08/11/2025
The Price of Stroke Recovery
Looking back, I must have seemed completely certifiable. But I was on the road to recovery, and I needed all the help I could get. I applied my common sense, my logic, and the proud 75% of my remaining grey matter to the task.
Like most survivors, I was willing to try anythingāwhich unfortunately makes us perfect targets for cons and quacks who prey on our vulnerability. I learned that quickly. Iād find a new āmiracle recovery aidā online, march it straight to my neurologist, and watch him politely scan it before saying, āYes, Iāve read this⦠and no, it wonāt help you.ā Translation: pure placebo.
Fine, I thought, if no one else can fix me, Iāll call in the heavy gunsāDr. Google...and invent my own regime.
First, I tackled my facial muscles with āfacial yogaā (which is exactly as attractive as it sounds). Then came my gait. To fix my walking, I figured I needed to balance my body. My genius solution? Strap a weighted handbag to my weaker side and wear a heavy, flat shoe. Picture it: me, dressed like an eccentric detective wide wide-brimmed hat, swinging a handbag attached to my wrist while clomping along in one heavy shoe.
And because I like efficiency, I combined my walking practice with vocal training...belting out any song whose lyrics I could remember to strengthen my voice.
Now, I lived on the top floor and thought no one could see me (so I thought). Which is why one sunny afternoon, I was confidently striding back and forth, swinging my bag, singing āIām Too Sexy for my clothesā¦too sexy for the Cat Walk ā at the top of my lungs. I thought I was doing brilliantly⦠until I heard giggles.
At first, I dismissed it as my imagination. Then the giggles turned into outright laughter. I looked up andā¦oh, horror of horrors ā¦a group of builders were on the roof opposite, watching my one-woman parade.
They started whistling. I was mortified, but of course, I couldnāt let them see that. So, I kept going for two more laps before making a dignified exit stage right.
And that, my friends, is the glamorous, humiliating, utterly ridiculous price of stroke recovery.āoh the trials of Stroke Recovery.
Yvonne
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