It takes a village
As I look back on my first year of recovery, the saying ‘it takes a village’ brings on an utterly new meaning.
Although I didn't realise it at the time, it's taken my peeps, my village, those who lifted me and my family up from the desperately sinking ship wreck that our lives had, in a blink of an eye, become.
However, not once have I felt the burden of this crashing down around me.
You see...
My children were all able to get on with school.
They didn't miss a single day.
They were fed dinner each night. They got on with their social lives.
My husband was able to keep (an altered) schedule at work.
In his state of despair and with newly found responsibilities, he was able to put one foot in front of the other.
Our situation is a bit special, because we are expats living in a foreign country.
That says something about the relationships and friends that we connected with over the years. They are some of the kindest, most giving souls I have ever had the pleasure to meet and form relationships with.
I have to believe that my village made my recovery possible.
That started me thinking, would my first year look any different if I were home?
As I see it, there are 5 different kinds of people that I’ve met thru, or because of, my stroke.
The primary caregiver
I’ve said many times that I would like to write a love letter to Johan, my husband, for all that he's been thru and all that he will go thru due to my stroke.
The endless doctors appointments. The insurmountable paperwork. The ability to logically understand what has happened, but helpless against the fears and what if’s. The end of a dream.
But I can’t……
…. I just cannot bring myself to face what this means for him.
Here’s the thing, whenever a life-changing-event happens, it lies in the survivor’s hands to motivate herself, finding a passion or other ways to cope.
She is ultimately responsible for herself and her recovery.
However, she must communicate her needs to her primary caregiver with respect and control (and that’s a hard one for those suffering brain damage).
I found that making a list, albeit in nearly illegible handwriting, and practicing what I was going to say over and over again helped me to communicate more clearly to Johan.
The times where I wasn’t prepared are times when calamity struck! And it wasn’t pretty!
The primary caregiver has an exceptionally hard task and one they didn’t ask for.
Your Therapists
After leaving the hospital, I decided to do my therapy at home. It was a bold choice, but one I don't regret.
At my stroke’s severity level and as I still needed 24-hour care, the doctors were quick to suggest a rehab facility.
After visiting two facilities, I fought tooth and nail to recover at home.
At that time, my head was not clear, in fact I couldn’t remember my address or the names of my children, but what I did know is that sitting in a Japanese rehabilitation facility, with no one to communicate with or relate to would kill me.
Here’s the thing, I was taught from early on, if you don’t like the situation, then change it. I most definitely did not like any part of that situation.
With a little help from a friend, I set out to change the course of my recovery. I very meticulously, over the course of 4 weeks, made a plan for myself. It wasn’t easy. In fact, when I reflect upon it now, I am filled with amazement and wonderment.
You see, I had to play out every scenario in my head - from finding the right therapists to setting their schedules, from the roles we would play in the family to how logistically it would work, to the basics of coercing Johan to go along with my cunning plan at all!
So, I know a little bit about finding the right therapists for your changing needs. All I have to say, is that if you can dream it, then make it happen.
Don’t accept anything unless it fulfills you and is on your terms.
No bull-s%#t kind of a girl
Some days, I dislike her….. a little bit.
Sometimes she is just out with it! Couldn’t she use more subtlety?
Somehow, she manages to get under my skin and just stay there, taunting me with her ‘ethical’ attitude.
And, yet, she is the one that I trust the most. She is the one I turn to as a compass. And it is her that keeps me on the straight and narrow.
Do you have a no-bs-kind of a friend, one that will care for you, tell you the truth when it’s not convenient and make you laugh at yourself, just a little?
There is something refreshing about seeing the world thru her eyes. At times, it can be extremely frustrating but at other times, I can take her views on board and actually try to yield to them.
She pushes me in ways that I find uncomfortable. But that’s the thing, everything about this shitty stroke actually is uncomfortable.
It takes quite a friend to push you thru these miserable bits… and to see your true potential.
Your peeps
(Otherwise known as your support system)
My village was instrumental in caring for me and my family thru the first months.
They kept us well fed, in fact I’m dreaming of someone’s enchiladas right now! It is a small feat to organise your own family at meal times, but they managed it with pizzazz.
For the duration, although all I saw was a blurry mess, they kept watch over me. They not only were feeding me, they were looking out for me and my children, emotionally and physically.
You see, we are expats living in a foreign land. We have no family surrounding us, and no room to house them if they offered to come. What would have been easier is if we would have thrown me in to a rehabilitation facility after my hospital stay, alleviating some of the stress that was bearing down on my precious family.
They were the teachers, the friends, those intuitive, kind hearts that saw what I needed. I needed more family. They pulled together, some of them new friends and all of them friends not longer than 2 ½ years, no questions asked.
They didn’t miss a beat, they were there.
Cheerleaders
Those that push you onwards and upwards are crucial to your recovery.
I have a dear friend, who I’m very close to. She was gutted by the distance that separated us when I had my stroke.
So, she started a campaign to let me know that she was thinking about me every single day.
To date, I have saved every clipping, every email, every text message, every package that she sent me. Although it has been one year and she has managed to visit, I (and my children) still receive them.
The thoughtfulness, the care, comes thru, even though the distance separates us.
And the thing which sets her apart from the rest, is that she never once did it for herself.
She only had my well-being at heart.
She knew I couldn't send text messages, so she would rattle on about her life, leaving me with the feeling of connection and closeness.
She knew that I had a thing with a certain coconut lip balm. So, she sent me a package to try out other coconut lip balms!
That’s the things about your cheerleaders, they are selfless, even when they have the most to lose.
My three children are the world’s kindest humans.
Even though they are suffering themselves, even if they lost their way and their dream of everything a mother should be, they have an amazing gift of resilience.
As small children, they have been put in a tricky spot, one which they shouldn't ever have to be in. Apart from wobbles here and there, they have a knack for focusing on the here and now and not what should be.
Although it used to be me taking care of them, the dynamic has suddenly shifted. They have become unintended, but not unwilling cheerleaders.
I read a statistic that around one in 8 adults in the United Kingdom are carers. Holy moly.
Caring for me was not a choice. It just fell from the clear blue sky.
This past Saturday I gathered as many of my villagers as I could, in to one room as a celebration, commemorating my first year.
It only struck me when I gazed across the room how precious the gift of giving yourself truly is. These people have lives of their own. Have families of their own. Still, they chose to be here, celebrating my life.
Friendships are minted when tragedy strikes.
Small note… let’s face it, there’s always going to be the angries, whichever way you slice it.
Those that were good to you before your life-changing-event and then stink after or those that were haters before and still hate.
For me, I am trying to focus only on my 5….. and let those caring souls shine thru the darker bits.
Pssssst……here’s something I want you to see….
