What a Difference a Week Makes

I don't know why I'm surprised, but each time after the Botox kicks in, I am. I had therapy yesterday. The Botox hasn't kicked in totally because there are still grabs and catches during therapy in the bicep, pectoral, and other muscles in my hemiplegic arm. I mean some hard catches that make me take a sharp intake of breath. The spasticity never truly goes away completely. The spasticity just becomes more manageable.

We were warming up with stretches after the heat packs. I know, I know it should be cold packs, but I'm Abby Normal that way. We've done both, but the hot packs work better.

Now pre- AC joint tear, I had recovered about 85% of my shoulder's range of motion. For the first time in two years, I hit the 85% again. The therapist had my arm over my head in the supine position. Yeah, it was passive motion on my part.  My active range will come later, but for now, it's just stretching. But let me tell you, it hurt so good!

She was surprised, because she's my new therapist and hasn't seen this range from me before. I just wanted to see how far it would actually go before the muscles clenched. Yeah me!

Now for the down side. It only took a couple of hours after therapy before I knew we had pushed too far. Yep, you guessed it. The muscles screamed at me and it was ache and groans upon movement of the arm. I hopped in the shower. Alright, it was more like I sat on the shower chair and pivoted into the shower. I let the scalding hot water pulse the sore muscles away. I did take an extra 4 mgs of Zanaflex too.

I got out and was feeling groggily, content over the achievement I made. Literally drifting on cloud 9 because of the extra dose of muscle relaxer. I went through the rest of the evening in the clouds (read drugged fog). Nothing bothered me. A self satisfied grin firmly painted on my face. I did it!

This morning, there was a residual soreness but nothing like the day before. I'll be ready to do it again. A little bit later, I'll try the stretch again via a Theraband tied to my cannonball bedpost. I won't be as aggressive with myself as yesterday because I want to be in good shape for therapy tomorrow.

I've gotten a number of lengths and colors (resistance strengths) of bands over the years and if I need more, all I have to do is ask. They last forever. I've got some that are ten years old. They have a permanent place of honor in my sock drawer. Why do I keep them, you may ask. I just remember my Mama telling me, "There will always be an again." So far, she hasn't been proven wrong.

Nothing is impossible with determination.

Sunday Stroke Survival ~ "Please Sir, I Want Some More."

I have come to the realization that stroke survivors are a glutton for punishment in regards to physical and occupational therapy. We are like Oliver in Charles Dicken's play Oliver Twist...'Please, sir, I want some more.'

I find myself back in physical therapy after my latest round on Botox injections. I laid or sat on the mat for the initial evaluation and I'm talking to the therapist. "A little more, pain level about a 5, that's it." Because the spasticity kicks in and my pain level shoots to about a 7. I feel like Oliver being the only voice speaking up in a large group.

Granted other aphasic stroke patients can't verbalize as well as I can. Many others just do not speak up. I tend to be very vocal. I'll talk you through my therapy routine. If you don't communicate with your therapists, you are only hurting yourself.

I call my therapist a terrorist to her face and she laughs. She knows I don't really mean it. I asked for this, almost demanded it. It's the only way for me to regain the use of my affected side. I know if my limits are not pushed there is no improvement.

I use pain as an indicator. I'll push until I reach 7 out of 10 because even my heart attack was only a 7 out of 10. Then have been a few occasions when I've hit a 10. When I was shot. When I was in a helicopter crash. When I fell down a flight of stairs in an apartment complex and broke several bones. It is not an enjoyable feeling. At 7, I may have tears rolling down my face and my words will catch. At 10, there will be tears, my mouth will open and close but no sound will come out. So if I'm talking to you, I'm fine.

Even if I can't speak like the early days of my stroke, the nurses and I worked out a set of signals. At 7, my hand will be slapping the bed. At 10, my eyes are shut tight and my functioning hand is in a fist. Again, if I'm making noise, I'm okay.

In some ways, I think my therapists appreciate my candor. I have worked with many of them over the years on various assorted parts of my body. I know they don't intentionally want to do me harm. Their job is to help me get better. In my mind, if I don't tell them; they don't know. I am very opinionated and vocal so you can image how my aphasia affects me.

I'm always fair. I give them the benefit of doubt. I weigh
everything in pros and cons. Nothing is all terrible or all fantastic. I'll try anything until I can prove it doesn't work. There have been plenty of times I've been skeptical and been proven wrong.

Like the OT's use of the fluidotherapy machine on my paralyzed hand and wrist. I couldn't see how grit and warm circulating air would enable me to move my hand. I thought it was a useless, waste of time for about a month. Then I noticed how relaxed my hand and wrist were after spending a few minutes in the machine. I'm not totally sold on it yet, but I'm starting to see some benefits. Now, I'll ask for it or paraffin before stretching.

While I will work my paralyzed extremities at home. I'll wearing the braces and supports until pain causes me to take them off. I'm proactive in my therapy or as much as I can be. So haven't the therapists taught me how to do everything by now? Probably. Possibly enough for me to do most at home, so why do I go? They can get better angles working on and with me than I can do by myself. I've used headboards, footboards, shower curtain rods, and assorted other things to mimic what they do at home, but still it takes two hands and sometimes a knee to pull and stretch muscles out to the fullest and keep everything aligned. That I can't do by myself.

So I'll continue to be a glutton for punishment and ask, "Please sir, I want some more."

Nothing is impossible with determination.

Sunday Stroke Survival~ Therapist- Rah, Rah, Rah!

I've gone through the gambit of therapies before and since my stroke... aquatherapy, aromatherapy, chemotherapy, cognitive therapy, drug therapy, electromagnet therapy, hypnotherapy, psychotherapy, and radiation therapy just to name a few off the top of my head.

I coined the word ogologistitis too many years ago. Too many -ologist in my life (ologist= specialty and itis =infection or swelling) -cardiologist, psychologist, neurologist, dermatologist, oncologist, endocrinologist...you get the idea. Now I propose a new word therapitis.

 In this case I'm talking about physical, speech and occupational therapists. Things like getting dresses, getting out of bed, walking with a cane were all things I've covered in the past with past injuries so there was not much new to learn. Even most of the stretches and exercises haven't changed much in decades.

There are new therapists and new innovations but muscles work the same way. I'm not knocking the practice. My physical, speech, and occupational terrorists are the best at what they do and are my cheerleaders rooting for me to achieve. It's like the U.S. Army slogan, Be all that you can be" from the 80s. They have a vested interest in me getting better.

Last month, Rebecca Dutton posted about her therapist sometimes break her heart. The key word is sometimes. I can relate. I've have fabulous therapists and some not too great over the years. I tend to request the fabulous ones by name when going back. I'm willing to bet she doesn't put up with slack-offs or ho-hum attitudes anymore than I will. Therapy is hard work. You need a cheerleader for encouragement.

Rebecca, before two devastating strokes, was employed as an occupational therapist. Now, the knowledge is not wasted, it never is. But she has a new empathy for stroke survivors because she is one too. Although not practicing on any patients anymore, other than herself, she has the never say die attitude same as me.

That's part of the reason I follow her blog and email her when I have something weird go on. We've developed quite an on-again/off-again relationship. Not to mention the facts that she can see it from both sides of the streets and has experience borne of years of trials while I'm still a newbie at stroke. Yes, I've been the nurse who saw you through the crisis, but it's people like my physical and occupational therapists who deal with the aftermath.

Where my job was to never a dull moment, their job is mundane day in and day out...repetition, repetition, repetition. Although Forbes magazine lists them as hottest job trends for the coming millennium, I couldn't do it. I'm too much of an action junkie, fast pace, and high stress. Just look at what I've accomplish in over half a century on this planet.

My hat's off to all of them. While I'm constantly out of the box with my thinking and creating my creativity talents to full use, I've got nothing on these dedicated folks. To keep patients motivated and trying to get better is an almost thankless job. You get people moving and doing for themselves, and then they are gone to be followed by a thousand other faces during the year.

But that's the nature of the job. Me, I don't forget who helped me to get here. I send cards and messages back and forth. When I can I'll bake or make them little goodies. Even if I haven't seen them in years! Forgetting where you came from is the quickest way back.

For my old therapists and case workers from Savannah, I made them a Halloween feast. My daughter who lives there helped me and drove me up there to deliver it. Although it wasn't quite Halloween yet, they were shocked. For my PT who just had a baby girl, I gave her a diaper cake before I stopped therapy last year. Now I'm breaking in a new one.  Alright, I didn't make it, but my eldest daughter did. After I talked her through it. Even my Dynasplint rep got one. She had her "Prince Charming" just before Christmas.

Now St. Paddy's day coming up, it's leprechaun hats for all. Little bite sized cakes for whomever wants one. I'll even include the therapists and staff who I've never worked with. I appreciate all of them. Who knows, I may eventually have to.

Yes, I've got the double whammy of ologistitis and therpistitis, but I'm smiling through it all.

Don't say "I can't" and not do. 

Say, "I can't right now, but I'm working on it."