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| Joyce Hoffman The Tales of a Stroke Patient |
J, a good friend, and I accomplished the 2-hour drive from my place to the campground in Ohio, stopping at Cabela's in West Virginia, the hunting, fishing, and outdoor gear emporium that also had bison burgers and deer meat custard if you wanted to take a break from shopping. (Only kidding about the custard). I bought a long-sleeved shirt because I didn't pack any. Also, the air took on a chill even though, technically, it was still summer. Going to Cabela's put J even more in the mood for camping, but I just kept muttering that line to myself that Dorothy says in The Wizard of Oz: "There's no place like home."J and I traveled the gravely, rutted road for one mile once we got off the highway and then we were there--Seneca Lake Resort--which was 300 lots filled with 300 trailers. This time was the first for me since my stroke 6 years ago that I agreed to go. It was a gargantuan step that took me out of my comfort zone of television, writing, and exercising in my own apartment. I was ready for the challenge.
As we pulled up to her trailer house, J had an addition--an attached, screened-in porch as do some of the people, and some people have ongoing projects--an extra bathroom in progress, a built-out kitchen soon to be completed, an almost expanded bedroom. And some people only have the original trailer. But all of the people enjoy camping. I mean, really enjoy camping.
I can't expect anybody who hasn't experienced a stroke to know, at exactly the point of our arrival, what dangers lie ahead. I hadn't fallen for over a year and yet I saw all that lay before me--a high step up to the screened porch, four wooden steps to get into the trailer, throw rugs as my eye could visualize, a back deck with a high step, and 5 rocking, unstable recliners throughout the porch. But I had come this far and I wasn't going to renege. I just wasn't. I had to pee and it was a decision whether to go up those wooden steps or hold it in. (I held it in for a little while longer).
The weekend was great, but the challenges even more so. So I present the list: 5 Things You Have to Remember about Camping as a Stroke Survivor.
And it was shocking when J's husband, who has Southern roots, announced that dessert was boiled peanuts. I never had boiled peanuts and the thought of those little legumes jumping and sloshing around in scalding hot water made me sad. But after I tasted them, I was hooked and I didn't feel sorry for those peanuts anymore. I started thinking if boiled peanuts were offered on Amazon, the website where I should own stock in the company, I'd order them.
After reeling it in, J said, "Here, you hold it by the line while I take a picture." There were a lot of things wrong with that picture, but at the top of the list is the fact that the fish, now going bonkers, was spraying lake water on my body. I was a little OCD now from my stroke, and once we returned from fishing, I couldn't take a shower after because the trailer's tub is too high, but I promised myself that I wouldn't say the "E" word even once, so I let the fish have his agony while she snapped a few pics. But that doesn't prevent me from saying it now, safely back in the comfort zone. EEEEEEEEW!
We were off! I kept me eyes open in a wide-eyed stare, waiting for my eventual death, going around sharp curves and hard bumps in the road, but after a few minutes, I enjoyed it. My hair was shot to shit because the golf cart didn't have a windshield either. But the amazing thing about all the campers we passed on that mini road trip is that they didn't care what I looked like. If you ever want to feel accepted, go camping. The reason? Everybody in the camp looks like shit, too.
Soon as I got home, it was back to the same old, same old, but for 98% of the 3 days I was there, I had found nirvana.
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