After some time those who have had a stroke, as well as those close to the survivor, find ways to make peace with the event.

Me – The Eccentric

By Karen Gallaher

Some people may think I have become quite eccentric since my stroke five years ago. I am a totally different person now. Gone are the high heels I wore to work. They are replaced with sandals and bedroom shoes.

Now I don't buy dresses and pantyhose, but shop at Goodwill for knick-knacks and junk things that make me smile. I buy plastic carousels, vases, and junk. Our house is full of vases and junk. They make me smile; I think they are all different.

Gone are my traveling days. Now I travel to the yard to pick flowers or to water. I have an old rusty wheelbarrow with flowers planted in it that I think is beautiful. Gone are the days when I brought work home. Now you can find me sitting in the floor playing or watching cartoons with Madison, my granddaughter. 

The dictionary says “An eccentric person deviates from the norm." I guess I am eccentric compared to what I used to be. I like being eccentric. I smile more, I am happy. I don't care if the neighbors think my rusty wheelbarrow is ugly. I like it. I don't care if the neighbors see me everyday watering the yard. I enjoy it. I don't care if the neighbors laugh at my big fuzzy bedroom shoes. I think they feel wonderful.

Gone are the days after my stroke when I thought the world was going to end. Now I enjoy each precious moment. Gone are my perceptions of a disabled person. Now I am disabled. I love my disabled sticker that lets me park in the front row at Goodwill. I love being alive. I love being given a second chance. I love knowing how truly important the simple things in life really are.

Yes, I am a little eccentric. Actually I am probably a lot eccentric, but who cares? Gone are the days that really didn't matter at all.

Why Call it a Stroke?   

By Carolyn Ryan

Why call it a stroke?

A stroke is a gentle caress

Whether Hemorrhagic or ischemic

They are unfortunately both a mess

It should be called a SLAP

You can no longer walk or speak

As easily as you did before

The future at times seems very bleak

When you are paralyzed

People wrongly think there is no pain

Even when you have therapy

You sometimes realize no gain

Your life changes in every way

Sometimes you try to find your arm

It’s hard without any feeling there

There is some cause for alarm

You learn a lot of new words

That you have never heard before

Subluxation being one of them

Agnosia and aphasia are two more

One of the worst moments I had

Was when my grandson was born

I could not snuggle him by myself

My heart was broken and truly torn

Sometimes while in your wheelchair

It seems hard to get through the door

You think you see left and right

But you now need to see much more

I have found that you need to extract

Humor out of horror every day

Like misreading words and

Doing tasks that were easy in every way

My girlfriend and I took a long trip

Passing the Tree of Life Cemetery, read by me

“Tired of Life Cemetery”, more appropriate

I am sure you will totally agree

I am not tired of my “right sided life”

I may be called a “left” hemi these days

But as my husband still knows

I am still “right” and “perfect” in many ways

Centipede and Bumblebee

A view on life after Stroke

By Reinhard Schramm

To give a description of life after stroke to people who have not suffered one, two creatures of the animal world come to mind.

Centipede. Deep in the jungles of India a Centipede busily crawled among tree roots and dead leaves. A Crow, resting on a branch high above, called down “Oh, how I admire you, controlling all those hundred legs! But please tell me: Do you lift your 46^th left leg before or after your 22^nd right leg?” “Aah, hmm,” said the centipede, “Just a moment.!" But then the Centipede could not lift a leg, as much as it concentrated. So the Crow swooped down and ate the Centipede.

Even years after Stroke, the Centipede within me still has difficulty moving the affected leg properly (bend knee, bend hip - drat, drat, drat, forgot it again!!).

Bumblebee. According to the laws of Avionics (airplanes are made to fly by them), the Bumblebee, because of size, weight, and wing structure cannot possibly fly. But as Bumblebees have no idea about Avionics, they fly happily around every day.

In hospital Christmas Eve 1993, doctors told my family, that even if I lived through the next days after massive brain bleeding, I would be confined to a wheelchair forever. The Physical Therapist and I proved the doctors wrong. After weeks of training, the Bumblebee within me awoke.

After eight weeks of Rehab I went back to work at Lufthansa German Airlines. The industry was in a down swing, so they wanted to lay me off along with all other employees 57 or older. German law forbids laying off disabled people, so I haggled about indemnity to last me though three years until retirement at age 60. I grabbed the money, and hobbled home. I was allowed to keep my travel privileges.

But having nothing to do is not my idea of retirement. A leading German Neurologist, Professor Kaps, talked me into helping establish two Stroke Clubs in Northern Germany. Later I founded a Stroke Club newspaper and was invited into the Scientific Council of German Stroke Foundation, representing Self Support.

Air travels tookme to Mexico (architects who plan unnecessary stairs without handrails at hotels, should be shot), to the Sahara, and to Maramuresch in Romania at the Ukrainian border, (where even Count Dracula does not dare venture).

Twelve years after the stroke, the Crow swooped down, trying to eat both my Centipede and my Bumblebee. Both escaped, but the scar of my brain bleed caused epilepsy. Luckily I had only daily panic attacks, and slight cramps of the affected arm. I did not suffer falling to the floor, writhing, or pain.

Interest in travel has dwindled, but the Bumblebee still needs to fly. So in 2005 I accepted an invitation by the After Stroke Center in Glendora, California, to deliver a speech about German Stroke Clubs. To keep the speech from becoming too boring, I laced it with Stroke Jokes from my collection. I was accompanied by my younger daughter and youngest granddaughter. In 2006 I again hopped over the Great Pond to Savannah, Georgia, accompanied by my older daughter and family. There I lived at Buckingham South, an Assisted Living Center.

Statistics show the greatest accident danger lurks not while flying or driving, or crossing streets, but at home sweet home. Our house is a mix of old (1934) and new (1957), with some steps between the two parts. After I had two nasty falls, handles were deemed necessary to make the passage safer. So one day a young German-Russian carpenter appeared with two handles, really nice and antique looking, and attached them immediately to the required spots.