Dear Darling Ones,

Both the March 6ths when I woke up with nothing newly catastrophic happening in my body have been a great joy.

It’s been two years since I woke up to everything inside my body feeling not right, sure I had stroke.

For the official record, I’m not one of the six or seven male first responders believed me and I had to have a friend take me to the ER. I wish all the annoying inconveniences on the heads of those fuckers. Men, please believe women.

Yeah, two years ago I went to bed and woke up disabled. It can happen that fast.

Of course, I didn’t realize the stroke was disabling at the time. I was hopeful and more than a little bit obstinate in my belief that I would make a full recovery, back to walking and driving in no time.

Surprise, I was wrong.

Or, I’m wrong so far. There will always be a teeny bit of me that thinks things will go back to normal, that my eyesight will magically clear, I’ll regain my balance, and the constant wooshiness in my head will disappear. It could happen. Probably not, but it’s not impossible.

Last night, as I was writing this post in my head, I thought the best way to describe the “wooshiness” is like you’re on the verge of being dizzy or lightheaded. You know, that exact second you realize something isn’t quite right. It’s that. All the time. Every minute I am not lying down. It gets worse when I’m sitting on my stool and exponentially worse when I stand up.

And now, it’s been two years of that. I still find myself thinking, at least once a day, I can’t believe I had a fucking stroke!

Every year, um, both years? as the Strokeaversary approaches I think back to those very early days and how scared I was. I was so afraid I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t recover.

I’m still scared. Still afraid I can’t do it. I won’t recover.

What I’ve learned is there are many ways to recover.

Two years ago I wasn’t sure I’d be able to live. I felt so physically and emotionally fragile. Would I be able to live in my house on my own? Would I be able to get up and down the stairs? Feed and bathe myself? Take care of myself and my home in any way?

It took a long time to figure stuff out. I’ve had to adapt how I do a lot things. I sit down to take a shower. I use a wheeled stool to cook, clean, and for laundry. Being unable to stand for more than 90 seconds is a pain in the ass, but it doesn’t make things impossible.

I can take care of me and the cats even if I need help with some things.

Now what scares me is recovering financially.

I’m still trying to figure that out.

Thanks to the people who donated to the GoFundMe, I raised $26,164. That number boggles my mind and I’m so thankful. With help I was able to pay for my $21,000 stroke and have a little left over to help keep the lights on around here.

Because of the GoFundMe the only debt I have is my mortgage. If anyone wants to give me $119,302 to pay to off, I’ll take it!

Even without a lot of debt, I’m running out of money. Living is expensive, y’all. You might not realize this, but eggs are super expensive right now. So is electricity.

Two years since the stroke also means two years without the ability to do a significant amount of work to support myself. I only made $16,000 in 2023. Pretty sure I’ll only crack $10K in 2024. I had a lot of savings in the bank, but now it’s down to $1000.

I’m scared, Darling Ones. What do you do if you can’t work and have no money? I don’t know yet. I need to figure that out.

My initial application to The Dole (Social Security disability) was denied in January. I just checked and they’re still on Step 1 of 5 on my appeal. Thankfully, there’s nothing going on in the federal government that should make me anxious about this.

Insert the cry face emoji here.

Yowza, that got dark fast. I’m gonna paste a bunch of buttons in the P.S. if you have the desire and capability to help out or send me some LEGOs to cheer me up. I’m not gonna constantly hit you up for money. Begging is not a sustainable way to earn money. Maybe I can become a nonprofit?

Despite the poverty and disability I think I may be happier than I’ve ever been. Nothing like an actual catastrophe to make you appreciate life and the people you love.

Often I make myself laugh with how schmoopy I’ve become. I scroll through social media and am all,Oh, I love her. Oh, he’s so great. Who even am I?

Next to butt and fuck, love is the word I say the most (there’s a whole butt song I sing to Wendell multiple times a day). Right round the time my former friend Kari opted out of my life, I decided that I wanted love vibes in my house all the time.

To work towards this, whenever one of the gatitos comes down the stairs I say, out loud, “I love you! You’re a cat.” I want them to remember those two things.

And I want you to know that if you’re readying this, I love you. You’re are probably not a cat, but it’s not impossible.

Happy to still be here,
Jodi

P.S. Here’s the aforementioned begging: