I Did WHAT?

Barb Polan
Barb's Recovery

Posted 11th March 2013

Let’s do the math: In the stroke community, one topic is about how many repetitions are required to result in rewiring our brain to communicate with a distant muscle no longer connected to its original boss in our brain. We exercise aerobically to optimize neurogenesis, and we try repeatedly to perform the feat we want to accomplish. How many times do we have to repeat it? Two weeks ago, I had the thrilling success of using my left biceps femoris, semitendinosus, and semimembranosus muscles (a.k.a. hamstring) for the first time post-stroke. Out of curiosity, I decided to answer the “how many repetitions does it take?” question: In addition to all the muscle-specific exercises demanded of me by my therapists over the years and many uses of the hamstring Nautilus equipment at the Y, along with attempting to raise my knee (and use my hamstring) every step up on stairs, plus electrical stimulation, and taking nearly-daily walks – all performed over a span of the 3.5 years since having a stroke – I have also WALKED. By that I mean daily incidental walking (incidental to life, with at least a short walk). When I got my new Bioness, I turned in my “trial” unit and it turned out to have saved all my daily walking data, which ranged from a low of 2,500 to a high of 5,000 or 6,000; that’s at the very least an average of 2,000. Although a person with a proper gait is advised to walk at least 10,000 steps/day, I don’t think 2,000 for me is shoddy. I have done that every day for 3.5 years. 365 x 3.5 x 2,000 = 2,555,000. That is two-and-a-half MILLION attempts to use my hamstring. A daunting number, but it works out to about 170 attempts per hour for a 12-hour day ( 7 a.m. to 7 p.m.) or 3 times/minute during everyday life, which doesn’t seem too hard to do. Got to focus on these fingers.

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Going Backwards

Barb Polan
Barb's Recovery

March 20, 2016

Setbacks are a common occurrence in everyone's lives, right? It's not just me, right?

I have a double-whammy of steps backwards going on right now: after having knee surgery, I've regressed to my immediate post-stroke state. On top of that, although I was progressing rapidly, given my circumstances, according to the nurses and PT's I've seen since the surgery, I took two steps back last Friday...

When I stood up to greet the nurse who was going to remove my staples, I felt pain in the side/back of my post-op knee; I slowly limped (don't I always?) to the door, trying to pretend my knee wasn't threatening to collapse under me. I told her it was hurting a bit more than yesterday, and she thought that wasn't unusual.

I, on the other hand, was appalled that that day didn't bring improvement - that's what was supposed to happen: my knee was supposed to feel and behave a little bit better every day. Eventually I'd get back to my half-disabled-and-half-unharmed body. Ironically, the abilities of that broken body now seemed a desirable goal.

I conjectured that I'd "overdone" it the day before - not with exercise, as my knee hurt to much riding the bike Thursday for me to overdo that. I blamed the staples, which were scheduled to come out that morning, leading to yet another milestone on the way to "better."

Amazing Grace

Barb Polan
Barb's Recovery

Posted 12th March 2012

Corny and predictable - People have probably referred to Grace Carpenter as "amazing" her whole life. Yesterday I had the experience of meeting her for the first time, after interacting with her online for more than a year. She and her lovely family - devoted husband, her son and her daughter - visited Tom, Turbo and me in Gloucester. While Lucy is afraid of dogs and we had sent Trouble off with a friend, Grace "had" to meet the little brat. Meeting another stroke survivor, in particular, one who is significantly younger than I am, rather than the elderly ones in the local stroke support group, pleased me. Grace had a stroke three months after I did, which means that she too recently passed the second anniversary. We briefly compared arm/hand capabilities - hers are better - she can hold the bottom of her jacket to zip it, and she can raise her arm gracefully above her head, while I am unable to do either. Our legs appeared to function about the same, although she stepped down a very tall step out the library door, when I find it much too tall to lower myself on my strong leg so the my weak can hit the step first. She has aphasia, but speaks very well, while I have been talking non-stop since having the stroke. But it was interesting that we had exactly the same delay starting to reply to someone else's comment during a conversation. And we both dropped our canes about the same number of times. Similarity: Pre-stroke, we were both writers. Difference: I have gone back to work, although many of my attempts at work have been unsuccessful. Similarity: We both have two children - an older son and a younger daughter. Difference: Mine were grown up - 25 and 22 - and living away from home when I had the stroke, while Grace's were young - they are about 11 and 7 now. That made my post-stroke life much easier, I think. Bottom line: Meeting another stroke survivor made me even more aware that we are all members of a group that faces more than our fair share of challenges, and we have a lot in common. And we can laugh at our deficits in a way no one else can.

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Left vs. Right

Barb Polan
Barb's Recovery

Posted 18th March 2010 

I was speaking to a sales rep on the phone today, negotiating a price for something I wanted to buy, and she must have remembered something I said yesterday about being on medical leave because she said that she had recently had a health problem and was finding it very hard to get back into the swing of things at work, but it didn't seem as though I was having that problem. I decided to lay my cards out and I told her that I'd had a stroke in November and was still recovering, but that I found work to be very helpful, so it was easy to get back into it. She seemed very surprised and told me that I sounded wonderful for having had a stroke so recently - her father had had a stroke when he was in his 50's and, she said, it took him several years to be able to speak normally again. I resisted explaining to her the difference between having a stroke on the left vs. right side of the brain - if I had been so unfortunate as to have had mine in my left brain, not only would I have lost the function of my right, dominant side, but my speech and language skills would have been disrupted. Some people with left-brain strokes need to learn to read all over again, starting with which squiggle is what letter (and what is a letter, anyway?). Instead of my right hand doing double duty on the keyboard, it would be the recalcitrant one, and I'd be brushing my teeth, typing and buttoning my clothes with my very uncoordinated left hand. There's no way I would be able to even remotely do my job without being able to read and type - so I feel very fortunate to have had a right-brain stroke, as crazy as that sounds.

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Constraint-Induced Therapy

Barb Polan
Barb's Recovery

March 2 / 2016

In Dr. Norman Doidge’s book, How the Brain Changes Itself, the author summarizes a study that led to Constraint-Induced Therapy (CIT) for stroke survivors.

The study was done by Edward Taub and involved the deafferentation (cutting sensory nerves, but leaving the motor nerves) of monkeys’ arms, which resulted in the inability to use the arm. Deafferent a left arm, and the monkey cannot move the left arm; same for the right. Deafferent both arms, though, and the monkey is able to use both.

According to Doidge, “[Taub] reasoned that if both arms were deafferented, a monkey should soon be able to use them both, because it would have to to survive.”

That conclusion meant that stroke survivors should be forced to use their affected side, because if they needed to use it, they would. One story told by a stroke survivor was that one morning in rehab, she asked for coffee, and her therapist put an oven mitt on the patient’s unaffected hand (to constrain it), pointed to a coffeemaker, and said, “You’ll have to make it yourself.” Because the oven mitt made her functioning hand unable to use the coffeemaker, the patient used her affected hand. Because she had no other choice.

Practice Walking Without My Brace

Barb Polan
Barb's Recovery

Posted 8th June 2010

Yesterday in PT, my PT had me practice walking without my AFO (leg brace) to see how my ankle is coming along. She reminded me how weak my ankle was when I first started seeing her - it behaved then much like it had the morning of the stroke, when it just kept rolling over each time I put my weight on it. Yesterday, however, I could walk 10 feet without too much trouble, but with her guarding my ankle as my weight went on it. I practiced walking the 10 feet a half dozen times back and forth, pulling my leg up from the hip higher than I normally would so that it was easier to plant my foot straight forward - its natural inclination was to turn toe in and that was too risky for my ankle, so I would have to straighten it out when it did that. Each step I take, I try to keep my toes pointed "toward twelve o'clock," as my PT says.

In OT, we discussed what it would take for me to be able to shower by myself - the topic came up because I had told my PT about my dip in the Charles and her immediate response was,"So did you go home immediately and shower?" and my response was,"No, I don't shower by myself yet," to which she responded that I should talk to my OT about the logistics of that. We went through the process and my OT came up with a solution or two for each dilemma I perceived:how to get shampoo out of the bottle, where to keep my brace, shoes and cane so that they are dry at the end of the shower when I have to use them to walk out of the shower, where to keep the towels so that they are both dry and accessible, how to stand on a wet shower floor, how to shave both my legs and underarms, how to get into and out of the shower, all details that an able-bodied person deals with without a thought, another ability taken for granted. Of course, the whole showering adventure becomes much simpler once I'm no longer wearing the brace.

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Off the Road

Barb Polan
Barb's Recovery

February 21, 2016

Tom, Turbo and I returned from a road-trip to Florida last night. There were several great reasons justifying it:

1. Last winter here in eastern Massachusetts was so miserable - meaning the people here were miserable – that I had a melt-down (pun intended) in April, when the torture was finally over. It consisted of: “Tom, I am NOT going to spend two months trapped inside our house every year for the next 20 years!” After suggesting we sell the house (which neither of us want to happen), Tom offered to spend a couple of weeks this winter looking for an acceptable place to spend a couple of months each winter.
2. We wanted to take our dog along with us, which made us opt to drive instead of fly. Turbo is an emotional support animal (ESA) we got when I couldn’t bear to stay home alone when it was time for Tom to go back to work after the stroke. Although Tom makes lots of jokes about Turbo needing more emotional support than he provides, he does his job extremely well. My psychotherapist wrote a letter confirming that Turbo is an ESA, so we purchased a little “vest” (more like a saddle) and an ID card with his picture and all to communicate that he must be allowed into any public facility.
3. We have lots of friends and family scattered along the East Coast, so we’d be able to see some of them; again, a reason to drive rather than fly.
4. My father, who lives in northern Florida, turned 90 in mid-February, and my siblings and I wanted to help him celebrate it.

Rebirth?

Barb Polan
Barb's Recovery

Posted 3rd January 2012 

I know that some survivors consider the day of having a stroke as a "rebirth" into the world - becoming a new person infused with gratitude for a second chance, having a fresh way of looking at everything previously taken for granted. They celebrate "rebirthdays." I, for one, do not look that way at having had a stroke. To me, having had a stroke meant the death of my old life, not the birth of a new one. Sure, there are things that are better now: my focus professionally now is on being a writer, not being an editor because I couldn't sell enough of my writing; I have concrete proof that I am well-loved by my family and friends; I know that the hard work, determination and strength of character that my recovery has required can all be diverted to some other worthy task once my rehab is complete; I can accept that "what happened is what happened and [for me anyway] is not likely to happen again," to paraphrase Bartholomew Cubbins, of "500 hats" fame. That does make the stroke I had the beginning of a new phase of my life? Does that mean I was "reborn" after all?

Often, when I wander through semantics and my personal experiences like this, I end up with many questions and few answers - just like being in adolescence over again. And learning to walk makes me 1 again, while redeveloping my reasoning skills puts me at 7 or 8. And, because of the spasticity in my hand, I still can't crawl; although I can get on my hands and knees, keeping my fingers curled. Not being able to tie my shoes, use a knife to cut my food, or zip my coat puts me pre-kindergarten, right?

I Failed the Driving Competency Test

Barb Polan
Barb's Recovery

Posted 2nd June 2011

It was for a specific reason: I did not have adaptive equipment installed in my car to compensate for my one-handed driving. I need a knob on the steering wheel and a device that allows me to control the blinkers without taking my hand from the wheel. Now, if that's a requirement, why did every Mass. RMV employee (including in the Medical Division), my driving instructor, and all my OTs and PTs I talked to not know that? All of them said I "could" get the equipment if I wanted to, not that it was required. How could none of them know? The closest was the suggestion that I have a driving evaluation by a post-stroke driving specialist to get his/her recommendations - it costs $300, which I didn't want to spend on someone who could say exactly what everyone else was saying. In fact, my driving instructor told me that the RMV "has to accommodate my disability," implying that if I use my right hand to do what my left hand is incapable of, I could still pass. My tester today, though, said that he really could not pass me because I MUST have the adaptive equipment. That's pretty "accommodating" of them, no?

Every Stroke is Different

Barb Polan
Barb's Recovery

January 21 / 2016

Every new stroke survivor asks questions about “why,” and “how” after having a stroke, along with “when will I recover?” The most common answer to nearly every question a stroke survivor asks, is the content-free “Every patient is different, every stroke is different, and every recovery is different.”

Content-free, I say, because it’s not news that each of us is different from one another. When did we learn that? Sesame Street or kindergarten? And, obviously, any medical condition occurs differently; think about breast cancer – one of my close friends died at 42, while another, my age, is cancer-free 5 years after diagnosis.

Applied to recovery, the answer is content-free because the real answer is, “I don’t know.” And that’s the part that irks me most.

So, parts 1 and 2 are self-evident, and part 3 is a euphemism for “No one knows.” Why is the (“Every patient is different…”) answer so popular?

Certainly, the repetitive phrasing is catchy, which lends a tone of cleverness – which could be misinterpreted as wisdom.

Errata

Barb Polan
Barb's Recovery

January 7th / 2016

Well, I was wrong: Speaking about my book in front of a group of only 6 people was fun – I didn’t cry until I did the reading (pp. 45-46, if you care); then there was no sobbing, just tears running down my cheeks (my miniscule amounts of mascara and eyeliner didn’t even run) and a breaking voice. It was all OK, though, because the first part of the program was interactive: I started my story, and people interrupted politely and asked for further elaboration (for example, one asked the name of the intake ER doctor, which I don’t remember); that made it more relaxing for me than doing a presentation straight through, and my fear of public speaking didn’t show up at all. Then I read.

When I finished, everyone agreed that what I’d written was “exactly what every other stroke survivor feels.” If you’re curious about what prompted that response and don’t have a book to look it up in, please buy a copy here:
buy my book.

EEG

Barb Polan
Barb's Recovery

Posted 31st July 2010

On Thursday, I had the new experience of having an EEG. despite the trouble in my brain since last November, I had not yet undergone the test before.

One state that the neurologists wanted to see my brain waves during was sleep, so to ensure that I would sleep during at least a portion of the test, the asked that I go to bed as usual the night before and then wake up at midnight and stay awake until showing up for the test at 5:30 a.m. To do so, Tom set the alarm for midnight, I got up and sat in the recliner reading until it was time to get ready - 4 o'clock.

Since getting my iPad, I have refrained from using it in the evening because reportedly the display makes your brain so active it interferes with subsequent attempts to sleep - so it seemed like the perfect tool to help me stay awake from midnight to 4 - and I managed to stay awake.

What a Pain

Barb Polan
Barb's Recovery

Posted 13th December 2013

Once again, Amy (mycerebellarstrokerecovery@wordpress.com) has set me off on a riff … about empathy this time. See this for details: http://mycerebellarstrokerecovery.com/2013/12/12/empathy-vs-sympathy/

You know the pain scale in some doctors’ offices - the ones that have a ruler with zero to 10?  Zero means “no pain,” and 10 means “the worst pain possible.” Zero shows a smiling face, while 10 is writhing in pain. My guess is that the goal of having the scale is to quantify pain, as though that’s possible. Give it a number and it’s scientific, right? Or is it to minimize the patient’s pain really – to communicate that it’s bearable? For example, a woman with appendicitis looks at the scale and thinks, “this really isn’t so bad – not like childbirth.”

What does quantification do? Even if it’s quantified, the number is still subjective, an evaluation by the patient. But is my 10 the same as your 10? There’s no way of telling.

One’s ego says, “Of course my pain is worse than yours: I have a very high threshold for pain, so my 10 must be far worse than yours.”

And how do the numbers work? Are they additive? They’re numbers, after all, and adding numbers is easy. If a patient with a gallstone claims a 10, and I have an arthritic sacro-iliac joint (3), a muscle spasm in my neck (3) and an arthritic knee (4) – which I do – am I in as much pain as the guy with the gallstones?

That one I know the answer to: nope.

Suppose we use the same pain scale for emotional, instead of physical, pain.

Travelling

Barb Polan
Barb's Recovery

Posted 19th December 2012

We - my husband, daughter and I - are going to California (Santa Monica) to visit our son and his fiancee for Christmas. Another trip through security holding my left hand as far as my right hand can raise it in the Xray machine; having my entire body (all my clothing, really) and electronic gear swabbed and tested for explosives; giving up my cane to walk through the metal detector; standing on a two-foot square for a search. On our last flight,a security person chided me for leaving a tissue in my back pocket that was revealed by the search even though she had TOLD me to empty my pockets; I pulled it out and handed it to her, and she went to get a trash can, watching me the whole time. Seriously? What was I going to do with a used tissue if she turned her back to me? I can understand why she didn't want to touch it, but watching me while she walked sideways to get the can and carry it to me? What happened to profiling? I am doing something a little differently this time, compared to our last flight (to Boulder): I am going to cooperate with my husband and use a WHEELCHAIR. He always frets because I walk so slowly, but I hate taking the easy way out. My recovery is all about challenging myself, so why wouldn't I walk? To please Tom. He puts up with enough annoyance caused by me; it's the least I can do, I think. And in February, I'm going BY MYSELF to visit a friend who spends the winter in Florida. Tom will accompany me to the airport and ensure I get through security okay, and Lisa will pick me up at the other end. Wheelchairs at both ends; one good thing about wheelchairs at the airport is that they come with a driver, someone to push and steer, and knows what line to go to. In fact, when Tom once took over for a driver at Logan, he had to go through a 50-point check before I was handed over. I am afraid to travel by air all alone. I know I'll be well taken care of, but I'm still nervous about it.

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Skeptics in the Pub

Barb Polan
Barb's Recovery

November 18 / 2015

Tom and I have started going to monthly club meetings of "Skeptics in the Pub." We go, drink draft beers, eat appetizers, and listen to a presentation about a selected topic and a discussion following the presentation. There are power point slides and selected videos.

At the first meeting we attended, the man sitting next to us said he enjoys attending the meetings because all the members are so smart, it makes him feel smart too.

I don't speak up during the discussions. I don't speak up in public at all. I think of things I might say, but keep them to myself. Never would I contribute to these conversations - the others are just so smart they make me feel like an idiot, and I'm sure I would say something in a way that embarrassed me - choking up, stumbling over my words, forgetting what my point is mid-sentence, and/or blushing deep red. So I listen.

Last month's topic was Oliver Sacks, who was a neurologist I really admired (he died this past summer). Last night's topic was "Are Skeptics too Dogmatic?"

DIY Medical Treatment

Barb Polan
Barb's Recovery

Posted 18th June 2014

At 10, my daughter was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes. The inpatient pediatric endocrinology nurse who taught us about diabetes management - Lynn – was encouraging, thorough, and an excellent resource, which was just what we needed as we were overwhelmed by both the diagnosis and the treatment protocol. After three days of training us in the hospital about blood sugar and insulin activity, they sent us back out into the world to cope on our own, with graphs of insulin (Humalog, Novolog, regular, and Lantis) activity vs. time that I just couldn’t understand how to apply. She had to figure out the correct ratio of insulins, based on her blood sugar and what time she’d be eating that day, and then mix them? Lynn, you really can’t tell us exactly what to do?

One of the things Lynn emphasized is that we would always be hearing of “cures” just around the corner, and not to get too excited by them. She said that in the 20 years she’d been in endocrinology, she had heard of dozens of studies that promised fixing the islet cells in the pancreas so that pancreas transplants weren’t the only “cure” option for those with Type 1. In the case of transplants, she said, the “cure” was worse than the disease: anti-rejection treatment took a greater toll on a body than diabetes did.

What a Long, Strange Trip it’s Been

Barb Polan
Barb's Recovery

November 3 / 2015

I just looked at a video clip on FaceBook – an interview with Travis Roy. (Thank you, Kathy T, for posting that.) Everyone of a certain age in the Boston area remembers Travis Roy – the NHL-hopeful at Boston University). Eleven seconds into the first game he ever played at BU, he was slammed into the boards and paralyzed from the neck down. Last week was the 20th anniversary of his injury; the news angle was that he was honored for his work raising money for a foundation that supports spinal cord injury research.

“It’s been quite a trip,” he said about the 20 years since his future changed abruptly when he was 20 years old.

“Quite a trip?” was my immediate thought.  Yes, just the reaction of the survivors of the Titanic, right?

It made me look, though, at my own “trip”: recovery from a disabling stroke 6 years ago, at 52. Travis was young, with his promising future blasted apart; while I was established, and my modest expectations were blown away. We both ended up experiencing lives that were not what either of us were “supposed” to have. Previously, I have called my experiences a “pilgrimage,” a trip with a holy destination, but the word implies a trek, something difficult.

Looking at his journey as “quite a trip,” Travis put a positive spin on an unenviable situation: the opportunity to use his story and fame to establish a way of helping other patients with injured spinal cords, his tribe.

Purpose

Barb Polan
Barb's Recovery

12th July 2015

In view of the recent decisions of a handful ofstroke-surviving bloggers to either stop or take a hiatus from blogging, I've been re-assessing my purpose here.

In the beginning (6 weeks post-stroke), I intended to have daily entries - a diary of sorts - about my progress. Back then, I had frequent posts about baby steps as I completed them: I documented when I first straightened my forefinger and when I wiggled my thumb. Entries became rarer, though, as the steps became a teenager's: when I first engaged my hamstring muscles, I wrote from a different perspective - not just where I got, but how I got there ... 2.5 million attempts to use my hamstring.

As I progressed, my topics became more philosophical - about my way of viewing these trials. These entries were intended to both encourage survivors and help those around us understand what was going through our heads and hearts while we were going through recovery.

Once I complied enough information in the form of blog entries to weave into a cohesive narrative about my journey, I put it all together in my book, Stroke After Stroke: A Rower's Pilgrimage, for sale on Amazon as both an e-book and a printed volume. If you know me or read my blog and have not yet purchased a copy, please do; it will be the most inexpensive thing you buy today.

After publishing the book, I've posted just occasionally, certainly not documenting every step forward. I refuse to let go, though.

Tribal Life

Barb Polan
Barb’s Recovery

Posted 20th October 2013

I’m not one to plagiarize, but I ran into a great concept and don’t know its origin, so I’m going to relate it, admitting that it’s not mine, but flummoxed as to whose it is. I ran into it on the tinybuddha page on FB, but in an essay written by a contributor. Of course, FB is the source for all great concepts these days. Here goes:

All of us belong to one or more “tribes,” groups containing people we relate to. The tribes tend to be discrete.

For example, I have my my immediate family tribe; and old college friend, rowing, and neighborhood tribes.

One of my most important tribes these days includes the members of the online stroke survivor community. That tribe comprises the people on the planet (in North America, it turns out) who best understand the road I’ve been travelling during my four-year pilgrimage (per Oliver Sacks, in “A Leg to Stand On”), and are willing and eager to talk about their journeys.

They are the ones who understand, encourage, challenge, and inform me. We also all understand each other’s pain.

And that makes me wonder sometimes whether belonging to the tribe helps or hurts me more.

Every day I encounter someone – sometimes a virtual stranger (as opposed to my virtual friends) on the periphery of my attention – who breaks my heart. I sit in bed in the morning staring at my iPhone and sniffling, or I do a quick online check in the middle of a writing session and have to fetch a box of tissues: the wife of a stroke survivor had a horrendously bad day getting expensive and lousy care for her husband; a one-time survivor has just had a second stroke; or a survivor’s wife has been diagnosed with cancer. None of us deserve any of this, and their grief pierces my heart.

Yes, I understand their pain, and they understand mine.

We are a tribe.

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Sleep

Barb Polan
Barb’s Recovery

Posted 21st January 2010

Yesterday I had an emotional meltdown during my SLP (speech and language pathology) appointment when I was talking about the challenges of returning to work. My SLP then spoke to my OT and PT about me having a bad day - which is unusual for me because it's very important to me to focus on the future with optimism and on my rehab work with enthusiasm. When they add more exercises to my routine, I'm happy to comply because it means my recovery will be sooner. Yes, I'm not the most patient person, but this ordeal is making me more so - in fact, I have no choice and the only way to learn patience is to be forced to wait for something you really, really want, which is exactly the spot I'm in.

The result of the therapists' discussion was that they concluded: (1) that I had returned to work too soon and was doing too much and (2) I needed more sleep. The solution? I explained that most of my sleep problems were because I was uncomfortable lying in bed because of a plethora of aches and pains: my arm and my lower back, plus I was wearing a brace on my left foot to keep my foot from permanently flopping over;tossing and turning to get comfortable was out of the question. My OT and PT decided that I can wear a sling on my arm during the day so that while I walk, my arm doesn't dangle at my side, stretching my tendons and ligaments; that I can go without the brace at night (as long as my Achilles tendon doesn't tighten up as a result);that I should not have a pillow under my scapula when I lie down; that I should stop doing bridges, which might be straining my lower back. Making those changes yesterday resulted in the best night's sleep I've had since I had the stroke - I went to bed at 9 p.m.,woke at 11:30 to go to the bathroom, then slept until 4, and woke up refreshed and relieved to be pain-free.

One other part of the plan is that I am supposed to take a 30-minute rest/nap every day, with my eyes closed and no potential distractions.

Additional progress? Today I moved my thumb for the very first time!!!

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