9th Life; 1st Birthday

 

Next week will mark the first birthday of my re-birth, or the beginning of my 9th life.

I was on the way to an appointment, and for some reason I 'stumbled' and did a face plant.  A couple walking towards me saw me go over, like a tree that had been felled, and rushed to help me stand up, dusted me off, and then insisted they would walk with me to my destination, about 2 short blocks away.  I was embarrassed, but did feel a bit light headed, so was grateful for the assistance.  I didn't appear to be injured, other than a spot of road rash on my right cheek and gravel embedded in the heels of my hands from where I had tried to break my fall.  But I was a little bit in shock.

When I was done with my appointment, one of the office staff walked me back to my van, and I still felt a little 'off' but not particularly 'injured' - beyond my pride.

I headed home, told Doug what happened and we chatted for a while until I said that I was very tired, assumed the adrenaline was wearing off, and said that I was going to go lay down.

I'm the kind of person who normally sleeps on my side, which was probably the first step in saving my life that day, because after I had been laying down for a while, Doug heard strange noises coming from down the hall from the bedroom.  He came in to check on me and discovered I was vomiting - and was completely non-responsive to his efforts to sit me up and get me to say what was happening.

He phoned a friend (RN) who heard what was going on and said to phone 911 and she would be there as soon as she could.  He phoned 911 and described what was happening, and asked for an ambulance.  They arrived in fairly short order and came in, realized they would never get the gurney down the hall to the bedroom and requested back up support from the fire department in order to carry me out.

In the meantime the friend arrived and talked to the medics and they took me to the hospital.  Doug followed, with my health card and such.  The medics had done what they could to stabilize me, noted the spot of road rash on my face, Doug described my fall.  The emergency doctor said that they would do a CT scan based on my falling and subsequent non-responsive presentation, then everyone disappeared while the CT scan was run.

Doug said it was hard to wait because it seemed a very long time before the doctor came back and when he did, he was all 'business'.  As soon as they saw the scan, the doctor had phoned a neurosurgeon in Vancouver and when *they* saw the scans, the surgeon advised them to get me ready for transport, because he was requesting a medivac flight to get me down there asap.  And that he would be waiting for my arrival to do the surgery as soon as I arrived, after midnight.

When I presented in Vancouver, I had a 'serious' bleed in my brain in the speech centre.  

The next day, when I came to, I did not know where I was, or why.  I was not in pain - even my back pain seemed to be in 'shock' and wasn't bothering me too much.  But I had an incision about the size of a tennis ball with many, many staples in my scalp.  (I did ask my doctor who removed the staples how many there were and he showed me the tub with all of the staples and said 'I don't think you want to know'.)

Things were confusing and scary, but the hospital in Vancouver shipped me back to the hospital here and a few days later they let me go home, too.  I was so relieved because the hospital in Vancouver had had a Covid outbreak, and the one here, hardly anyone was wearing masks.  I was so much more comfortable at home, especially when friends brought me 'safe' foods (allergy free) - because that was my other concern.  I never do well in hospital because of my numerous food allergies.

And then my face swelled up.  Like scary swelling, around my eyes.  Turns out it was 'normal' for that kind of surgery, but no one I talked to about it knew that.  For 3 days I could not speak at all.  Except swear words.  Doug learned to ask yes/no questions, and I could shake or nod my head.  That was scary as hell because I *had* been able to talk, and then all of a sudden I could not.  I did not know if I ever would talk again.  But eventually my words began to slowly come back.

Then, I didn't know if I could ever write again.  It was becoming clear to me that I really was not going to be able to teach.  Could I weave?  I asked the physiotherapist who saw me once I got home to book a time for him to watch me weave, make sure I wasn't hurting myself.  He did a few days later, and seemed satisfied.  Just warned me to begin very VERY slowly, just a few minutes at a time to begin with.

Then I booked with my massage therapist, and he went over my back and legs, and advised me on a schedule to help me NOT overdo the weaving.  Warned me it was not a speedy recovery.  That given I had a rather serious brain injury, to NOT overdo activities.  Rest.  Sleep as much as I could.

Two months after the surgery I had a phone call from the surgeon, who expressed pleasure at how well I was doing.  I told him I didn't feel like I was doing well - at all.

"Listen, you arrived with a serious brain bleed.  Most people arriving with the size of bleed you had would not even be discharged from the hospital, but would go directly to a rehab facility - for *months*.

"Oh."

"So you are doing very well.  You just told me that you are already weaving!"

Then I asked about the swelling and he assured me that it was completely 'normal' with that kind of surgery to have exactly that kind of swelling and that it would eventually recede, but that it was going to take time and I needed to be very patient with myself while my body healed.

I have tried to make sure I keep a 'good attitude', not get too depressed about how much more limited I am, how fragile I feel, how I have needed a cane since then because I am so unsteady on my feet.  I don't know that I will ever completely recover my balance, or be able to walk more than a short distance.  I feel...broken.  But I am nearly at the 12 month recovery, and the surgeon assured me that it takes about 24 months to see where your 'final' recovery will land.  So things *could* improve more.  I tenderly nurture my tiny crop of 'hope'...

In the meantime, I am hoping to take a class through the pain clinic on neuroplasticity, which I'm hoping will be beneficial for both of my physical problems - chronic pain and brain injury.

I had been thinking of having a 'birthday sale' on August 28, but given the shenanigans with tariffs and such, I'm not going to.  I will wait and see if things settle down in time for a 'Christmas' sale in Nov/Dec.  

Needless to say, sales pretty much dried up this year, and while it might be fun to do something on Zoom, I'm not feeling like I can manage to do something without tiring myself 'too much'.  

So, just a suggestion - if you want to send me greetings you can buy me a 'coffee' via my ko-fi shop.  I promise to spend the money on more yarn.  Because it seems I'm recovering enough that I can keep weaving.  

I hesitated for a very long time about telling this story - I know I've talked about bits and parts of it.  But I feel as though I have 'recovered' enough that I could tell it now.  Before you can 'accept' what has happened, you have to be able to talk about it.  I won't lie, I had some very 'dark' days over the past 12 months.  And while I'm not fully recovered - I may never BE 'fully' recovered, I *am* still here, still weaving, still manage to write (with help), so I guess it is the right time for me to feel like I am celebrating that fact.  I'm not angry (much) any more.  But this thing happened.  Now I need to figure out to live my life as fully, as completely, as I can.  And to me, that means weaving.

Sending best wishes to everyone struggling with 'reality'.  Remember to recognize the little pleasures, be they a rainbow in amongst the clouds, or a piece of cake, or weaving.  Whatever that brings you joy, do that thing.