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We're in the middle of a global pandemic you know!

Now as I mentioned in my last post, in the time between me having the stroke and me having my MRI scan, we went into lockdown. Covid had hit the UK and everything was different. 
The chances of seeing a doctor face to face during this period were slim to none, some of the most serious life altering news I have ever had was given to me over the phone during this time. The NHS was doing everything it could to keep it's patients and staff as safe as possible. 
Did this have a detrimental effect on my recovery? No. I don't think it did. 
I said previously I'm terrified of hospitals, so the fact that I could access the advice and most of the care I needed without attending one was a bonus in my opinion. I know, sadly, that this wasn't the case for everyone that needed care, and that it caused great distress to terminally ill patients and their families, which I sympathise with on every level. But, for me, in that moment, it was better. 

So for the first two months following the stroke I couldn't walk, dress myself, get up and down the stairs or even make a cup of tea. My partner was brilliant, he went above and beyond to make sure I was ok and had what I needed, no questions asked just straight into the role of my caregiver, a role which still to this day he upholds and does brilliantly. But I am a stubborn little cow, as soon as he went back to work, leaving me in bed with a bottle of pop, some snacks, Netflix and an endless supply of books with instructions to stay there until he got back at lunch, I was trying to do everything that I couldn't do. 
It took me about 2 weeks to learn to walk by myself, I fell, I hurt my knees (fortunately I can only feel one of them) I got bumps, bruises and scrapes but I did it. I was determined I wasn't going to give up. And slowly but surely I either re-learnt the skills I had lost or I improvised and adapted!! Stretchy over the head  bras  and leggings were my absolute saviour!

I was lucky enough to get to see a doctor that was part of the stroke team and he seemed hopeful that I would get full use of my right side back in time, but when the neurologist called in June he said very frankly that it had been three months and what I was left with was probably as good as it was going to get. In a way I think I needed to hear it like that, because I was waking up every morning and trying to wiggle my toes, poking my leg thinking that one day I would wake up and miraculously be fixed! Once I realised it was a case of learning to work with what I had, the real fun began. 

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