis? What could I do to improve my power and range? How could the room stop spinning so I could actually hit the ball?
Once I was done with that list I made another one of skills, which I definitely took for granted pre-stroke. I had to improve my gait, my grip strength, my speed, agility, power and range of motion for my hands and for my legs… and improve my endurance so I could play for 15 minutes, 30 minutes, 45 minutes, 1 hour! Until I had the endurance to beat Katja!
This was definitely a lot of writing.
I began with a blank sheet and watched as my wishes transformed into a plan. For someone suffering with brain damage, suffering from non-fluent aphasia and agraphia, it was a hell of a lot of work.
My goals would carry me a long way, giving me motivation, giving me the desire to do better, quicker.
What about the times when I felt beaten by my own perception of my progress?
Did I accomplish 20 laps around the hospital ward? Did I manage to write a full sentence in therapy today?
I sit here listening to that self-critical voice that my brain has, questioning me in the mocking way that she does.
Or how about the times when I felt alone, with despair creeping in at the sides?
I needed someone, or something, to help remind me about the here and now. I needed someone to shout, “Stacie, snap out of it!” and pull my ass back to reality.
On a particular day, when I was visualising my recovery something happened. I can see the day, so vividly, standing in my laundry room, giving someone a piece of my mind. I could see the anger and frustration bubbling, but how to stop the emotional outburst that I knew was coming, from happening?
If this could happen when I am alone with my thoughts and my own imagination, imagine what damage I could wreak on the people who were supporting me, my team.
That was the day I implemented my mantra. I saw the need to protect myself and others from myself. My mantra provided the right tool to deliver what I needed in a way that also validated to others my commitment to the work.
If you saw my post about my emotional regulation issues, and my seemingly big, creepy button labeled “You want your emotion? Here, have it all!”, it was necessary to give people a reminder that I was a work in progress.
My mantra acts as a moment in time, one that brings me back to the here and now and one that reminds me what is actually meaningful in my world.
I am not afraid to admit this but, I was not what you call a mantra kind of girl. In fact, you could say that I thought the whole idea was kooky.
I do a lot of things differently now.
I say that I want to develop into this new, bright and shiny Stacie. But here’s the thing, I was happily walking down the path of my life, blissfully unaware. My life was good. I was happy. And it could of rolled on this way forever, as far as I was concerned.
Then this… a stroke… and I suddenly find myself staring at this new Stacie 2.0 and I am not sure that I find mantras kooky anymore. In fact, there will be many changes in the way I relate to the world.
So how does a woman without her voice accomplish things? It turns out that mine was never lost in the first place. She was right here, waiting for me all along.
Until the next time,
Sx
Postscript:
Do you remember how I was all set to beat Katja in tennis? I had my goals and the fire within! Well, not long ago, my doctors told me that I shouldn’t play tennis... ever again. That hurt.
But, for the therapy I am happy. Let me explain myself...
The goal was achieved, even before I set out to achieve it. The goal was intrinsic to my writing as it gave me the dots that I needed to connect. Beating Katja was just a way to light the fire from within.
Who would have won the match? We’ll never know.