Tag Archives: Stroke Recovery

Running from Elves

There are holiday traditions no one asked for and yet, like Aunt Linda’s fruitcake, they appear every year anyway. The weight gain, the mandatory family gatherings, the office party with that one co-worker who treats the mistletoe like a binding legal contract. But towering above them all, in a tiny polyester outfit, is the most dreaded tradition of all: the Elf on the Shelf.

This is the year the elf went from “whimsically impish” to “kid-sized federal parole officer.” I have had it up to my eyeballs with this smug little narc. At one point, he went missing for two days, which sounds dramatic until you realize he was just hitchhiking to work in my backpack, because I was too exhausted to stage yet another whimsical overnight scene involving dental floss, flour, and a crime-scene-level cleanup.

Christmas really wrung me out this year. I flirted with the idea of putting the tree up before Thanksgiving, but only in the same way people say they “might run a marathon someday” while eating nachos. By mid-December, the decorations, the gifts for co-workers, the gifts for children and extended family, the holiday baking, and the festive obligation to appear merry at all times all merged into one long, glitter-covered to-do list that I trudged through like a mall Santa on December 24th.

As of today, December 26th, the tree is coming down, the lights are going back into their natural tangled state, and every piece of decor is being evicted to the attic until further notice. Less stuff, less visual noise, fewer things silently screaming for attention from every flat surface. Overstimulation is my default setting these days; between the stroke fallout and regular life, my brain processes “holiday cheer” about as well as a dial-up modem processes streaming video, and last night it all bottlenecked into an ugly, paralyzing cry on the couch.

So here’s the moral, from one frazzled human to the world: be kind to your mom. All of this holiday magic is powered by a tired person who is probably one Elf misstep away from a nervous breakdown. Be kind to everyone, really, because even if nothing “big” is going wrong, the endless pressure of “all the things” can be enough to send someone sliding into the new year held together with tape, tinsel, and a questionable amount of peppermint mocha.

Running from Neurological Oddities

There are few things more humbling than spending your lunch hour watching videos of yourself learning to walk, talk, and generally function like a human being again. Today, I found myself rewatching the TikToks I posted during my stroke recovery—a sort of highlight reel of my greatest hits and near-misses, all set to whatever pop song was trending in 2022.

I was, if I may say so, impressively strong back then. Not because I was aspiring to be some inspirational poster child, but because, frankly, I had no other option. I chronicled everything: therapy sessions, daily triumphs, the occasional existential dread about the future. It’s all there, preserved in 60-second bursts for posterity—and, apparently, for my own forgetful self.

What struck me most was how much I’d forgotten. For example, I completely blanked on how much my body temperature regulation went haywire. I’m always cold, which is a fun little bonus when you’re also on blood thinners. I also forgot that I lost nerve sensation on my right side. My brain, ever the improviser, now guesses if something is hot or cold based on what my left side is feeling. If you hand me a mug of coffee and I grab it with my right hand, I couldn’t tell you if it’s piping hot or ice cold. It’s like living with a thermostat that’s been installed by a committee of squirrels.

Showers are a particularly surreal experience. If the water hits only my right side, I have no idea if I’m about to be poached or frozen. It’s weird, I know. But then again, the human body is basically a collection of weirdnesses held together by hope and duct tape.

Another delightful quirk: my sense of hunger has left the building. It’s been three years since the stroke, and my appetite is still on vacation. The cruel irony is that, while I don’t actually feel hungry, I still exhibit all the classic symptoms of hanger. My husband can attest to this, usually from a safe distance. Imagine being grumpy, irritable, and irrationally upset, but having no idea why—sort of like a toddler, but with a driver’s license.

Cognitive symptoms are another fun surprise party that my brain likes to throw, usually when I least expect it. Take last night, for example: I sat through a baseball game and froze my tukis off, and my brain responded by turning into a malfunctioning computer. The cold, combined with the sensory overload of the crowd, left me unable to think straight for the rest of the evening. I couldn’t find words, couldn’t remember which pedal was the brake, and brushing my kids’ teeth felt like assembling IKEA furniture without instructions.

Once I get my muscle memory going, I’m usually fine. But sometimes, just remembering how to start is like trying to recall the plot of a dream you had three years ago.

While I’m not exactly running marathons these days, walking and exercise in general have become my secret weapons. They help me feel sharper, more focused, and a little more like the version of myself I remember. Finding tools and routines that work for me is empowering—proof that, even when your brain is throwing curveballs, you can still swing for the fences.

The trick, I’ve learned, is being honest with myself about how I’m feeling. Denial is tempting, but the worst lies are always the ones we tell ourselves. So I keep walking, keep laughing, and keep sharing—even if it’s just with my future self over lunch.

In the end, recovery is less about “getting back to normal” and more about discovering a new normal, quirks and all. And if that means my right hand is forever confused about coffee temperature, well, at least it keeps life interesting.