Physical Therapy

OK, so I've alluded to the fact that I've made some strides in recovering from my recent stroke. My neurologist feels I've improved as well, but decided to send me to physical therapy to work on my balance, and, hopefully, help strengthen my left arm and leg. She was also concerned that one leg was shorter than the other, and that it was contributing to my sometimes unsteady gait.

Luckily, my therapist was very laid-back and took a common-sense approach to my rehab. He explained that recovery was best served by first making sure I didn't fall and injure myself further. He also reassured me that my legs were both the same length. He designed some exercises to help my balance and strengthen my back, hips and legs. As I walked out on my first day, I thought rehab would be a cinch since the exercises were so simple. Simple didn't turn out to mean easy.

First, I overestimated my physical condition. Just a few weeks of inactivity, and a small stroke, had really reduced my strength. The exercises took only a little over half-an-hour to complete, but by the end I was pretty worn out. Is this the same guy who could bench press 200 pounds not all that long ago? I was now a 230-pund wimp.

Secondy, several of the exercises require me to lie on the floor. Not bad in itself, but as soon as I started, Daisy the 75-pound Golden Retriever decided I was inviting her to play. The whole time I was working one leg or arm, I was trying to arm wrestle a hairy version of Hulk Hogan with the other! The more I pushed her away, the more she charged back for more. By the time I finished, I was covered with sweat, fur, and dog slobber. Somehow, I don't think this is what my doctor had in mind when she said I needed some help in getting back to 100%.

The last part of my routine involves walking heel to toe and alternate high-stepping. To get enough room, and have a wall to help balance me, I moved outside along the side of the house on our carport. The whole time, I could imagine the other folks on the street wondering why their crazy neighbor was goose-stepping up and down his driveway like the Waffen SS.

By the time I finish rehab, we'll probably have to move.


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On the Road to Recovery?

Well, it's been a month since I suffered a brain injury due to stroke, and I guess it's time to pause and figure out where I started from and where I'm headed.

Four weeks ago, the left side of my body (really, it's as if someone drew a line straight down the middle, from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet!) was numb, my left arm was pretty much paralyzed, and my left leg was so weak I had to lift it into bed or into the car by using my right arm. To walk, I had to either hold onto someone else, or use a cane to keep from falling (which I did, spectacularly I might add, on several occassions).

Nightime bathroom excursions were pretty crazy, as I tried to get out of bed, navigate to the bathroom, and then find my way back to bed without falling, running into the wall, or bouncing off the mattress when I collapsed back onto it on my return.

Mrs Merc Man and Daisy the Golden Puppy didn't get much rest, what with catering to my every need or trying to pick me back up off the floor when I didn't quite reach my intended destination. Every teetering journey across a room and every attempt to get out of a chair required them to drop what they were doing and come to my rescue/assistance. On top of being depressed about my illness, I felt bad that I was wearing them out with worry as well. Gimlet, Froggie Girl, and Grandma Gimlet all pitched in to help, and as much as I appreciated all their support, it's tough to see your family stressing themselves with worry over a middle-aged invalid who didn't spend enough time taking care of his health. Somehow, I had to get better.

And slowly, things have gotten better. My left leg still wants to drag and/or turn under when I walk too much, but I can actually flex my ankle now and I haven't kissed the concrete in a couple of weeks. My left hand is no longer drawn into a claw, and I can actually grasp and hold things with it. I actually applied deodorant to my own underarms recently, and the improvement in the household atmosphere is akin to the sweet smell of success!

The left-side numbness is beginning to resolve, although it's replaced by a tingling, wake-up-from-sleep kind of pins and needles that feels just plain creepy.

The biggest pain is the overall feeling of exhaustion I've had since my illness. Simple tasks completely wear me out; just cleaning up can leave me wiped out for a couple hours.

So far, I'd give my recovery a score of C. I'm much improved over the last four weeks, but I still have a long road ahead. Unfortunately, the road is not lined with comfy couches, golden arches and ice cream sandwiches. Couldn't I just be 25 again? 35? 45? Hell, 55!