I might sometimes give the impression here that this stroke-rehab business is becoming easy. I'm walking taller and straighter, I'm getting about more generally; as you saw last week, I'm even running, in a fashion.
And then I have weeks like this one. Weeks that remind me about the joys of being on blood-thinning tablets in our glorious British weather; how the tablets make your blood feel so cold that all you want to do is hide under a warm duvet.
How my brain has been damaged in a way that makes it difficult to remember why I'm going into town after I've taken two steps out of the front door of Warrillow Towers. The frustration of getting home from town and remembering that you forgot what you went in for AGAIN.
How I really must remember to write down the day's activities on the whiteboard in the kitchen or I WILL forget something important. (Such as the dental appointment 15 minutes ago which writing this blog post has just brought to mind...)
How coping with a front-door lock that's playing up slightly can leave me temporarily imprisoned in Warrillow Towers. How the crowds and noise on market day in Tamworth really are too much for me to cope with at the moment.
How my new-found ability to forget or lose things can mean I think I've lost my wallet and can spend a nervous hour re-tracing my steps from the previous evening, only for Mrs W to then find it down the back of the lounge sofa.
How the thought of losing my wallet can send me into agonies of panic over all the hassle that would entail.
How explaining all this to non-strokies who, perfectly understandably, don't have a clue can sometimes make you want to cry with frustration.
I expressed all this frustration yesterday on a forum for stroke-survivors. Someone replied that I have to start saying that all of this is a problem "at the moment". Of course, they are right. But it doesn't make it any easier at the moment.
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