ShoeStrings

Hi Everyone!

Here’s my March Blog…finally! If it’s bad I’ll blame my recently removed gallbladder (and the doctors assured me you didn’t need it)!

The Shoestring website is now up and running and, although it’s been a slow start (like it’s owner), please don’t forget to email (shoestringsorg@hotmail.com) a photo of you & your shoes/ just your shoes (jpeg file, 300dpi) and a brief summary regarding your experience with stroke and what you’ve learnt (under 200 words) so we can make the Shoestrings exhibition even more successful! Go to www.shoestrings.org.au and check out all the others pictures- including mine!

I hope you enjoy my March blogging, Em x x x x

I woke two hours later from a great sleep. My surgeon approached me in his scrubs and muffled something, I was too drowsy to comprehend his words Instead of waking in intensive care with beeps, doctors and tubes, I woke in a quiet room. A nurse approached me, “Can you understand me?” I asked. “Of course I can sweetie!’ I moved me both arms and wriggled my toes. I could move, I could speak. Others could understand me- woo hoo! Elated, I floated down the corridor. A nurse led me to ensure the relaxants didn’t drift away. A buoyancy vest. The anxiety and fear disintegrated. It’d been a synch. Simple. I stupidly worried about waking from the anaesthetic groggy; hearing ‘beep beep beeeeps’ in ICU, tube tangled and speaking gibberish. However, my identification bracelets were cut off three hours later. No overnight stay. My own pillow. Relief.

Nowadays I fear more getting ‘into’ the lifts. The prospect of the lift plummeting or stopping mid level doesn’t bother me. Instead, the lift door commonly shuts on my frame and me. Jammed. The large metal doors determined to compress me. A human mammogram. Once two strangers witnessed the lifts crushing attempt and forced the doors open saying breathlessly, “You ok?”- “I’m ok” and then “Thank you” I numbly say. Free. I escape Speechless.

The long walk to the suites was perfect training for my 3km walk in March. I am seated in the first plastic surgeons rooms and asked to, “wait, he would be with me shortly”. The room is large, empty and clean. My chair looks lonely positioned right in the centre of the room. I sit in it but feel like a ‘naughty’ kid. There are three gorgeous children photographed on his desk. Refreshing, as most surgeons rooms are wall papered with qualifications and bookshelves of medical texts.

The second surgeon was in an older suite and reminded me of my surgeon’s rooms, only the plastic ear replaced the plastic brain in this appointment. I was instructed to undergo a random hearing test in a portable- like room. The earphones squashed my head that had been spared by the lift. I learnt two hours later that I didn’t need seashells to her the ‘whoosh whoosh’ sound. Apparently my right side was “precious” and both surgeons seemed keen to wait until I’d fully recovered. If I had a droopy eyelid or drooled it would be simple. I felt punished for recovering as much I had. So I waited four hours, spent $250.00 to hear that I couldn’t clone my old image. I was told to wait. Great.

The third doctor I saw a month later. He was ‘the one’. I knew from his first question, “So Emma If we could wave a magic wand over you, what would you like to change?’ In my head I wanted to change everything, but I posed my reply to narrow down my options, “You mean to my face?”  I wanted to see him predominantly to reduce the number of stares I experienced and to omit the ‘dumb’ image.  His solution: Botox.

Yes Botox, where the toxic fluid was injected in my good muscles to give my bad ones a chance. Then, another fatty substance would be injected in my right cheek to fill the hollow. Like putty, polyfill. People would no longer interpret my over working left sided expression as anger saying, “Em, are you angry?” So although I was very anti-botox, as it’s short-term intervention only, it wouldn’t impede my recovery and wouldn’t be as traumatic. He apparently “uses gallons of the stuff” and my measly 4 units were nothing compared to “the 1000 units required for children with spasticity.” I’d bought my graduation photo for him to compare pre and post op. I’m sure his used to hearing, ‘I want Angelina Jolie’s lips’ or ‘Nicole Kidman’s nose’, I never envisaged returning to my pre-op state. Anything would be a bonus! I was a guaranteed satisfied customer!

So I could continue searching to find a better option, but every options has faults right? They do say when you stop searching you realise the answers under your nose. So will I ever be satisfied? I’m not sure. I think it’s human nature to always want more. Like my surgeon said when I asked, “Do you think Botox will help my vision?” He replies, “Emma, I’m sure if it did, there’d be a new procedure you want to try!” True. But do I accept my current level or strive for better? Maybe I’ll be a guinea pig but at least I can I did try it!

- Include more elaborate words in my vocab

- Slow my rate

- Breathe in between sentences

I dropped in larger words in my vocab or deliberately referred to past memories whether it was a name, event or location to prove my sanity. Strangers were (and still are) a lot harder to convince. Their preconceived idea that ‘I didn’t have a clue’ or ‘that the strange glares wouldn’t impact my self-esteem’ were so fixed. Harder when I wasn’t speaking or my whisper volume wasn’t heard amongst the chatter or music. I actually once considered tattooing, ‘I AM NOT DUMB’ on my forehead. My entry into many others lives seems to automatically elicit, ‘Wow, I didn’t realise how lucky I was” or “Poor girl!” - An immediate self-confidence boost!

My ears 14 hours later are still ringing. What’s also so hard is in larger groups there are always people you rarely see, even more important to catch up with them and leave them with the notion of, “Em’s ok”. I guess February 2007 was crammed with medical appointments. My gallstones and eye ulcer were new but far from exciting. So pretending that things are dandy at times like this is a waste of time. My news comes out even worse as I have to compete with the surrounding chatter. I was a novice runner competing with an athlete. Purchasing my new tellie, having my op date and seeing the plastic surgeon was all news that remains trapped.

In three weeks I have my twin’s Engagement Party that 170 have been invited too, I hate that I’m dreading it. I hate that there’s no escape. Even helping out in the kitchen isn’t an option. My frame would be in the way and I drop things. To hand around food on my frame “Hi guys, sorry would you like some sushi?” would elicit a, “Pardon” or “Let me do that, you sit down and relax!” So I’ll sit and listen, pretending that I’m fine when my ears are screeching trying to process the constant ramble. I’ll try and brush off the nods I get from others as if they agree with whatever I’m saying even though they can’t hear me. I may as well be saying “You smell” – I’d get the same reaction. It’s my sister’s big night, an occasion where I know I’ll just grin and bear it!