Looking back

No one likes living with regret. But I have done some foolish things in an attempt to seem capable and responsible. Namely, living alone with my children so soon after my stroke. I was trying, well desperate really, to achieve my pre-stroke life in any way possible. Mental motivation pushed me physically and at the time I felt ready to resume my rightful place.

Looking back now, a year and a bit later, under a cloud of fog for that period, I question whether I should have done that. Particularly now that I am discovering that very few stroke survivors even live alone, much less as a single parent with children.

My biggest regret is not focusing on them more. The distraction I had created by embarking on a new and somewhat disastrous relationship didn’t help matters. Not only was I guiding them inappropriately, I wasn’t paying much attention to my own health and wellbeing. There was a cruise control going on for me. A real persistence to reiterate to everyone around that I was just fine.

It took a few months, but the slow crash came and sunk me to the bottom. My children were with their father at the time. I felt at sea, with no focus that our daily routines had held. They were the glue and I was like a limp piece of paper barely holding on. Without them, I sunk into my couch for weeks.

It was no surprise at this time that my body started to give out. I had spent 3 months on no medication, but within a short period, I was dosed up on a fair bit. My health has been an ongoing frustration, but back then it was just frightening. It was a period when I had no idea what would happen next. I was up at night anxiety-ridden, convinced I would have another stroke. Every little pain was an alert. When I woke up in the mornings I was thankful I was still alive.

The depths I felt coincided with the anniversary of my stroke. While I think the depression was short-lived, it is a sadness I cannot forget. It drove me to take action and that is the path I have been on ever since.

A good part of this was letting go of my pre-stroke life. There was a grieving process around that, not only for myself physically, but for the lifestyle I once had. The love and downright idealism that came before and no longer existed. I had to mentally separate from my X as we had in person. His life was no longer mine. We shared memories, secret nostalgic moments, and of course, parenthood. Chances of a reconciliation came crashing with his instigation of making our situation legal.

The learning curve for my children still continues. I’ve been accused of no longer being “a fun mom”. This hurts, and I say so. I cannot be the same mother, I am a different mother. Better in a sense because I have been forced to learn so much about myself, I only see this as being an extension to them and that ultimately the trauma we’ve been through will undoubtedly strengthen them.

One of the great things about parenthood, is that tomorrow is always another chance to make things right. Currently the X has our youngest, D, with him, while I care for our eldest, M. It is a brief arrangement that will enable us to focus on each child individually and so far it seems to be bringing all four of us great joys and strides forward.

Stroke Support Group

It has taken me far too long to seek post stroke support. It was never something I was interested in. I went to one seminar when I was in rehab. And the truth is I wanted nothing to do with stroke. I was determined to achieve my pre stroke level and there was nothing anyone could say about that. Of course that is not what has happened.

The moment I was wheeled into the in-patient rehab institute, I swore I would do all in my power to get out of there as fast as possible. I had been in hospital for a month and I was happy to move on to this next stage. Being unable to walk, or move, quite frankly, never seemed permanent to me. In fact I felt more frustration over it than anything. Accepting the situation as is, wasn’t in my thoughts.

At the rehabilitative hospital I was one of only 4 people under 50 years old, the majority of patients were well over 60. They ate in silence in the dining room. It was very “One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest”. I felt so out of place. I wanted to smile, but I could only cry.

The work there was hard for me at first. Physio, occupational and speech therapists pushed me. I begged to be let out of the wheelchair and onto a walker, but it took time, longer than I thought. Day in and day out I exercised my stubborn muscles. I wouldn’t put it together until much later, how much of the stroke--the paralysis, the dizziness, the vision problems, the pain—was coming from my brain. At the time I was in Forest Gump mode, “go legs go”.

To come to a stroke survivors meeting at this point, a year and a half post, seemed moot. I was very wrong. There were people there who had been coming to the meetings for 15 years. They spoke about topics I had never been able to articulate for myself. Such as how much sound, when there is a cacophony of it, can affect me. Also how frustrating it is to look perfectly fine, I am now mobile, but have all these hidden issues that the outside viewer is unaware of.

I have accepted the stage I am at. I work around most of my issues to the point where people are shocked when I tell them I had a stroke. The truth being, I am not that person before, not in body and certainly not in mind. The survivors support group has surprised me and I’m looking forward to the next meeting.

A Series of Reminders

My reactionary tactics have always ruled me. It’s something about myself that while I recognize it, is still hard to keep in check. I have noticed over the years, after reading many parenting and psychology books, that if you change your reaction to something, the outcome, if not on the positive, will at least be different.

The X and I are stuck in a terrible pattern. Every couple of weeks we end up in an argument. For the last few months it has been motivated primarily by his new relationship. Which if I’m to be honest with myself, is not that new. While that topic instigates things, it usually brings up much of what our core issues have and always will be: his inability to listen and understand what I’m saying, his preoccupation with finances, lack of emotion, or misplaced emotion, and inappropriate priorities.

This time was different. It may have been because we were on video chat, I could see my face, and hence my physical reaction to what he was saying. In the past I would have gone on the attack, instead I kept on my Buddha smile. He accused me of being smug. But it didn’t matter because it was real. I wasn’t angry, I was bemused.

My habit after situations like this were to fire off emails “ you hurt me when you said….”, but I didn’t do it this time. In the moment I understood that change was never going to happen. I left for a reason, and even having a life-altering stroke, when everyone expected it, I did not go back. Yes, I’ve thought about it in nostalgic moments. But as these arguments repeat themselves, they are like a highlighting reminder to me.

It is amazing to me that these bouts of awareness continue to come to me. It makes me feel like the experience of this life is a series of realizations so you can do better the next time round, in your second chance. I feel incredibly lucky that I got a second chance, at life proper, but also at how I view life. My outlook has changed, for the best I hope.

Patterns left by the X

When most people recognize they are stuck in patterns they try to break them. This single life, as short as it’s been thus far, has me stuck in a repetitive scenario. What is becoming obvious is the type of guy I go for. This has nothing to do with the physical, but the emotional.

My “jury”, that is my well-trusted friends, seem to think I go for an emotionally unavailable guy. The men I have dated, in particular the ones without children, have a decidedly self-centred bent. My thinking is that without a history of responsibilities and feelings toward those, whether that is an indication of maturity or not, it is a hard mesh with my life.

I suppose I may fall into that odd category of a non-traditional woman. That is, I am not looking for a guy to support me, to give me children, or even to live with me. If that is what the trend now calls a “cougar”, so be it. I’m all for the feline comparisons, though I feel slightly young to be thrown into that stereotype. Most men, stuck in traditional thinking, have a hard time with this concept.

Back to the emotionally unavailable. I have expectations about how I think men should respond. Unfortunately, I find myself disappointed by most responses, even when it’s obvious there is something there. I always want more, want to give more, and now even hold myself back emotionally. This leads me to inevitable preoccupation. Expectation is a killer. Then again there is that nagging thought that if this was “to be” it would be easy and obvious. I’ve been told this is idealistic.

As time has gone on, I see that the X was very much like that. Not giving emotionally what I wanted or needed. This left me with an odd desire I feel stuck with and have no outlet for. But I don't want to end up in the same situation I tried to fit into for so long. The next time has to be different.

In the short time of singledom, I am already trying to figure out these patterns and see what works for me. It’s an ongoing process. Awareness first.

High heels and other single gal exploits

One of the major effects I was left with after my stroke was my physical imbalance. The result was a limp and months of using a cane and wearing flat shoes. I admit I was thrilled that flats were in fashion. Now I have achieved the goal of wearing heels. It sounds superficial but it speaks volumes as I click clack my way along the sidewalk.

High heels were one thing I never thought I'd be able to wear again. This goes along with running, dancing and skiing. The feeling, being completely absorbed in the feminine sway, is hard to describe. It's not that I want to be another character or wear them as part of a role, it's part of me I thought was lost and the rediscovery is rather thrilling.

Like a kid on a rollercoaster, I feel all grown up now and have that "hey, look at me" quality. I feel like a superhero, perhaps I should don a cape. My kids look at me as if I'm high up in a tower, as it should be. That way I can instill more fear (kidding).

I have found out that after a couple drinks I can be rather wobbly on my high heels. This is not cute. And like a friend that had to make a similar choice, I choose heels over cocktails. For the moment anyway, we'll see how long that lasts.

I suppose underlying this new leggy look is whether men will take interest, but in the moment I am not thinking of that. It is truly an afterthought and to be honest, when I think about it, it seems a bit much, overwhelming and perhaps intimidating. I mean if I were a guy I wouldn't dig it. But clearly some men do. I'm not sure if it's the hobbling around bit or the idea of long legs wrapped around them.

People's shoes, particularly women's shoes, tell much about the person without really knowing them, over the knee boots, stilettos, platform pumps or ballet flats. Whatever their story, it's all tied up in the feminine, how you embrace it, your commitment to it, or not. Of course it is not everyone's thing.

While I am taking small steps, my heels are not really that high, I take them confidently and finally feel like I'm striding. It's not a bad thing to live in a metaphor.

When the X comes to call

I have just endured another visit from the X. It was nice actually and we spent a fair bit of time together with ease and comfort. He had the kids a lot, which I realized I missed more than anything else, that sort of shared parenting camaraderie. And then he was gone. A harsh reminder that this would still be my life if we were together. So here I am, boomeranged back into single parenthood.

I do give him credit for being a stand up guy. He came back earlier than planned because I wasn’t well. The allergies to god-knows-what, continue. Luckily no more hospital visits, but I’m plagued by skin irritations and low energy.

Mainly I am supremely frustrated that this illness continues to be a reminder in my life of the state I am in. There are so many periods where I feel fine, then there is this kind of regression. One friend pointed out that he sees me as someone who really wants to be active but my body won’t allow it. I guess my brain won’t allow it since that is where this has all stemmed from.

Needless to point out, I was pleased to have some time off from the kids. The X was instrumental in segueing into our routine. I felt some guilt when the classroom seasonal cold made it’s rounds with the kids, but then realized it was good for him to see what that is like too ie. Sick kids staying home for days on end.

I cheekily emailed him an article on Shared Parenting this week. It is a fantasy for me really. He travels to work and will probably never live in the same city as us. He briefly replied that he agreed with the concept in principle but reminded me that it just wasn’t in the cards with our life.

On I go, forging ahead and mapping my way through this single life with all its checks and balances, ups and downs.

Allergy

I have spent much of the summer feeling very strong and dare I say, vital. I was having less naps, less need for downtime, and as a result felt pretty normal. The meds that were making me drowsy were being pulled back so that helped. I had late nights socially, energy for my kids, and was thrilled that things were leveling out.

Two nights ago I went to bed noticing some hives on my legs. I thought it was a result of stress since this had happened once in the past. I didn’t think much further about it and just went to bed. I was aware that the previous four days I had been quite fatigued. My neuropathic leg pain had jumped up and I was walking with my cane again. The previous weekend had been truly exhausting, but I ploughed through it.

When I woke the next morning my lip was swollen. Classic allergy response. I went straight to my family doctor who questioned my blood pressure meds and suggested I replace them immediately and take Benadryl. That didn’t work and I ended up in Emergency being treated for anaphylactic response, epinephrine shot, IV’s of cortisone and god knows what else. My lips were swollen to a ridiculous size and I was covered in hives from head to toe.

There is still the mystery of what I am allergic to. I have been on the same meds for over 6 months, there is the possibility of food allergy, but I ate nothing different. The hives have lingered though I have a 5 day course of heavy duty Prednisone to take, which knocks me out completely.

The whining side of me is really saying, “Now? Really? I thought I was fine”. I recognize that rest is a must for recovery. Not so easy with two kids. Surprisingly, and possibly out of guilt, the X is coming in a few days to support the situation. I’m sure he will take the kids and that will give me a break.