stroke survivor – somethinggrand

It was a great Canada Day. Sara Parks officially became an Associate Professor at our university, Saint Francis Xavier, today. And after storms, a stroke, and setbacks, Sara and I finally, finally, finally got our kayaks – bought four years ago on sale at Canadian Tire – out and onto the water of our little cove here in the Acadian village of Pomquet. It was about time! Sara had to haul me out of the kayak afterwards, but otherwise it went great! I haven’t tried swimming yet, but kayaking is another #StrokeFirst, which reminded me it’s probably time for an update. (Kudos to Shirley Parks, Sara’s 84-year-old mother, who eschewed our suggested itinerary of museum visits and concerts, and instead declared it was a day to finally get those kayaks out on the water. She then was the only one who went barefoot through the shore grass, and then needed less help than me getting out when we were done!)

#StrokeFirsts

You may remember from a previous post that Sara and I keep a “gratitude cup.” Our practice is to add slips of paper throughout the week when something happens for which we’re thankful. Sometime during the weekend we try to go through the notes with a festive beverage, often a bottle of Nova Scotia bubbly, giving us a chance to be thankful twice.

Since my stroke, one regular category of items in our gratitude cup has been #StrokeFirst slips. Lately, there’ve been a lot:

My left-hand dexterity has improved markedly. These days sometimes I even forget for a few minutes after waking up about my left-side deficits… until I turn on the tap. In addition to the kayaking, I can now “flick” the car’s turn signal and house light switches without acrobatics, stir liquids with a spoon without looking completely goofy, type more fluidly with both hands, hold my tea in my left hand, and play C and F chords on guitar again – not well, but they’re there. On Father’s Day, I went fishing with my StFX Religious Studies colleague Gerjan Altenburg and his son, and he was the one who noticed a major difference in my ability to cast a line compared to this time last year. And since “The Beast” (the old Husqvarna tractor left by the previous owners) broke down, and our new lower-end mower “Chairman Mow” can’t handle hills, I can hand-mow our steep, weedy, and rocky hill to the water, with both hands. Great physio! (At least, that’s what I tell myself as consolation.)

#Running

An even more major #StrokeFirst happened two weeks ago. Running is one of those things I had come to understand I could never do again. I had tried and fallen, or tried and just frozen. I accepted it might be one of those things that wouldn’t come back. But last week, we were taking the garbage to the road right at mosquito banquet hour. As a true Maritimer, Sara was doused head to toe in bug spray. She suggested that standing next to her would be enough protection for me. On the way back down the driveway, I was surrounded by a cloud of mosquitoes, all chowing down. “RUN!” Sara yelled. “I can’t!” I reminded her. “Try! Just give it a try!” she urged. “Maybe it will work this time!” Sure enough, for the first time since the stroke, I managed a kind of hopping shuffle-run. I was overjoyed. My “foot-drop” (the toe of the affected foot tending to sag and catch the ground) is clearly improving. I was never a serious runner, like my friend Lyndon Sayers and pals, but I’ve had dreams recently where I’m jogging in short spurts like the old days. I hope they’re premonitions. I’ve found, like some others, that starting to dream about a new movement during stroke recovery often precedes actually doing it!

#MedChanges

In the last few weeks, after the semester ended, and Sara’s remarkable father Winston was laid to rest in his 91st year, I’ve found myself doing a lot more physical labour, all involving kneeling or crouching: sanding a deck with a belt sander, painting it, planting and fertilizing trees, mowing, weeding, building a low garden box for vegetables… Each time I would kneel and stand up I felt extremely dizzy. I was also feeling exhausted: some days I needed not one, but TWO naps! I chalked it up to a busy semester, hospital visits and a death in the family, and general stroke recovery.

However, when I checked my blood pressure, which had been so dangerously high for years and likely caused my stroke, it was low. Way too low. My brother Mark was visiting. (His annual golf trips across the border have now become all-Canadian adventures, and this year’s brought him to NS and PEI.) Ever the researcher, he looked up safe ranges and simply said, “those are dangerous numbers.” After Mark was back home came a brotherly text: “did you take care of that blood pressure yet?” I made an appointment with my wonderful family doctor, Alison McGlashan, who immediately stopped one of the large suite of blood pressure meds I went on post-stroke, and gave me a rota to follow for discontinuing more, should ongoing BP readings indicate the need.

I’ve now dropped two of my regular pills, and my BP is already closer to “normal.” The dizziness and fatigue stopped right away! A surprise side effect of dropping Amlodipine was that I immediately started smelling more. I didn’t realize that I hadn’t been smelling as much, but when I started being able to pick out what fruit is being eaten in another room of the house, and being offended by the compost, Sara looked it up and, sure enough, certain medications can dampen smell! I just walked by my work boots on the shoe rack and thought, “yuck! Is that how they smell all the time? Poor Sara!”

Some things – like this rhubarb pie Sara and Shirley recently made – smell (and taste) even more glorious now!

#The13Pilgrims

One of the great things about becoming an old fart is that I can go to conferences and try out zany ideas that early-stage academics still trying to build CVs and land jobs might not dare try.

For instance, pilgrim personality cards! I’ve invented a deck called “The 13 Pilgrims.” I’ll be presenting these soon at the 13th Sacred Journeys International (pilgrimage) Conference in Quebec City. The deck is designed for multiple uses: as a conversation starter, a preparation and/or debriefing tool for pilgrimages or other experiences, a game, a group decision-making tool (e.g., for a congregation considering a merger), and an informal personality/role test. It’s based on 13 pilgrim archetypes I developed, while the talented Cape Breton artist and illustrator Kate Phillips did the artwork. I was able to hire Kate because of an Eastern Synod Mission Grant (my bishop, Carla Blakley, and her assistants, especially the Rev Adam Snook, continue to be SO supportive of my creative endeavours!).

I’m really looking forward to presenting this. Isn’t Kate’s artwork fantastic?

#Context

So this Canada Day, I’m grateful. Yes, I sometimes lurch when I walk, and ignore my left hand as it hangs limp, and have to concentrate on each movement to avoid mishap. But I’m still improving – even if just a bit – every week. And there is so much joy and life afoot.

Living through a major stroke hasn’t been easy, but I know how fortunate I am. Right now I have three very dear pilgrim friends, with whom I’ve walked many miles, all facing life-threatening cancers. Their inspiring courage is remarkable, and a testimony to their spirits.

There is no perfect life, at least not for long. The longer we have the privilege of living, the more certain it is that we will know grief, pain, and heartache, in some way or another. I choose to focus on gratitude for what I continue to learn through my stroke. I pray for the friends I’ve just mentioned (and those I haven’t but am thinking of) in their disheartening battles. And for you in yours, whatever they might be.

This fall, I’m the speaker for the Nova Scotia United Church clergy education retreat at Pictou Lodge (pictured below – the couches remind me that a blog is a conversation). My topic is: “Everything After Everything Falls Apart.” Almost two years after my stroke, I’m still learning what that “everything” includes — from my own experience, and from what that experience leads others to share. Thanks for being part of the conversation as all of our ways forward unfold.

This week I found this old alarm notice on my phone. It brought me back with a jolt to my four months in hospital from September to December 2024. As I deleted it I said a prayer of thanks that, as much as I appreciated their care, I’m no longer at St Martha’s Regional.

In a minor coincidence, this week I also heard that the unpublished collection of “stroke poems” I wrote in the hospital was shortlisted for the Writers Federation of Nova Scotia‘s “Rita Joe Poetry Prize”! Rita Joe was a famous Mi’kmaq poet. It’s an honour just to be shortlisted. I have the privilege of being friends with several extremely talented poets, but have never published poetry myself. I’d love to share these poems with other stroke survivors and carers, so fingers crossed!

Eighteen months since my stroke, already! The reminders that popped up spurred me to write an update. Only, what to report?

#NoPlateau

Quite early on in my recovery, local physios warned me not to be disappointed when I hit the “plateau” at six months or so. But at the same time, they kept being pleasantly surprised at my determined progress. Sara developed the pep-phrase “HASHTAG NO PLATEAU”! I still haven’t hit one and don’t plan to.

I thought of calling this post “and then, one day, you’re putting on your belt using your left hand.” Or: “and then one day, you walk down the stairs and realize you didn’t hold the handrail.” Both statements are true in just the last two weeks. The idea that I could now be twisting my left arm around my body to dress, or to towel myself off after a shower, is an answer to prayer. For the first time since my stroke I can convincingly squeeze shut my grip exerciser. I can now actually “walk” a short base line on the guitar with my recalcitrant left pinkie. My hard-working Halifax Occupational therapist Lindsay is giving me more complicated wrist exercises on my phone’s Tenzr physio app, like tracing the entire alphabet in the air with my left fist. Miracles never cease. (Sara encouraged me to do it in Greek. Okay, not all miracles materialize.)

But the truth is, I also could write: “and then one day you’re stopped by a colleague to talk in the parking lot, and after just an extra 60 seconds in the cold, you suddenly need help to the car.” Or: “when you’re tired you still slur words, and once after climbing a bunch of stairs you lost your balance in front of a group of students and almost fell sideways into the wall.” Those statements are true also.

In a nutshell, THAT’S how it’s going. I’m grateful beyond words that my recovery continues even now, a year and a half after my stroke. Every day I have just an incremental bit more strength and flexibility and control in my left hand and arm. Every week my balance and my ability to crouch down and stand and walk improves very slightly. I mostly know this from others like Lindsay, who only see me every month or so and are amazed at my progress. Every week there are several new #StrokeFirsts I can celebrate when Sara and I read through all the slips we put into the weekly gratitude cup. Every week I’m surprised by what I can do. And less and less by what I still can’t.

Like the saplings

Sort of like Spring, my recovery is happening in bits and pieces. I almost felt like my old self again – and certainly felt a kinship with the earth – when I took a walk around the property this week. Like me, the saplings Sara planted while I looked on seem to have cheerily survived.

The stones I dumped by the inlet last summer need spreading, but it’s not yet the time.

A wild-seeded pine will almost only pop up where there is already a birch, so perhaps the birches are “parenting” the saplings? Some creature left its scat nearby but I’m not sure what kind it is, and I don’t have an app for THAT yet…

The brook on one side of our property is doing well, and this week the robins reappeared. Their singing is a joy, and might be the reason Theodore the reformed barn cat is crying so sadly to go outside for the first time since he so gleefully adopted us and moved in.

The sunset of my fellowship

There’s only a year left in my renewed Father Edo Gatto Fellowship at StFX, so I’m busily checking off my Gatto Chair goals. A big one happens this week. As soon as I knew I would be translating my historical research on the fourth century Saint Paula to fiction, I wanted to talk to other academics who do this. It’s finally happening this week! Sara will be moderating the webinar conversation, “Novel Research: Meet Four Historians of Religion Who Write Fiction.” I’m excited to talk about writing with these scholars I admire. You’re welcome to join us: register here!