A Typically Hazardous Experience

Out of curiosity, I Googled the definition of adventure. I’ve described various times of my life in that way without ever looking up the word to see what it actually meant. It surprised me. An unusual and exciting, typically hazardous experience or activity. Exciting…yes. Unusual…yes. But typically hazardous? No! No! No! Until now, that is. My latest adventure into the Twilight Zone of post stroke reality, merits that description.

But as well as being a wild and crazy ride, this event has provided an in-depth learning experience. For instance, did you know that the average body contains over 60,000 miles of arteries, veins, and capillaries? And that of those 60,000, the brain lays claim to 400. That’s 400 miles of potential hazard just waiting to happen. It was in one of those tiniest roadways, a random capillary on the right side of the parietal lobe, where my latest adventure began.

That was three weeks ago, and I already told you in a previous blog all about the incident itself. Today, however, I did my full yoga workout (except the headstand – just a little skittish about my head these days) and meditated. Yoga and meditation along with medication, help to stabilize blood pressure. Then, around lunch time, there was a quick rap on the door. A large box containing an exercise bicycle sat there. I dragged it in. It needed assembly, of course, and the directions suggested two adults.

Hogwash!

An hour later it was done.

Then, because this is South Carolina, and it’s a 75-degree day in January, I went out on the balcony to catch a few rays.

Being the stubborn, Capricornian goat that I am, I’m committed to coming out of this ordeal stronger, healthier, and more fit than I’ve ever been. The body has a miraculous ability to heal itself. And I find this amazing: while I was having my adventure, aka stroke, brain cells surrounding the obstructed area were being starved of oxygen and dying. That sent the brain’s resident immune cells and white blood cells charging to the injured area to do cleanup. They cleared away dead cell debris and toxins, prepping the compromised area for repair. Then the healthy part of the brain kicked in creating detours around the damaged places and picked up the slack in the functions previously managed by the injured tissue.

Nearby, surviving neurons worked overtime to form new connections and neural circuits, effectively rewiring the brain. In support of their effort, the brain generated new neurons from stem cells, and those migrated to the site of the injury. All hands on deck, right? Finally, the formation of new blood vessels helped restore blood flow and provided oxygen and nutrients to the area surrounding the core damage aiding in the survival of vulnerable neurons.

And now it’s my turn. As it happens, the brain’s self-repair process is highly dependent on activity and consistent, repetitive practices. Hence, the bicycle. Oh, and did I mention crochet? I tried it once, years ago, and made a pathetic mess of it. But, to make those gimpy fingers on my left hand behave as they should, I’m trying again, forcing them to manipulate the tiny strand of yarn while my right hand jabs the crochet hook in, out, around, and through.

Then there’s typing. Talk about repetitive movements for the fingers! You should have seen those lefties when I first put them back on a keyboard. A) they were numb so they couldn’t feel the keys, and B) they were spastic, indifferent to the commands I sent them. But we kept at it, and I’m delighted to say they’re fully functioning again, good as new.

Too Much Information?

If you don’t know me by now… Great old song, and true. But you do know me. You know that I share life’s ups and downs with you and try to find the growth potential and see the bright side in every circumstance. Unfortunately, there are horrendous things happening in this country now that make that difficult. But it’s more important than ever, that sane people stand together and resist in any way we can the powers that are allowing atrocities to be committed at our very doorstep. Like the brain, we need to clean up the destruction, clear away the debris, and prepare our country for healing.

Meanwhile, I am grateful for life, for a body that heals, and for all who have reached out to me with kindness and positivity during this typically hazardous and challenging ADVENTURE!

It Shouldn’t Be This Hard

It’s a snippet from my latest vision board, before I knew what was developing on the horizon, back when unsettledness simmered just below the surface. It was preparing me, oblivious me, for the challenges ahead.

And here I am, sitting at my daughter’s monster kitchen island where the internet flows unhindered to my ancient HP.

The service here is vastly unlike at home, where I depend upon my Android’s moody hotspot to keep me connected. And when I’ve exhausted the 50 gigabytes of high speed, which I can do in less than a week, I’m suddenly cut off. Just like that. I have no television. No computer. I’m reduced to my phone’s data, using the tiny screen for movies and the minuscule keyboard for writing my books, my blogs, writing anything for that matter. Frustrating is too gentle a word for the inner rage.

There are options…

I can drive 45 minutes to the public library in Grand Rapids and use its wifi connection. I’ve haunted the place lately. The broad expanses of glass overlooking the Mississippi River and the soaring, beamed ceiling offer a stunning venue.

Or I could sit at any coffee shop, brewery, cafe, probably even Dairy Queen in that bustling town, and connect. I don’t want to appear ungrateful. It’s just that I would so much rather skip the inconvenience of the hour-and-a-half round trip and work from home.

When I imagined this week in Minneapolis, caring for Velo, the cat, who was not invited to accompany the family on vacation, I believed their dependable wifi would allow me to zip through the final steps of making my just-published book available for purchase to all my blog readers in no time. I’d design an Author’s Page, add some links, and presto! Done!

Reality can be such a downer.

Somehow, don’t ask me how, in an attempt to toggle a new page, I managed to mangle the website. It took hours to fix the mess. I made it private while I worked to redeem the wreckage so none of my subscribers (you) would witness my ineptitude. In my defense, WordPress is NOT the easiest platform to navigate. Come to find out, I couldn’t even accomplish the private part properly. Suddenly, my stats were climbing. People were accessing the site regardless of my frantic efforts to deter them.

Throughout the process, Velo probably heard words that aren’t allowed in this household, where my seven-year-old grandsons are strongly discouraged from voicing playground expletives. But my pressure valve sputters like a boiling teakettle when agitation mounts, and it’s crudely audible when I’m alone. Velo doesn’t count.

I persisted. At last my Author Page on https://writingforselfdiscovery.com/ went live. The cloud picture I chose to headline the site reflects my emotional landscape of the past several weeks, signifying the other thing that’s been harder than it should be.

The term, ungrounded, doesn’t do justice to my degree of inner chaos. Ever since Portugal, I’ve been out of sync with myself. I’ve gone through the motions of someone rooted to a place, trying to make it true. I created a huge flower bed, transplanted perennials, and bought a weed eater. I dug up oak seedlings and sowed them in my yard along with baby white pines. All the while, a thousand miles away and shimmering like a mirage, my new life was taking shape.

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I’m moving…again. It will be a radical shift, almost as jarring and liberating as the transition to Bali in 2012. This time it’s Minnesota to South Carolina, Midwest to eastern seaboard, Scandinavian brogue to southern drawl, country to city. It may be temporary – a blip on the landscape lasting a few months. Time will tell.

But what if…

What if I love it? What if it feels right? What if I’m needed? Wanted there? No wonder my head is a cloudy fog. But firm on the ground beneath is the certainty. Whatever this is, it’s what I want. It’s a leap into the unknown, and it’s just that kind of leap that, for me, makes life worth living.