Optimism

I'm' sitting here waiting for my friend, Robin, to arrive from Glasgow Airport. She's the friend who will accompany me back to Vancouver a week from today. I'd expected her on my doorstep hours ago but I think my calculations for travel time from Glasgow Airport to my doorstep must have been a little ambitious.

When I first realized we'd have a week in Edinburgh to explore, it was all too easy to think of the things I can no longer do and I had to remind myself to try countering negative thoughts with positive ones and thinking instead of the things I be capable of oing, such as sitting in my wheelchair, enjoying the ride while Robin exhausts herself pushing me all over Edinburgh.

Living with the consequences of a stroke has left me anxious and pessimistic so I've devised a way to be optimistic and that is to ignore the medics' advice and picture my future as one where everything works the way it used to. The medics say this is a bad idea because, instead of working to improve the function I've got, I'll focus on a pipe dream of function I hope to have. However, the well-intentioned reality statements delivered by my neurologist and physiotherapists that I'll never regain the use of my left arm an hand only left me without hope. And without hope, there is no optimism.

I'm also tired of every single thing in my life relating to my physical condition because I'd like to forget about it for a while. I spend a lot of time trying to istract myself and have even resorted to watching daytime TV, which isn't as bad as North American daytime TV, except for the Jeremy Kyle Show, the UK equivalent of Jerry Springer and Maury Povitch, with armies of trailer trash queuing up to air their pathetically filthy laundry to millions. Fortunately, my brain hasn't been damaged to such an extent that I'm unable to see that this behaviour is WRONG, WRONG, WRONG. Maybe it's the allure of a trip to London for the shooting that has the power to convince the participants that appearing on TV to bare their rotting teeth on camera.

Yes - I am preoccuppied with teeth and this country is full of people whose mouths are tragically packed with tombstone teeth.

A Stroke of Misfortune

Unfortunately, my Edinburgh adventure was cut short soon after the last post because I had a serious stroke sometime in August 2007 and spent 8 months in hospital. I'm now partially disabled and am writing this with some difficulty as my left hand doesn't work. I came home from hospital about 6 weeks ago and can manage to walk around the flat with a little difficulty (and a lot of fear as my balance isn't very steady) but use a wheelchair for any outdoor expeditions I'm lucky to get involved in. One of the hardest things to cope with out of all the stroke's legacies has been the depression, which makes it harder to come to terms with the changes in my physical abilities. The damage to my poor old brain is pretty extensive and it's that damage that causes the depression. The brain damage has also left me with epilepsy and I've had 2 seizures so far, which terrify me, but anti-seizure medication has been prescribed to help control the occurrence of seizures (or fits as the neurologist likes to call them).

My experiences in the stroke rehab ward provided so many bizarre experiences and characters that I figured I just had to write a book about them but I'm not so sure my right hand could manage to type that much.

As stroke is usually not a young person's illness, I was by far the youngest patient on the ward and when I finally became aware of my surroundings, I thought I was sharing space with a room full of corpses. All around me were beds containing skulls draped with parchment-like skin, toothless mouths agape and no signs of life. Until mealtime, that is. All eyes were turned upon me - my relative youth probably created curiousity and I seemed to be the only one with more than one tooth in my head. Most of these women had no more than a passing acquaintance with the dentures so carefully crafted for them and some of the gnashers were positioned in a spot where they could watch the owners eat their meals without the benefit of teeth. All meals were eaten noisily, empty mouths agape. There was a lot of drooling going on in the stroke ward - sometimes because of facial weakness/paralysis (another stroke legacy which, thankfully, I was spared) but more often through the absence of teeth.

Many of these patients have no idea to this day how lucky they are to be alive now because I spent most of my time hatching elaborate plans to murder them for annoying me. The ones who made a lot of noise and kept me awake were the most likely victims and my plan was to smother them with a pillow ("the pillow treatment'). If I'd had the use of all 4 limbs, there would have been no mercy. When I first tried to read The Guardian and realized how difficult it is to try to read a broadsheet newspaper soundlessly while trying to turn pages using only one hand, I was glad one of my intended victims was spared the pillow treatment because she turned out to be a very nice person whom I came to like quite a lot, despite her vast repertoire of irritating noises. Trying to make the best of a situation which left me in the company of only geriatrics, I befriened a wonderful old lady of 79 called Betty. Betty was diabetic (as many stroke patients are, it turns out), she was in constant agony from a gangrenous foot, had emphysema and smoked about a thousand fags a minute. I kept her company while she smoked outside on a little patio. Sometimes a nurse would take her away to be put on a nebulizer to clear her lungs so she could get them dirty again with the next eighty five fags. The staff never gave her a hard time for smoking as they figured she was so ill anyway, she may as well have a little pleasure. I first met Betty after being taken to hospital after my stroke an met her again when she was transferred to the rehab hospital I was in. She told me then that she was shocked to see me as she'd never expected to see me again. That's when I learned my conition ha been critical and Betty also told me she'd spent time trying to comfort Evan while I was in intensive care for a couple of weeks. Sadly, the poison from her gangrenous foot travelled through her bloodstream an killed her before I got to know her better. She'd told me doctors had thought the foot needed to be amputated before it reached that point but she was too much of a risk for anaesthesia so they wouldn't attempt it.

It's not all gloom and doom though because all these misfortunes have made it easier for me to make the decision to return to live in Canada. I need my family and friends close to me more than ever now, especially because Meredith is expecting her first baby in August, which will make me a first time granny. That's my reward for going through a bastard of a year in 2007. A little Leo baby like its granny is sure to rejuvenate me and give me some hope for the future.

Evan is living in Edinburgh now, working as an IT consultant, loving it and being proud of his Scottish roots. He thinks Edinburgh's a 'brilliant' city and has become an ardent supporter of its football team - Hearts of Midlothian'. Hearts fans are called Jambos here and there's much competition between Edinburgh and Glasgow fitba' fans. Evan's girlfriend is from Glasgow and has been a Celtic fan most of her life. She likes hockey and cars though so her fitba' team preference isn't a problem for him.

3 weeks from now, I'll be back in the lower Mainland and I can't wait. I feel a bit sad about leaving Auld Reekie as my plans didn't reach completion but it doesn't mean I can't come back. I'm so glad to have this blog to refresh my memory of all the lovely times I had during those first few months before Edinburgh became tainted by ill health. I also have friends here now who will visit me in beautiful BC once I'm settled.

One of my Canadian friends is coming over to escort me back to Vancouver as I don't have the confidence to try it on my own. She'll be here for a week before departure and we plan to spend that time with her pushing me around the city to revisit my favourite spots and me telling her entertaining wee stories about each place. I can't wait to see her. It'll be like a wee holiday for me.