Hola Darling Ones,

Tomorrow, March 6th, marks the third anniversary of my stroke. Time flies when you’re learning how to be disabled, struggling with money, and grieving.

Three years since I called 911 and none of those men believed me when I said I had a stroke. Three years since I heard the cop making fun of me, “She thinks she had a stroke. She googled.” All cops really are bastards. I will never not be a hot ball of fury about how those first responders treated me.

Three years since I walked or drove or generally felt normal inside my own body.

It’s kinda nice the world outside of me has been pretty tame allowing me a singular focus on getting stronger. No wars. No ongoing military occupation of my state where thugs abduct or murder neighbors. No fascist overthrow of the US by the dumbest and cruelest humans led by an evil delusional gameshow host.

On this strokeaversary I’m so proud of how far I’ve come. Reading those early days after the stroke is rough. I was so beaten down and scared.

But even a damaged brain can’t keep a good spinster down.

Aside from my finances (my dole hearing is April 10) and the fascism, I’m doing pretty well. I think perhaps, maybe, I have finally accepted that this is the way things are gonna be and status quo is not a bad thing. Or maybe this is like grief and I will always be accepting it in some way.

Now that I’ve stopped beating myself up for failing at recovery, I’ve got a lot time on my hands, and so I’m starting an art/creative practice like its my job.

While I still crochet and write, it’s not the same as before. When I’m engaged in those activities there’s a whispering voice saying “this weird. why is this weird? what is wrong with you?”

To get that voice to shut up already I’ve taken up water colors. I want to try some drawing and collaging too. I’ve always been drawn to visual art and envious of those who create it, but haven’t taken an art class since seventh grade. Instead, I drifted toward photography and graphic art in school. That all came together when I discovered blogging and so I let crochet be my unplugged creative way to calm the brain weasels.

Now I need more. My brain weasels are bigger, damaged, and rowdy. I wanted something relatively cheap I could do with my hands. Something I haven’t done before.

My magical thinking has decided this new practice will be good for my Floppy Scoop and work some kind of wizardry my brain. It won’t fix the wooshiness that is my constant state of being, but maybe it will make it a little less gusty?

I’m only five days into the practice. It took me awhile to find cheap/free supplies and get over the fear that I’d art wrong and the world would end because of it. Right now I’m following a 30/60-day sketchbook challenge from Andrea Nelson on Instagram.

This old spinster is learning some new tricks. It’s fun to start a new practice and challenge myself to try something new that I’m not good at. Be gentle when I start subjecting you to all my creations. I’m just a baby at this.

Happy to be still kicking,
Jodi

The post Stroke Me Day 1095: Three Years In appeared first on I Will Dare.

Holy Shit, Darling Ones,

I’m in a little bit of denial that 2025 is at its end. This whole holiday flew by in a flash. It went by so fast that I only took about four pictures the whole time. One of those pics were from our Christmas Dinner Saltine Taste Test. Premium won by a landslide, with the store-brand Hy-vee saltines a distant second. Zesta were a disgusting, weirdly plastic tasting third.

Even though there are still a few more hours left in the year, and I could be jinxing myself, I’m celebrating that I made it through 2025 with zero strokes and zero feels like a stroke situations.

If I had to sum it up, I’d say 2025 has been about coming to terms with being disabled. I’m not there yet, but I’m on my way. My goal for 2026 is to give everyone, including myself, more grace. Life is tough and petty judgements are easy. I need to get my inner critic to knock it off.

2026 is going to be about grace and creating.

I FINALLY got an appointment for my Social Security Disability hearing (April 20th) and if/when I get on the dole I want to spend my time making things. I told my family that come April 21 I’m gonna be a full-time artist.

“I love you think it will happen that fast,” Sister #2 said. Why does she always gotta kill my buzz?

I’m not entirely sure what this new artsy life will look like yet. For sure I gotta make four blankets (Gigi’s, State Fair, 2026 Temp, and Delilah’s). Plus, I have a vague idea of doing some sort of visual art/postcard thing for the songs I wake up with in my head. Oh, and I want to figure out how to make a book with the brown paper I’ve been saving all year. And writing more, of course.

My hope is with less financial anxiety I’ll have more brain capacity for other things.

What is your hope for 2026?

Love,
Jodi

The post So Long 2025 appeared first on I Will Dare.

Hi Darling Ones,

Some days I am not in the mood to hear how lucky and fortunate I am. Being the chirpy, very special episode guest star sucks and sometimes I don’t want to play the role.

Yesterday at the neurologist’s office I couldn’t fake it. Hot on the heels of the disability denial, I was not having any of Dr. S’s A++s and Gold Stars. I did not want to hear how excellently I’m doing. How I’m doing all the right things and need to keep on keepin’ on.

No.

I wanted to hear how to fix my brain. My magical thinking makes me believe that if I can explain what my head feels like, my swimmy vision, and the tension in my Floppy Scoop in the exact right words, I’ll unlock some magical solution. The doctor will be all, “Ohhhh, so your head feels wooshy whenever you’re upright and your eyes are swimmy too? Well, then you just need to this and your balance will return and so will everything else.”

Magic and medicine are not the same, but it’d be a lot cooler for me if it were.

I was also not in the mood for the weight-loss discussion, and for the first time in my 52 years I fought back.

“Diets don’t work,” I said. “Doctors put me on my first diet when I was four.”

She winced. “So much of it is genetic.”

“I’m trying Ozempic. I AM trying.”

“Is it working?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t ask for numbers. I just want to feel better.”

Ugh. It’s so fucking frustrating. Does she really think I’d do all the things — the medications and tests and therapies and exercises — and just opt out of trying to lose weight? Like it’s one thing I’m unwilling to try. I’ll do anything to get my “normal” back, but I won’t do that!

She was delighted that my A1C was 5.4 and my blood pressure was under control. And I didn’t have the energy to explain that the diabetes has been the easiest part of all the things that happened in March 2023. It’s almost like you can have a fat ass and a really good diet.

“Will my head ever feel normal again?” I asked for the 905th time.

She shook her head no. “It’s just your brain. As, you know, brains are very slow to heal. Most people plateau nine months to a year after their stroke.”

And here’s the thing. This is the epiphany I had today listening to Kate Yeager’s song “Fat.”

She sings, “I didn’t know to hate myself until I learned it from somebody else.”

I learned to hate my body right round 1976 when they put me on that first diet. However, I never hated my brain.

My brain was my best friend. It made smart and funny and able to use words to convey how I feel. It’s good at storing lyrics, random trivia, and memories.

Right now, I’m struggling with not hating on my poor, beautiful, damaged brain. I want it to start acting right. I don’t like being mad at my brain. I’m used to funneling all that rancor at my unruly body. Now, the whole operation is in chaos and I’m unhappy about it.

I know, I know, I know. I should be thankful that my brain did not kill me. Dr. S reiterated the many ways in which I am very lucky and I heard her.

But, damnit, I am not in the mood. What am I in the mood for? A cheeseburger, $100 worth of new yarn, and a LEGO typewriter.

Instead me and my busted brain and unruly body and my $0.00 will pout here with the yarn we already have and eat some leftovers.

Wallowingly,
Jodi

The post Plateaus Can Blow Me appeared first on I Will Dare.

Dear Darling Ones,

I am a liar. A lying liar with pants of fire.

You know I’ve been saying, “if this is as recovered as I get, that’s not too shabby” or “I’m coming to terms with this being as recovered as a get?”

Nope.

This is trash and I’m quite cranky about it.

My neurologist’s office was like that tiny apartment Bert & Ernie share on Sesame Street. She was Ernie. I was Bert.

Dr. S was super pumped about my homework. While she was still waiting for some genetic testing, all my heart stuff was good as was the neuro intervention. She gave me an A++ in Sleeping and Stroke Recovery. She reiterated that I was doing everything right.

She was even delighted that I had invested in some wheeled stools so I could scoot around my place and do more of the “activities of daily living” on my own. She really liked that I’m adapting so well to my situation.

And it’s a good fucking thing because she also told me that this may be as recovered as I get.

That’s right, my head might always feel wooshy. My brain may always think I’m falling when I stand for more than 90 seconds. My Floppy Scoop: forever heavy and trembly and floppy.

She reiterated that I’m doing everything I can possibly do and I should keep at it. She explained how the nervous system is slow to heal and most people plateau about one year post-stroke.

I need a new word for disappointed in order to explain how I’m handling the news. I want to simultaneously cry and spit fire while shaking my fist at the heavens.

Sure, it’s good to hear I’ve done all the things right, that I’m not just a fat, lazy lump who didn’t want it enough.

At the same time it fucking sucks to do all the things right, to try your absolute best, to follow all the rules, want something more than you ever wanted something before, and still fail.

I knew it was always a possibility and the further away from March 6, 2023 a probability, but still. . .

But still. . .

Bummer.

Now, I keep on keeping on. She said I really need to focus on being careful and not falling, since I’m still a fall risk. I see her again in January and my only homework is a cardio-vascular surgery consult.

Personally, I need to focus on both my ableism and internalized anti-fatness, more on that later. So much (unpaid) work to do I really need to get on the dole!

Disappointed, but diligently yours,
Jodi

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Hola Darling Ones,

Today was my highly-anticipated, long-awaited appointment with the neurologist.

Her name was Dr. S and I really liked her. She was kind, compassionate and straightforward, and super smart. It was the caring and compassionate that really won me over because due to my unruly body I’ve had more than my fair share of rude healthcare professionals.

Today, was in a word, overwhelming.

I have a ton of follow up to do, and I’m out of practice. It’s been a hot minute since I’ve had stacks of medical appointments.

Next week I get labs done for a bunch of genetic testing to see if blood clots or strokes are in my genes. This will be super beneficial since I only know half of my medical history since I never met my biological father.

Then in two weeks I’ll be doing an overnight sleep study. She wants to test me for sleep apnea and make sure there’s nothing besides brain damage making me so dang tired all the time. Also, I guess sleep apnea can lead to strokes.

Then in the coming months I’ll be seeing a vascular surgeon and somebody for a Neuro intervention. I forgot what that is.

At some point they’re going to do an echocardiogram and I’ll have to wear a heart monitor for 30 days. The intervention might be for the tiny 1.5 mm aneurysm in my brain. That was BRAND NEW INFORMATION.

Dr. S wasn’t very concerned about it. She said they usually don’t do anything until the aneurysm 4 mm, but since I am so young she is being very aggressive. Hence all the scary sounding follow-up appointments. She wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t do anything about the aneurysm or the narrowing of the artery in my neck, but she wants me in the care loop and make sure everything is monitored.

She continually emphasized that she was being aggressive because of my age.

It way kind of nice to be called young and even “so young.” Though, my apparent youth, is what gives her some concern. I’m just too young to have had a stroke and she wants to make sure we’re doing everything possible to make sure I don’t have another one. I appreciate that, because having another stroke would suck very very hard.

On my end, on the things I can control, I got an A+ on my strokes recover efforts, and you know how much I love an A+. She was very happy that I had gotten my blood sugar and blood pressure under control and that I’ve lost some weight. She said I was doing everything that I should be doing.

It was nice to hear, but I was all, this is still garbage and I can’t walk so well! We didn’t have a change to get into that. She was concerned about the internal stuff and I want to know why my Floppy Scoop is so damn heavy. I hope to cover that when I see her again in October.

My journey continues.

Your friend with the damaged brain,
Jodi

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