Making Memories

March 2010: six days before my stroke

It has been a long time since I have grieved over my physical limitations. But this Thanksgiving my brother's family escaped to our shared condo in Mammoth. As I think of them there, I cannot help but remember the time we shared together just days before my stroke.

We had gone to Mammoth to enjoy the snow with my young niece and nephew. We are from Los Angeles so snow is miraculous, magical! I was as excited as the kids. They were finally big enough for inner tubing!

The kids eyed the tubing hill with uncertainty as we buckled their helmets under their chins. We had signed the liability waivers and were persuading my nephew to try it “just once.” We doubled up one kid with an adult and we flew down that mountain!

"Again!" they screamed as soon as we skidded to a stop.

We headed for the towline that hauls riders up the hill. I rode with my niece: me on my back in the tube, her small body warming my belly, our faces turned to the sky and the snow-laden trees. I recall the swish of our tube over snow, intimate whispers between us. What did we talk about on that gentle ride up the mountain?

These are the moments I miss.

More than two years have passed and the children are big enough now to ride their own tubes. I cannot ride at all. I suppose my experience is no different than the parent who loses the child through its growing independence. I just wanted more time.

This Thanksgiving I remind myself to be grateful for the time I had, and the time I still have to make new memories.

Top 10 Benefits

This list balances the bad (see Top 10 Challenges) with the good. These are the Top 10 Benefits of My Disability:

10. No one expects me to help clear dishes at dinner parties.

9. I'm given the most comfortable chair in the room.

8. Any time I'm not in gym shorts and a tank top, I can claim to be "dressed up."

7. I have a legitimate reason to get regular manicures and pedicures.

6. I take a nap whenever I want to. (Oh wait, I used to do that anyway.)

5. I cut to the front of long theater bathroom lines and go into the handicap stall.

4. When the cashier at the market asks if I'd like help out with my groceries, I say "yes," and then I don't have to take my own cart back.

3. People hold elevators for me.

2. I have lots of stuff to write about.

1. HANDICAP PARKING SPACES!

That's all from me this year. Thanks for reading and happy holidays!

Driving Miss Lazy?

After the stroke my neurologist reported me to the DMV, which resulted in a suspension of my driver’s license. I spent eight months completely dependent on family and friends for transportation.

I have lived in Los Angeles all my life and have ridden public transportation only twice: Once on the new metro system simply for the novelty of it; and once as a teen in a story that ends with the punchline, "Say what?! Youz on da’ wrong bus!” Post stroke, no one, least of all me, thought I should take a bus. One of my regular appointments is a cross-town trek. I was using every ounce of energy I had in therapy sessions. How could I cope with long bus rides, transfers, and walks to and from bus stops?

At the gym where I exercise, the cardio equipment looks out a picture window onto a bus stop. I study its patrons while they wait: Hispanics and African-Americans, students and single parents, the elderly and disabled. I watched last week in wonderment as an oversized woman in an oversized wheelchair made a five-point turn on the sidewalk to back herself onto a platform that the conductor had lowered for her.

The many advantages of my life include having my own transportation and, during that relatively short eight months when I didn’t, knowing so many generous people who were willing to take me a distance along my road to recovery.

Gratitude List

Abby, Aline, Allison, Amy, Andrew, Angie, Annie, Ara, Arbi, Audrey. Barb, Betty, Bianca, Bill, Bob, Bonnie, Bryce. Carrie, Casey, Cathy, Cecelia, Charl, Charlotte, Chelsea, Chonita, Chris, Cindy, Claudia, Colin, Connie, Cynthia. Dad, Dave, David, Dean, Deb, Debbie, Denny, Devin, Dianne, Dick, Didi, Dru. Edie, Elizabeth, Emma, Eric, Erik, Erin, Ernie, Evan.

Faith, Francesca, Freddie. Gary, George, Gloria, Grace, Greg, Gwen. Haley, Hannah, Harmony, Harold, Henry, Holly. Ian, Irene. Jack, Jackie, Jackie, Janet, Jazmin, Jee-Jee, Jeff, Jeff, Jenny, Joanie, Jodi, Joe, Joel, John, Jono, Judith, Julie, Junie. Karen, Karen, Kate, Kathy, Kathy, Kayden, Keely, Ken, Kim, Kirsty, Kit, Kris, Kristen.

Larry, Laura, Leah, Lela, Leslie, Liam, Linda, Linda, Linda, Linda, Liz, Logan, Lorraine, LuAnn, Lyn. Madeline, Maeve, Margaret, Maria, Maria, Marilyn, Marilyn, Mary, Mary, Mary, Mary, Mary Beth, Maryann, Matthew, Mel, Melinda, Mia, Michelle, Mickey, Mindy, Mira, Mom. Nanci, Nancy, Nancy, Natalie, Nate. Patti, Paul, Paul-Louis, Penny. Randy, Rebecca, Rebecca, Renee, Rex, Rex, Rhonda, Rich, Richard, Rilla, Rob, Robin, Robin, Roger, Ron, Ruth, Ryan.

Sara, Sarah, Sarah, Sarah, Scott, Sean, Serena, Sherrie, Solomon, Sona, Stacey, Steve, Sue, Suki, Susan, Susan, Susan, Susie, Susie, Suzanne, Suzi. Ted, Teresa, Teri, Terry, Thomas, Todd, Tom, Tony, Tracy, Trudy, Twinnie. Val, Vanessa, Vicki, Vodie Ann. Wayne, Wells. Yolande. Zachary.

I used to have things on my gratitude list. Now it’s all about you.

It Had To Be Me

When I had the stroke, I was no longer working, but I still had medical insurance through COBRA. And my husband had just landed a good contract.

And yet I know people without medical insurance or a job.

My parents are still alive and active. My father stayed with me the first month I was home and my mom drove me to endless medical appointments.

And yet my brother-in-law, cousins and three high school friends
have lost a parent in the last year.

I live in a beautiful, handicap-accessible house, and employ a maid and gardener.

And yet I hear of those who cannot afford to stay in their homes.

I have friends who believe in service to others as a way of life. For months, they filled my refrigerator with meals.

And yet I see people on the street asking strangers for food.

I know parents struggling to raise their kids; and I have young people in my life who give me great joy.

And yet I have no children dependent on me.

If this had to happen to someone, it's best that it happened to me.

"Strength of heart comes from knowing that the pain we each must bear is a part of the greater pain shared by all that lives.
It is not just our pain but the pain."

– Jack Kornfield

Powerful Words

Years ago, I memorized prayers to meditate on – Christian, Buddhist, Hindu. The benefit was to put words in my mind that wouldn't otherwise be there.

… make me an instrument of Thy peace –
that where there is hatred, I may sow love …

In the early hours of Easter Sunday, my condition worsened. We had spent Saturday believing I had a mini-stroke, but a bad turn after midnight prompted the duty doctor in Baldwin Park to order me to a specialty unit in Hollywood. I overheard his phone call to the paramedics:

"Get her there as soon as possible – sirens going the whole way."

… whatever you do, make it an offering to Me – the food you eat,the worship you perform, the help you give, even your suffering …

My husband arrived in time to ride shotgun. I lay in the back of the ambulance reciting as the driver blared the sirens and swore at cars to move out of our way.

… He maketh me to lie down in green pastures,
He leadeth me beside the still waters …

In the ER, I overheard the neurosurgeon's conversation with my husband as they studied an image of the black spot that had emerged in my right hemisphere:

"… irreversible brain damage … "

… grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change …

"Will her language be affected?" my husband asked. "She's a writer."

Oh, Great Powers of the Universe, thank you for my thoughtful husband.

And thank you for sparing my words.