How Comfortable Would You Feel? 

When I was doing physical therapy, they used to evaluate me each month. They gave me a battery of physical tests to hopefully document how I was improving. Part of that documentation was a questionnaire I had to answer.  And on it were a series of questions which began with “How comfortable would you feel on a scale of one to ten, with one being completely uncomfortable and ten being completely comfortable…” The one that I remember most vividly and now fondly was “How comfortable would you feel… walking through a crowded mall being jostled by strangers?” They were hoping, of course, that each time I answered the questionnaire, I would be a little more comfortable with that idea which would mean that my sense of balance was increasing and my fear of falling was diminishing.

I tried to satisfy them by inching up my comfort level answer on that question each month (I think my final answer was a 9) even though I don't think I'd ever be very comfortable walking through a crowded mall being jostled by strangers!

The question has prompted us to think, playfully, of other questions that could be on that little quiz, as challenges of various kinds have come up. What follows are some examples of some suggestions for future questionnaires for stroke survivors, along with my current 1-10 comfort level.

How comfortable would you feel carrying a platter of food from the kitchen to the dining room table? Right now, I think I'm at level 10 on that one!

How comfortable would you feel carrying two platters of food from the kitchen to the dining room table? The answer goes down to maybe an 8.5.

How comfortable would you feel carrying a bowl of soup from the kitchen to the dining room table? I’ll be optimistic and answer 5.

How comfortable would you feel stepping into a pair of pants while standing in the middle of a room and not leaning on anything?  That depends on the nature of the pants.   

• Underwear? 9
• A pair of jeans? 7.5
• A pair of sweatpants with elastic at the ankles? 3 …maybe. Perhaps I should sit on the bed for that one.

How comfortable would you feel walking across a yard strewn with hundreds of black walnuts? 8.

• While carrying a laundry basket? 7
• While holding Patsy’s hand? 10

How comfortable would you feel holding a newborn baby while walking back and forth across a living room floor scattered with the remains of a block tower that a two-year-old has just knocked over? 6.   I, and possibly everyone else in the room, including Twyla, my then weeks old granddaughter, breathed a sigh of relief when I took her to the rocking chair and sat down!

How comfortable would you feel preparing with a shovel a hard crusted dry seed bed for planting? 2. I tried this and ended up sitting down and hacking away with the shovel from a sitting position for about 30 minutes each day over a three-day period before the bed was ready to plant. Sigh!

How comfortable would you feel managing a 3/4 of an acre garden? 1

How comfortable would you feel swinging a golf club?

• Swinging and not falling down? 6
• Swinging and actually hitting the ball in a halfway decent fashion? 1

How comfortable would you feel hiking a section of the Appalachian Trail? 3 maybe.

How comfortable would you feel leading the singing of Christmas carols at the Quaker Meeting Christmas party, on your guitar or at the piano? 3.5.

How comfortable would you feel letting go of some of your cherished dreams and ideas about your identity? 5.

In other words, not entirely comfortable. Some years ago, I took an anti-racism workshop in which we were encouraged to “lean into the discomfort” we were feeling.

I'm trying my best to lean into my discomfort with regards to cherished dreams and identities. I'm hoping that it's like Richard Rohr describes in his book, Falling Upward. He says that the second half of life is about letting go of all the things that we spent the first half of life building up:  our sense of self, our ego, our careers, our families, our friendships, our possessions, et cetera. And the giving up of all these things, while hard, while often tragic, can be a kind of liberation, a stripping away, to reveal our true nature -  which comes from, is sustained by, and destined to return to the source - which is Love. I like the sound of that. And if it’s true, then maybe the stroke has been, and continues to be a blessing, a well disguised one to be sure, but a blessing, nonetheless.

Friday, November 10th, was the one-year anniversary of the stroke. Patsy, who has joined a statewide stroke advocacy group, has learned, among other things, that within a year 50% of stroke victims have another stroke. So last Friday, we were literally counting down the minutes until I would become part of that fortunate 50% that did not have a second stroke in that year. And we made it!

Conventional wisdom has it that after a year, what you have in terms of recovery is pretty much what you will get. There are also plenty of stories of people who have continued to make improvements after a year, or two or even 5 or 7. Even as I lean into my discomfort in accepting what is, I am hoping to continue improving. I hope that someday soon I'll be able to drive again. That will be a huge improvement. My left hand continues to play arpeggios better, make chords on the guitar better, and type better. I hope that continues. My strength and stamina have also been improving in the past few months and I hope that continues!

Something else we have learned from our stroke support group is that one of the strongest predictors of stroke recovery is the community support and family support that the stroke victim has or does not have. And in that regard, I have been so fortunate! I have that in spades! If you are reading this, then you are one of my fortunate cards.

Back in December, when I was newly released from the hospital, I posted an entry in which I described an analogy: the stroke and its immediate aftermath was like a crash course.  After the coursework was over and we came home, it was like we had to do the practicum, the student teaching. Now, it seems, we are done with the practicum, and we have our license. We are officially stroke survivors. Now we can hang our certificate on the wall and practice what we've learned and continue to learn - about humility and compassion and resilience and acceptance, and community, and gratitude.

Here's one more question to put on the questionnaire. On a scale of 1 to 10, how grateful would you feel to get the chance to practice these lessons for another 20 years? How about 10 years? Or 5 years? Or a day?

The answers: 10, 10, 10, 10!