I've done a few things in my life which, if I wasn't being terribly modest, I could call achievements.
I was the first person in my family to go to university and get a degree, I secured my childhood ambition of becoming a journalist, I've been married for 24 years, I've edited a national magazine, I've climbed Dunn's River Falls in Jamaica (Google it...), I've been in the back of an aircraft with a Territorial Army regiment on exercise; not bad for someone who hasn't always enjoyed the best of health.
Yet this week, I did something which might top all of those achievements - I ran a few yards up a corridor. I've never been a runner, I was always last in those awful school cross-country races and quickly realised that although I was besotted with sport from an early age, my involvement was destined to be as supporter, not player. I did have a brief spell in the school's mixed hockey team, mind you - something which was brought to an undignified end when a female opponent whacked me squarely on the nose with her stick.
But this week, as my rehabilitation from my stroke gathers pace, I ran a few yards up a corridor. You may have guessed that this is all the work of the amazing Emily Smedley of breathebalancebeactivated.com. When I saw her on Tuesday, after I had writhed on her treatment table in agony for an hour, she took me out into the corridor and said "Now, run." Eighteen months ago, even pre-stroke, I may well have said: "I can't run."
Of course, though, there is no such word as 'can't' in my vocabulary now. So I did. Just a few yards, backwards and forwards, probably five or six times in total. It wasn't much, but it was definitely running and if I am going to achieve my aim of a charity fund-raising 5km run (run, walk, stagger; whatever...) later this year, it has to be done.
And it has to be improved upon. Next time, I'm sure there will be more running. And more work with the Butt Bungee (you can Google that, as well....). And more physical agony. But Warriors surely know that there is no gain without pain. I can't say I enjoyed the pain, but the euphoria I felt when I realised I was running was extraordinary. As was the feeling that I've been defying the odds all my life. Now where's that starting line....?
Wednesday 25 February 2015
Tuesday 17 February 2015
It's Saturday afternoon, of course I'm not tired......
"How come you're never tired at 2pm on a Saturday?" It's a valid question, I suppose and it's one Mrs W always asks whenever I tell my tales of woe about stroke-related tiredness.
It's true that the thought of a few hours with my mates, a few beers (but not too many, thanks to my medication) and a football match does take my mind off the world of strokie-dom; When I started watching Tamworth FC again after my stroke at the start of the current season, my fatigue was such that I could only stand on the terraces with my mates for 45 minutes before I had to retreat to the seats. Now, I can stand up for the whole game and enjoy the camaraderie that comes from football.
My footy mates have played a key part in my ongoing rehabilitation. They look after me on a Saturday afternoon, make sure I get a seat in the pub pre-game, organise a taxi to the ground, make sure I'm not getting too tired during the afternoon and, crucially, get me home safely at the end of the game.
And I must also give a mention to everyone at Tamworth FC, who have really shown the spirit which is at the heart of non-league football. Supporters and officials alike all know what's happened, so everyone ensures I'm treated properly. I know it isn't like that for all disabled people at all football grounds, but it certainly is at Tamworth.
However, it's a good job the Lambs weren't at home this past Saturday; because for the first time since my stroke, I was indeed tired on Saturday afternoon. I'd had an interrupted night's sleep on Friday and it hit me hard, as it sometimes does.
At 2pm this Saturday, all I wanted to do was sleep. We had a Valentine's Day meal to look forward to in the evening, so I needed to be awake. With all the recent warnings I've had about managing my fatigue ringing in my head, I retired to bed for a hour; and as it always does, the power-nap did the job. I was awake enough to join Mrs W and Rascal, our chihuahua, on a walk in the park. And I was fit for the evening and the rest of the weekend.
This Saturday? Tamworth v Oxford City at The Lamb. Oxford broke Tamworth's 12-game run of league wins in the reverse fixture three weeks ago. I won't be falling asleep at 2pm this Saturday, whatever Mrs W says.....
It's true that the thought of a few hours with my mates, a few beers (but not too many, thanks to my medication) and a football match does take my mind off the world of strokie-dom; When I started watching Tamworth FC again after my stroke at the start of the current season, my fatigue was such that I could only stand on the terraces with my mates for 45 minutes before I had to retreat to the seats. Now, I can stand up for the whole game and enjoy the camaraderie that comes from football.
My footy mates have played a key part in my ongoing rehabilitation. They look after me on a Saturday afternoon, make sure I get a seat in the pub pre-game, organise a taxi to the ground, make sure I'm not getting too tired during the afternoon and, crucially, get me home safely at the end of the game.
And I must also give a mention to everyone at Tamworth FC, who have really shown the spirit which is at the heart of non-league football. Supporters and officials alike all know what's happened, so everyone ensures I'm treated properly. I know it isn't like that for all disabled people at all football grounds, but it certainly is at Tamworth.
However, it's a good job the Lambs weren't at home this past Saturday; because for the first time since my stroke, I was indeed tired on Saturday afternoon. I'd had an interrupted night's sleep on Friday and it hit me hard, as it sometimes does.
At 2pm this Saturday, all I wanted to do was sleep. We had a Valentine's Day meal to look forward to in the evening, so I needed to be awake. With all the recent warnings I've had about managing my fatigue ringing in my head, I retired to bed for a hour; and as it always does, the power-nap did the job. I was awake enough to join Mrs W and Rascal, our chihuahua, on a walk in the park. And I was fit for the evening and the rest of the weekend.
This Saturday? Tamworth v Oxford City at The Lamb. Oxford broke Tamworth's 12-game run of league wins in the reverse fixture three weeks ago. I won't be falling asleep at 2pm this Saturday, whatever Mrs W says.....
Wednesday 11 February 2015
Getting the most out of every day - even though it may not be wise at times
One of the things I've learned about being a strokie with a fairly-substantial social media presence is that I have more people than I sometimes think looking out for my welfare.
Take this week, for instance. On Monday, I travelled to Derby for more punishment from my sports therapist, the amazing Emily Smedley of breathebalancebeactivated.com. And punishment is the right word after she did something to my jaw which I don't wholly understand but which may have been the most painful thing I've ever experienced. And that was before she had me doing sit-ups whilst she knelt on the physio couch beside me. It worked, though, because I walked away from her clinic without sticks, with my head up and looking forward to my next session in two weeks' time.
After that, I should have had a quiet day on Tuesday. But being me, I didn't. And I said so on Facebook. "Seeing a lady I met at a recent networking event this morning at 11.30, seeing my public-speaking coach at 2pm then some former colleagues for beers at 5pm. And I need to write my blog. And pay some bills. That'll do for today, I think," I said.
It looked a daunting schedule as I was writing that status. Throw in the usual hitches that we all experience in our days (unexpected phone calls, things we've forgotten to account for) and by 11am, it was a lot worse. And almost immediately, the comments started coming in on Facebook. "Full-on day :( 'Have a rest day tomorrow.' ''That's too much.'' ''Be careful you don't overdo it." ''Don't wear yourself out and regret it."
Both my public-speaking coach and the lady from the networking event told me afterwards that I should have cancelled. Maybe I should. But I'm not like that, so I carried on. I enjoyed the day but today (Wednesday) I will do no more than write this blog post then rest before my college course this evening.
I know I shouldn't have done yesterday, but my problem still is that I only know I've done too much when I've done too much. And I was sustained through yesterday by a comment from the networking lady who had heard me speak about my stroke experience at the event where we met. "One of the most emotional things I've ever heard," she said.
And if I can keep getting the message about stroke across to people like her - and my friends who hear and appreciate it tell their friends who tell their friends - the occasional full-on day like yesterday will be more than worth it.
Take this week, for instance. On Monday, I travelled to Derby for more punishment from my sports therapist, the amazing Emily Smedley of breathebalancebeactivated.com. And punishment is the right word after she did something to my jaw which I don't wholly understand but which may have been the most painful thing I've ever experienced. And that was before she had me doing sit-ups whilst she knelt on the physio couch beside me. It worked, though, because I walked away from her clinic without sticks, with my head up and looking forward to my next session in two weeks' time.
After that, I should have had a quiet day on Tuesday. But being me, I didn't. And I said so on Facebook. "Seeing a lady I met at a recent networking event this morning at 11.30, seeing my public-speaking coach at 2pm then some former colleagues for beers at 5pm. And I need to write my blog. And pay some bills. That'll do for today, I think," I said.
It looked a daunting schedule as I was writing that status. Throw in the usual hitches that we all experience in our days (unexpected phone calls, things we've forgotten to account for) and by 11am, it was a lot worse. And almost immediately, the comments started coming in on Facebook. "Full-on day :( 'Have a rest day tomorrow.' ''That's too much.'' ''Be careful you don't overdo it." ''Don't wear yourself out and regret it."
Both my public-speaking coach and the lady from the networking event told me afterwards that I should have cancelled. Maybe I should. But I'm not like that, so I carried on. I enjoyed the day but today (Wednesday) I will do no more than write this blog post then rest before my college course this evening.
I know I shouldn't have done yesterday, but my problem still is that I only know I've done too much when I've done too much. And I was sustained through yesterday by a comment from the networking lady who had heard me speak about my stroke experience at the event where we met. "One of the most emotional things I've ever heard," she said.
And if I can keep getting the message about stroke across to people like her - and my friends who hear and appreciate it tell their friends who tell their friends - the occasional full-on day like yesterday will be more than worth it.
Tuesday 3 February 2015
Why moaning about life isn't worth it
Ask a fair number of stroke-survivors what irritates us most about our fellow human beings and we will say 'people who whinge about life; about having to get up at 6am on a cold Monday morning in February, or do the housework, or commute to a job they don't particularly like."
The reason most strokies say this, of course, is because we have to do all that (well, most of it) as well as dealing with the physical and mental challenges caused by our condition. As I write this, I've just spoken to someone who is unable to work because of the problems caused by their stroke and who has just taken a break in their day to message me 'after vacuuming, dusting, hanging out the washing, going to the post office, resetting my Apple ID which was a pain in the ****..."
For myself, I spent a couple of hours in town this morning doing a string of little things that just had to be done today; go to the opticians for a claim form for some new glasses, get a birthday card (and call into each of the three card shops in town twice, to make sure I'd got the right one), call into the Job Centre and rearrange an appointment, buy some gloves, call into the bank. It might seem mundane to you but by the end of it, I had a raging headache and was absolutely done in. Given that most stroke-survivors have to closely manage their day, taking regular breaks to ease the tiredness which is one of the major symptoms of our condition, just getting through the day is quite a challenge. The person I've quoted above, by the way, has a severely weak left side so that doing anything takes at least twice as long as it would for a normal person.
But, as I said here last week, being a strokie and being alive with all our problems is a heck of a lot better than the alternative. And I've been to two funerals in the space of four days this week, of people taken far too young (in one case, far, far too young). It might be that I'm getting old, but it does bring home to you how fragile is the human condition. Yes, one of the deceased had cancer so his family and friends had been able to prepare themselves for what was coming. But the other person involved died in their sleep at a ridiculously early age and without any indication of what was coming.
Like me if I had been run over by that bus or hadn't survived the stroke, one minute he was here and apparently healthy, the next he was gone.
That's why my stock answer these days to a well-meaning 'How are you?' is to say: 'Well, I got up this morning and I'm still breathing." It could sound like a cliche, but it's true - when you've come so close to not breathing and you hear of people who went to bed one night and didn't wake up the next morning, reminding yourself and others that you are alive is very important. And it pulls up short those who would moan about having to get up to catch the 6am train.
The reason most strokies say this, of course, is because we have to do all that (well, most of it) as well as dealing with the physical and mental challenges caused by our condition. As I write this, I've just spoken to someone who is unable to work because of the problems caused by their stroke and who has just taken a break in their day to message me 'after vacuuming, dusting, hanging out the washing, going to the post office, resetting my Apple ID which was a pain in the ****..."
For myself, I spent a couple of hours in town this morning doing a string of little things that just had to be done today; go to the opticians for a claim form for some new glasses, get a birthday card (and call into each of the three card shops in town twice, to make sure I'd got the right one), call into the Job Centre and rearrange an appointment, buy some gloves, call into the bank. It might seem mundane to you but by the end of it, I had a raging headache and was absolutely done in. Given that most stroke-survivors have to closely manage their day, taking regular breaks to ease the tiredness which is one of the major symptoms of our condition, just getting through the day is quite a challenge. The person I've quoted above, by the way, has a severely weak left side so that doing anything takes at least twice as long as it would for a normal person.
But, as I said here last week, being a strokie and being alive with all our problems is a heck of a lot better than the alternative. And I've been to two funerals in the space of four days this week, of people taken far too young (in one case, far, far too young). It might be that I'm getting old, but it does bring home to you how fragile is the human condition. Yes, one of the deceased had cancer so his family and friends had been able to prepare themselves for what was coming. But the other person involved died in their sleep at a ridiculously early age and without any indication of what was coming.
Like me if I had been run over by that bus or hadn't survived the stroke, one minute he was here and apparently healthy, the next he was gone.
That's why my stock answer these days to a well-meaning 'How are you?' is to say: 'Well, I got up this morning and I'm still breathing." It could sound like a cliche, but it's true - when you've come so close to not breathing and you hear of people who went to bed one night and didn't wake up the next morning, reminding yourself and others that you are alive is very important. And it pulls up short those who would moan about having to get up to catch the 6am train.
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