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| Barb Polan Barb's Recovery |
Intro: Members of the online Stroke Tribe know Scott Gallagher as the stroke survivor who walks 10 miles a day. When I asked him to write a guest blog entry for me, this was his response:
Eureka
Eureka, California, is a scenic seaside town of about 30,000 residents approximately 100 miles south of the Oregon border. Flanked by rugged coastal cliffs and bounded by ancient stands of redwoods, it's a town of aging hippies, mountain folk and tourists. I came to Eureka in 2010, a year after my stroke and six months out of a wheelchair, still more dead than alive. My first recorded stroke walks came a few months later.
Five days a week my ten-mile stroke walk begins at 6:30 in the morning and ends in the early afternoon, following a triangular route that takes me around Eureka on its three main roads. At 6:30 the roads are nearly empty, but they fill up fast. By 7:00, Eureka has become a bustling metropolis, and it's in this morning rush that most people first see me hobbling along, head down and eyes firmly fixed on the sidewalk.
The route has coffee shops, grocery stores and various other stops I might make in a day. Frequently a stranger will approach me at one of these stops, invariably a bit hesitant but pressing forward a conversation anyway. It might be: “Excuse me. I see you walking everywhere and I just wanted to meet you.” Or: “I wanted to say I think what you're doing is great.” Sometimes it ends a bit more awkwardly, for instance, “. . . and I'll point at you and tell my husband that's what you should be doing.” All wish me well on my recovery, and often I'll get a honk and a wave from their cars on later walks.
There are lots of offers for a ride. A car will pull up alongside, its passenger window down. Inside, the driver, again somewhat hesitantly, will lean over and say, “Excuse me? I see you walking everyday and I just wanted to know if you'd like a ride?” I politely decline, explain I'm walking off a stroke and thank them for their generosity, always feeling a little guilty for refusing. Unfortunately, however, there's been so many offers it's a luxury I can't afford.
Occasionally, as I walk along with my head down, I'll see the feet of an approaching passerby. I'll glance up to see a woman flashing me a big smile below twinkling eyes, and an instant tells me the same thing everyone else says aloud, “I see you walking everyday, and I think that's wonderful.” Wow. You just can't beat non-verbal communication for getting a feel-good message from someone.
Throughout most of this period I couldn't have looked any more than terrible, struggling along like a broken puppet. However, it wasn't in spite of the fact I looked so awful that Eurekans have broken through natural inhibitions to talk to me; it was because of it. Had I looked able-bodied nobody would've cared, but I was obviously disabled and they wanted to show their support. That's how Eurekans are.
At ten miles a day, two hundred miles a month, I've currently encircled Eureka for 6,812 miles. I'm still limping, sometimes badly, and still not knowing when full recovery will come, but this magnificent little community has seen me through every step. While a stroke is still my challenge of a lifetime, I cannot even begin to imagine having to endure it without the overwhelming kindness and support of Eureka.
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