Lucky One?

Can't Talk About Nuthin' But Stroke

It is still hard--the stroke I had March 26, I mean, not my member. It's hard to do small things, worse than before when I felt that diabetes and anemia were close enough to stealing all my energy, personality, and soul, for any tasks at all! I would GET dizzy sometimes, but I think now I'm only occasionally NOT dizzy. That sucks--but, there again, not my member, which would be delightful (if you follow). If you've gotten lost, I just made another typical nasty remark. And if you're mad about that, the evidence is dead certain that you have mistaken me for some other bloke and have badly mistaken this blog. For what, I'm uncertain. How fucked up can you be, when in fact you're a straight arrow who never veered? That isn't me, but it might be you. If so, I advise you to kill yourself soon, somewhere out of the way of busy foot traffic, cars, and trucks... I detest a mess, so don't blow yourself up here, either. Just hang on until you can get home, okay? Then you can ignite yourself. At any rate, I got through my stroke less injured that many others do, so I was a Lucky One. My concentration is like a tire with a partial flat, but language skills have remained nearly normal and I didn't get any paralysis. I consider those the two big ones. They would have made me a slob in front of friends and strangers alike! God bless those who've been cursed with real problems from their stroke, but I dodged the bullet, by sheer luck or accident. It's hard to know how to celebrate the fact that one's brain didn't blow up and that one still has the blessing of clear speech (and/or writing)!! I used to use a cane as a casual aid, and now I use one out of dire need. Sometimes I use two for difficult terrain (high steps or rough ground) because walkers suck. I used a walker a little at first, in rehab and when I first got home--but those things make you have to walk sideways into bathrooms or other narrow doorways, and that's an accident waiting to happen. Late at night when I get out of bed to visit the toilet, I don't want those damn walker legs sliding along and stomping on my feet I'd have to be watching carefully or the neuropathy in my feet wouldn't even allow me to feel it at first! I'm horribly weak, but I am getting stronger. Pretty weird, isn't it? I caution you all to slow down in shopping malls and other public places--don't run over any apparent disabled persons, old or otherwise, because they may think like me and whack your kidney with a cane or crutch as you execute some skillful maneuver that puts your detestable young ass underfoot and that you consider very cool! SURPRISE! "Swoosh!" goes the cane! And another young punk bites the dust.