Saturday, June 21, 2014

Misconceptions

Barb Polan
Barb’s Recovery
28th November 2012

In stroke - and probably every - recovery, misconceptions suck. Poking around in old computer files just now, I ran into a Word doc called, "Barb's re-entry plan." In it is an optimistic and completely misconceived view of me returning to my job as GM of the newspaper. I created it in December 2009, just a month after having the stroke, when I was clearly in denial about the magnitude of this interruption of my life. At the time, I thought stroke was just something a body and brain healed from, not permanent damage. The formula for recovery was: Work harder than you have in your life, keep up with current therapies, listen to your therapists and "never, never, never give up." And my thought was," Easy-peasy, I can do that." For example, in the re-entry document, I made three assumptions, based on unsubstantiated claims by medical professionals: 1. Barb will recover 100% of pre-stroke capabilities. 2. Majority of recovery happens in first six months after stroke. (by May 12, 2010) 3. Half of recovery will occur in first three months after stroke. (by Feb. 12, 2010) One of my milestones: By March 12, 2010: 1. Will pass driving assessment. 2. Will be able to go to the office one day per week. Reality: I passed my driving test Dec. 12, 2011. Oops, I was nearly 2 years late on that one, and I'm not sure I did the math right at all. In fact, although people indicated that I would not be able to drive for a while after the stroke, no one told me that the RMV does not allow a person to drive for 6 months after any episode that involves a loss of consciousness, stroke, paralysis or seizure; also, you are required to turn in your license or the RMV assumes you're still driving and tries to revoke your license. Why couldn't anyone tell me all THAT? It doesn't seem very challenging info to remember. As for driving to the office: so far, I have driven a max of 45 minutes and am intimidated by the thought of driving the whole hour and 15 to the office. (128, easy part of the highway; then 128, hard part; Mass Pike for maybe 6 exits; route 9, an easy part; rotary in Westborough, where there are a lot of horn-honkers). Another silly projection was: By May 12, 2010: 1.Will be able to handle all managing editor and GM responsibilities remotely. 2. Will be able to go to the office at least two days per week. 3. Will perform competently as GM. Ha! By that date, a replacement ME had already been on the job for a month, and my pathetic struggles as returning GM were just starting. My boss, to his credit, responded to my plans (I probably sent him a weekly "re-entry plan" while I was itching to get back), consistently ... "Why don't we wait and see what happens?" But I KNEW what was going to happen - everyone had told me that I was going to recover completely because I was "young." And that most recovery takes place in the first 6 months. Separately, those two "facts" might be true, but added together, I found them to be dead wrong. Even though I did everything I was supposed to ... work hard, listen to therapists, and never give up. That was the easy part. The hard part has been ridding myself of those misconceptions - or assigning them to some other survivors, not me. A "young" stroke survivor to me now means the yoga instructor I met in Newburyport who had a stroke at 13; even she still had spasticity on one side. "Young" is not me at 52. Recovery in the first 6 months has to do with the penumbra area of the stroke - the parts that were slammed (oxygen-deprived), but not killed. My understanding is that penumbra recovery has to do with calendar time, not hard work. All of the misconceptions have taken pieces of hope from me as the milestone dates whizzed by; at first, the milestones were all in the future, where they fueled optimism. Now that they are behind me, I recognize them as nonsense fed to all of us to steer us toward a commitment to hard work and persistence. Got that. I understand optimism. I understand the part hope plays in my life. I know the medical professionals were compassionate people providing the information they had at hand, trying their best to answer my persistent questions. That I melded disparate information into a blueprint for my recovery is all on me, not them. But I am so disappointed.



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