No blog posts these days–I have been VERY tired and unfocused due to a social obligation of mine that has my house crowded with guests each evening. Everyday I gear my mind up to the big event and there is room for very little else. Tonight is the last night of my social responsibilities–and so I am allowing myself to wind down and relax as much as I can.
I only suppose writing is part of that relaxation–for my initial post ended right here. But then I realized there was so much more I wanted to say and write, and to hold it back became unbearable, like holding my breath. As a writer, sometimes the only way I can really say what I need to say, aka The Truth, is through writing. So here goes.
Last night, I turned to my husband and said, “I think I’m back to Week 4 [of recovery],” feeling my exhaustion in the fuzzy edges of my brain. I could feel my cognitive abilities decline–I’d look at the writing on the back of my hand (yes, where I write so many reminders in a frenzy) and none of it made sense. “Dog?” Why would I write “Dog?” What was it about the dog that I had to do? And I’m forgetting things said to me in conversation. I’m back to “Week 4,” walking in a deeper fog.
Still, this social obligation has been quite fun and stimulating, and I’m interested in how it will lead my recovery. Last week’s visit from my mom sped my recovery and now I wonder if this weekend has entirely erased the progress. And the week ahead will be a fast hitting week, too: a short plane trip out of town and a relentless social calendar that won’t let up for days. Of course, I am not willing to part with any of it. Don’t convince me otherwise. (You may support and encourage me to tackle it all, however. :P)
Compound this physical demand with the fretting I’ve been doing about friendships these days (post to come, I think). I’m adjusting to the concept of (previously?) close friends who have just utterly abandoned me, who have drawn a line in the sand and said, “I will not go over this line to be with you where you are.” At this point, to be honest, I don’t care about their reasons even though I have spent quite a lot of time trying to convince myself, “Those are their limits, Jade.”
Why should I be 100% understanding? I’ve tried that path, and nothing changes. It really really hurts. It makes me angry to be abandoned. Do I channel this anger and hurt towards their behavior…or do I maybe do a post on “how to be a friend to someone who’s sick?” to help others? Or maybe forget it all (yah right).
As for my awful speech therapy: I’ve cancelled my appointments with The Awful Speech Therapist and am waiting back for a call on the other speech therapist’s availability. Apparently…there are only TWO…in this semi-urban town! It has now been over a month and a half since my stroke and I STILL have no regular speech therapist.
I am ANGRY about that. Do I really have to go about my recovery all alone? Clearly, the answer is YES. I am fumbling through this dark room and knocking things about, when a guide has been promised to me. And yet the guide has not shown up. I am ANGRY about that. I am angry that I already feel so alone, only to be compounded by the fact that help that should arrive, never does.
By the time I do get a speech therapist, she really WILL say, “Oh you LOOK FINE. You don’t NEED ME.” And I will seethe.
So how to sum up how I’ve been feeling? I was thinking of an analogy or a description the other day when my husband and I went through a tunnel with the top down on the car. The wind noise was incredible, the vision decreased. I could see ahead to a little white light at the end of the tunnel–and that became my focal point, the only clear thing in my mind amidst the noise and blurring vehicles. I tried to talk, but could not be heard. I settled into the white noise, unable to overcome it.
When we emerged from the tunnel, in sunlight and finally rid of the noise, fresh air pounding our faces, I turned to my husband and said, “THAT is how it feels like sometimes.”