Two Disabled People & a Dog

Like me, my dad had a stroke that limits his ability to walk.  Like me, he resisted buying a mobility scooter but, once he bought one, he loved it.

Dad also loves my dog – one of the few creatures on the planet with whom he can still communicate. Most of all, he loves lakes and waterfowl. My goal, since relocating him to Los Angeles after his stroke, has been to put him in the presence of these treasures as often as possible.

The challenge? How do I transport two scooters, two disabled people, and an elderly golden retriever in one car? Scooter trailers hold only one scooter, and anything bigger would be a hassle.

My solution was to have a Bruno Curbsider installed in my SUV. Dad operates the remote control to hoist the scooters while I keep them from hitting the car bumper (a concession in the position of the hoist that had to be made to accommodate the size difference in the two scooters). When I’m on my own, I can perform the entire operation single-handed – literally.

Once the scooters are loaded, I board the dog and stow the pet stairs she needs to climb in and out of the car, allowing just enough room for her to ride with her head out the window or to curl up and rest after our long stroll by the lake.

Presenting: Two Disabled People & a Dog 

It's a comedy!

The One-Handed Cook

Part of getting back into life after my stroke was to gradually resume the household duties that had fallen onto my husband and friends during my first months home. One of the scariest tasks for me was getting back into the kitchen. The kitchen is full of sharp and hot things. Packages demand to be opened and resealed. It is a domain of the two-handed.

But I couldn't continue to ask friends and family to drop off home-cooked meals. And after my fifth tray of enchiladas, I googled "one-handed cooking utensils" and hit a jackpot of products for the disabled chef.

I was reluctant to spend money on adaptive devices in the beginning because I was sure my complete recovery was right around the corner. Two-and-a-half years post-stroke and still very limited with my left hand, I recognize that the corner is at the end of an extremely long block.

My other excuse for not wanting adaptive equipment was that forcing myself to use standard tools would be therapeutic. But my first failed attempt to use a regular can opener convinced me that I ought to buy the One-Touch Can Opener. I was very skeptical that it would work as advertised — but the thing is magic!

My second concession was to purchase a Single-Handed Cutting Board. This item is more practical than magic. I've stabbed myself carelessly on the upright nails, and the suction cups that hold it in place are so strong that when you pull up the board after slicing tomatoes, the tomato juice and seeds splash all over the place. But I do not know any other way to slice and spread bread with only one hand. Watch my demo below. Bon Appetit!

The Task at Hand

I've been told that recovering use of the hand after stroke is "tricky." When I question occupational therapists that I like and trust about my prognosis, their faces become shielded and their speech careful. Almost two years into recovery, I appreciate why predictions in a case like mine are unwise. So much depends on my willingness to perform hours and hours of boring, demoralizing exercises.

The 4 1/2-minute film below shows me performing my current hour-long exercise routine. I've edited the long pauses required to unclench my fingers after each effort to use them. The routine is a variation of grasping and releasing POOF balls, which I've done almost every day for the past 20 months. If you find the film tedious, then it's a good representation of what it feels like to rehabilitate my hand. Progress is agonizingly slow.

But I am making progress. I think back to three months post-stroke when, summoning all my concentration, I could just twitch my middle finger. Still I want more.

I've been reluctant to write about rehabilitating my hand. Writing brings clarity and I haven't wanted to look too closely at the hope and dogged determination that keeps me going. I fear not recovering my hand. I fear being foolish for continuing to try past the point of progress. That point hasn't come yet, but as I approach my two-year anniversary, I feel an urgency to push myself to the next level of achievement.

A-Team: A is for Arbi

I had been Arbi's chiropractic patient and a member of his gym for years. I always knew he had healing hands. What I didn't know was that he could do more than crack my back. After the stroke, he put my gym membership on hiatus. I called him in February to say I was ready to come back. He wanted to train with me the first time.

"You don't have to do this alone," he said. "I'm right here with you – through good times and bad. We will do this together." I dropped my blasé physical therapist and have been working with Arbi since.

Three times per week, Arbi and I do an hour of weight training in the gym. My former PTs focused solely on my leg. The problem with that approach is that the wires on my left side are crossed: I exert my arm, my leg moves. Arbi trains my whole person to teach me simultaneous control over multiple muscle groups. The video below shows us working together in July 2011 – 15 months post-stroke. (My wonderful sister-in-law behind the camera.)

After the gym, Arbi treats me with electrical stimulation, which tires my spastic muscles, allowing him to stretch them – more effective than what I do on my own because the very effort of self-stretching makes me tense. Arbi has filled me with hope that we can beat my hated spasticity. I am so grateful to him, I volunteered to help launch his new website: www.arbiderianchiropractor.com. Editing the testimonials confirmed my impression that he's a swell guy. Plus, he's a Trojan fan … and buff.

Rehab: The Movie

Unlike every other thing about rehab, I loved my therapy sessions. And I was a refreshing change for my therapists; I had a good understanding of my body and a determination to get better. It was this, combined with my sense of humor, which prompted them to film me for a celebration of Rehab Week.

Most of the footage was shot in the gym at the rehab unit. Some of it was shot during my home visit a few days before my release. My therapists and I looked through the house for hazards and discussed strategies for coping without their help. My husband had already rolled up the carpets, put a handicap bar and seat in the shower, and added a second railing by the kitchen stairs so I would have something to hold onto with my functional hand in either direction.

I am grateful to have this footage as a benchmark of where I was. One of the hardest things for me about living with this condition is to celebrate the progress that has been made rather than focusing on how much further I want to go.