The journey began here and continues in part 2, part 3, and part 4. This will be the last regular post in this series. Other posts may follow if I think of something new to say.
Dr. Google never went to medical school. Please visit an actual health care provider – a physician, a nurse practitioner, or a physician assistant – for any medical help.
Many hemorrhagic stroke survivors make a full recovery. I’d class my own recovery as “good” rather than “full.” The post-stroke fatigue began tapering off the first year after my discharge, and as of now, I consider myself free of post-stroke fatigue.
Other effects have been harder to shake. My right hand still doesn’t feel normal. I have a slight buzzing sensation, all the time. One night I woke up with my right hand twitching over and over again, and I couldn’t stop it. My left hand is always warmer than my right, On some days, my right hand is noticeably paler. It took months for me to feel comfortable typing again, but I am a slower typist than I was before the stroke. On bad days, my right hand just doesn’t want to function.
I do what I can to improve my right hand. I knit and spin, both activities encouraged by my occupational therapist. Lately I’ve come to realize that my efforts are just maintenance, and I’m trying to accept that the way I am today may be as good as it gets. Treatments don’t always cure.
I have occasional foot drop. It’s not that bad, but it’s a reminder of what I’ve lost. I exercise and do what I can to keep myself from falling.
I take medication four times a day. I have to be very careful about my caffeine intake. I avoid taking ibuprofen. I hope it will be enough to keep me from having a second stroke.
I have moments of memory loss and word finding difficulties. In the weeks and months immediately following the stroke, I had right facial droop and I had trouble speaking. The droop is barely noticeable now, but I have trouble articulating at times, especially at the end of the day or after I’ve had to speak a lot.
I try to keep my spirits up. My husband has been my strongest ally in this, and in all things. I still have to face friends and co-workers who think I must feel normal because I don’t complain, or who get impatient with me when I have to request some kind of accommodation. My stroke is an invisible illness, which is probably why I jumped at the change to blog about it.
There are a lot of other stroke survivors out there. Some of us are visibly, obviously disabled by what happened to us. Others, like me, walk around looking perfectly normal to the average bystander. We all keep taking it one day at a time.
Thank you for reading about my stroke journey.
Rachel
I'm a writer, a knitter/spinner/weaver, a young stroke survivor, and a type 2 diabetic.
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