Dear Darling Ones,

Yesterday as my last day of physical therapy and as we pulled away from 1601 St. Francis Ave I was a little sad.

Do you have any idea how much time I’ve spent there in the last 11 months? Hold on, I’m gonna go figure it out.

Between occupational, physical, and lymphedema therapy; gynecology; and orthopedics, I had 76 appointments at 1601 St. Francis Ave.

That’s a lot!

And now, I got bupkus on the books. Well, nearly bupkus. I have my mammogram next week & the eye doctor on July 23, and at some point I’ll have to see my regular doc in July.

That’s all I got. And it feels weird. I’ve spent the last year with at least one appointment a week and to now have nothing for weeks?

I’m adrift. It’s like I’ve been fired from my job, which was going to appointments in an attempt to recover from this stupid stroke.

Now I’m a freelance recoverer and that scares the shit out of me. What if I suck at it? What if I never get better than I am right now? WHAT IF I GET WORSE?

I’ve been especially tender about my lack of progress lately. A few weeks ago I got a text from BFK accusing me of discarding and disrespecting her once my sisters “took over my care.” I did not respond because I refuse to fight over text. Also, it’s not true. She’s the one who filled out all my OT & PT paperwork in July. She got mad at me in August.

The idea of “my care” hit me funny. I do not like it at all. Despite all the myriad ways people have helped me, I didn’t really think of it as care. But it is! It totally is. If it weren’t for all the care I’ve received, well I’d never had made it to those 76 appointments and Supergenius HQ would probably be in foreclosure.

But, now as I write I’m realizing it’s not the “my care” I have issue with. It’s the “took over.”

The thing that has taken the biggest beating since my stroke is my fierce independence. It sucks to have to rely on so many people. It’s also beautiful and heartwarming, but I’m an ogre and used to doing everything myself. I’m an eldest daughter and it’s always been my role to take care of myself and everyone else. So needing help? Needing care? Ugh. Barf. My icy robot heart is so displeased.

While my independence has taken a beating, my ability to ask for and accept help with grace and gratitude has grown three sizes! Still, the independence is strong. I still try to do as much by myself as possible. So the idea that anyone “took over my care” is hurtful and untrue.

You know who made those 76 appointments? I did. Know who made all the other appointments? Know who made sure I had transportation? Me. And while I still can’t get my groceries from the front door to the kitchen, I can order them, pay for them, put them away, and use them to make meals all by myself. Know who does all that with low vision, a floppy scoop, and a right side that refuses to feel like it weighs less than 800 pounds? Me.

So, maybe I’ll be okay doing the freelance recovery? Maybe I’ll need help, and that will be okay too.

This letter did not go where I thought it was going.

Sorry! Blame the brain damage.

Love,
Jodi