You don't look like you've had a stroke.

Now, at this point I could tell you how I breezed through recovery with my glass half full seize the day cheery mindset...but that would be a bare faced lie. 

The first 6 months post stroke were some the most mentally and physically challenging of my life. 

I was so angry, all the time. I wanted to scream, shout and throw things. But most of all, I wanted to stop needing help. Even before I my disability asking for help was something I struggled with on every level, be it at work, around the house or anywhere. It was my biggest weakness. 

So I did the only thing I knew how to, I faked it, I pushed myself beyond my physical limits daily, which often resulted in me causing injury or sleeping for 12 hours plus. I insisted I was fine whenever anyone asked. I took risks like taking myself off to the local shop, which would normally be a 5 minute walk, sometimes taking me 20 minutes or more. I refused to use a walking stick despite Occupational Health insisting I couldn't leave the house without it. I point blank refused to use the ugly blue and white 'perching' stool they had given me to use in the kitchen. I refused to have the bathroom adapted. I dug my heels in and would not back down for anybody. 

Looking back, this was probably pure denial, my refusal to accept help was my way of not acknowledging what had happened to me. I didn't want to accept the fact that I was disabled and would always need help. 

It came to a head when Lee and I went to our local supermarket so that I could collect my prescriptions. I got so overwhelmed with the sheer amount of people, the distance I needed to cover to get around the store and most of all I remember feeling like everyone around me was going at 100mph and I was holding every one up by walking at a snails pace. We came home and I was helping Lee put away the shopping and for a reason that was so insignificant now I can't even remember it, he told me to 'leave him to it and sit down.' I went upstairs and lay face down on the bed and cried. I cried for what felt like hours. lee came upstairs and asked me what was wrong and I just couldn't give him a reason. I was just sad. 

This was when I realised the stroke had probably had more of an impact on my mental health than I had expected it to. As always, Lee was my rock during this time, we sat for hours just talking, giving me chance to say the things I was feeling and why and talking about what I was scared of and how we could manage things together. I wouldn't of blamed him if he had shown me the door at this point because I imagine I was incredibly hard to live with. 

In the back of my mind I think my biggest fear and concern was work. I obviously kept up communication with a couple of close friends there, and was hearing about how difficult things were as they were short staffed and Covid had moved the goalposts for them. I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt that I wasn't there doing my bit and that they were having to pick up the slack for me. Whenever I spoke to Lee about work he shut down the conversation; in his mind work had made me stressed, which had caused my stroke and if I wanted to go back there it would be like signing my own death certificate. 

Nevertheless, I always planned to return, because a part of me still held hope that one day I was going to wake up and be 'cured'. 

To help me build courage and strength we tried to go for something to eat every once in a while, we live a short distance away from a pub that serves food, so we would make the trip there once a fortnight or so for food when Lee finished work. The walk there, normally 5/6 minutes would take me 20 but I got to sit down when I got there and build up a bit of energy to walk back, but often Lee went ahead and got the car and came to  pick me up because I simply couldn't manage it. 

It was on one of these occasions when a friend came over to say hello, we hadn't seen them since before lockdown and they had no idea what had happened to me other than that I'd not been well, I kept a lot of information off social media because it took such a long time to be diagnosed and there were so many unanswered questions it just didn't seem appropriate to air it at that time. The friend asked how I was feeling and I said fine,  my go to reply, even now. 😂 And he asked 'what was wrong?' and for the first time in my life I said out loud ' I've had a stroke.' The enormity of it hit me instantly, fortunately I was in the right place and wine was on hand, but I will never forget the look on that friend's face when he realised what I had said, it was a look of pure shock and confusion, and then he said 'But, you don't look like you've had a stroke, you look...normal.' 

I think this encounter helped me, I was extremely self conscious about the way I looked to other people and how they saw me, so walking around with a pronounced limp and not being able to use my right side properly was a worry for me. I thought that people would notice instantly and not stop looking. I felt like all eyes were on me the second I set foot out the door. My friend pointing out that I looked 'normal' kind of put my mind to rest a little. I thanked him that day and smiled but I still don't think he ever really realised how much he had helped.