Water Dog? Not So Much

On our walk Sunday morning in St Ferdinand Park, a group of ducks and ducklings waddled over to the fishing lake and plunged in rather than risk facing Daisy the Golden Puppy. They chose the perfect escape, because, in spite of her retriever lineage, Daisy hates water and avoids it like the plague! The best she could do was stand at the edge of the lake and look wistfully out at the quackers. It's probably just as well.

Now THIS is Retirement! or, How I Tested My Heart, Blood Pressure, and Pulse Rate

I attended a Father's Day party at my Pop's retirement community today, and got more than my money's worth. Besides the BBQ ribs and cheesecake, there was also live entertainment in the form of a belly dancer. I have to admit, I was expecting a 90-year-old in a moo-moo, but I was pleasantly surprised when the shindig started. The funniest part was that while a shapely, half-naked girl was twirling in front of them, most of the old codgers weren't even aware of what was going on. They didn't even notice when she danced with a sword balanced on her head! Oh well, I guess it still beats being on oxygen in the nursing home.

Don't Eat Quackers in Bed

This seems to be the week for wildlife! On Friday morning, about 6:30 a.m., Daisy the Golden and yours truly were at St Ferdinand Park in Florissant when we came across this family gathering of ducks and ducklings. Daisy was very good and didn't ty to terrorize them, but Mom and Pop Duck moved the little quackers to the pond shortly after just to be sure.

Daisy and the Turtle

Today was wildlife day at Sunset Park in Florissant. Daisy the Crazy Golden Retriever and I were out on a morning stroll a little before 6 a.m., and the entire area was alive with rabbits, squirrels, geese, and one critter we hadn't come across before. We were almost done with our walk when Daisy spotted a turtle sunning himself in the grass. His head was stretched out on his neck as far as it would go, but he quickly withdrew to his shell as the very excited pup raced up to him. He refused to come back out, so I was slowly able to coax Daisy away from him and let him go back about his business. Daisy really wanted to get nose to nose, so I'm glad he wasn't a snapper.

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!

You Can Eat All the Green Vegetables You Want.....Gee, Thanks!

A big part of my wake-up call after suffering a stroke was having to accept the fact that I was going to have to change my diet. Fast food burgers, pizza, and the multitude of sundaes, sub sandwiches, etc, etc, that I dearly loved were now verboten if I was going to avoid diabetes.

Having high blood pressure, I also needed to eliminate as much salt from my diet as well, and I quickly became obsessed with reading food lables to try and find something that was good for me and also tasted like food instead of cardboard. Let me tell you, it don't come easy.

Nutrtion websites proclaim loudly that you can eat all the vegetables you want and still have a healthy body. Problem is, at least to me, is that I have yet to meet a carrot that tastes like french fries or a monster pizza. Even a bargain brand ice cream beats broccoli hands down, unless the green stuff is smothered with melted Velveeta.

Then there's the no-salt thing. I never realized how much of a salt-o-holic I was until I started doing without, and with the amount of sodium loaded into almost every prepared food, canned vegetable, bakery goods, etc, it's really hard to avoid overload. Even my favorite frozen pancakes hold more salt than the Dead Sea!

At the beginning of my quest to eat better, I thought the biggest challenge would be controlling calories. At 6 feet tall, I weighed 240 pounds the day I came home from the horse-pital (just some equine humor--it's close to the day of the Preakness), so to reach my ideal weight I needed to shed some 60 pounds of "relaxed muscle". After eliminating carbs (sugar and those foods easily converted to sugar in the human body), and salt, I wasn't going to have to do much calculating to control calories. In 3 weeks, I lost 8 pounds, and with what I've been eating, I don't miss food all that much. Eating to live is a great slogan, but a lousy aperitif.

All in all, I have to admit that my diet is a lot healthier today than it was before my brain exploded, but I'm hoping some lonely scientist somewhere is on the verge of discovering a pill that gives one the metabolism of a hummingbird and the blood vessels of a giraffe. You see tadpole, because of their looong necks, giraffes have very high blood presure to shoot blood all the way up to their pointy little heads.

In spite of all that pressure, they suffer no ill effects. Go Tarzan!!!!