Right brain, left brain

It’s pretty amazing how much the stroke has changed so many of the external parts of our lives, even though some other parts of our lives are blessedly the same.

The boys still argue with each other with regularity, work conundrums are still the same, and ice cream sandwiches disappear from the freezer before I get a chance to have a single bite. (I’ve started hoarding sandwiches in a second location, but I’m not saying where.)

“How are you?” ask friends, genuinely concerned about how we’re doing. I describe it like this: I feel like I have four full time jobs. One, planning and managing Jon’s care and progress. Two, figuring out what’s going on with my kids, and making sure at least most of their basic needs are covered (and when they’re not, here’s a twenty, just go down the street and find a taco truck—tacos can fix most problems). Three, my real “career-job” (which, by the way, I’ve discovered drives and sustains me in a way I never realized until now). And four, the logistics of scheduling appointments, dealing with building obligations, financial and legal stuff, paperwork, processes, and bills. All of the first three I would do anyway, although not quite in the urgent and intense way life is kicking it into high gear at the moment. It’s the fourth one I could quite frankly do without. It’s just annoying and unrewarding, and I’m never quite sure I’m doing it right. 

It’s also very “left brain” intensive (details, calculations, sequences). And of course since Jon’s injury is to his left frontal lobe, we’re exactly in opposite states at the moment. He’s in the right brain dominant mode, where big thoughts, feelings of large concepts, oneness with the universe are taking over. (If you’re interested in this topic, I highly recommend Jill Bolte Taylor’s “Stroke of Insight,” which is giving me tremendous help in figuring out how to best support Jon in his recovery.) Meanwhile, I’m in “micromanagy, nuts, bolts, timetables and receipts hell.” (For instance, today I yelled at a billing collection caller after they called twice to collect a $58 unpaid bill—on Jon’s phone, for an account I don’t have access to, after I explained the account holder had a stroke and can’t log online at the moment).

So in moments of rest, between therapies, it’s fair to say he seems really pretty happy. Perhaps the yoga teacher’s husband has figured out the way to samadhi (“the highest state of consciousness and inner bliss”) while the yoga teacher is dealing with banks and contractors. When he’s working his left brain, though, he’s working pretty hard. Walking, standing, doing calculations—all seemingly pointless drills that actually have a really important purpose—must take a staggering amount of energy. But with every new step, he’s filing it away, and reusing the information. For example, he’s figured out that the nurses set a bed alarm at the foot of his bed, so they get alerted when he gets up and out. He’s figured out how to shut it off, so they moved him to a room right in front of the nurses’ station so he doesn’t escape. I can only imagine that he must have been a handful as a kid!

Today I decided I would give myself a respite, and go home after work instead of the hospital. So before I left the office, I tried face timing him, and he answered! Teresa and I both burst out in tears afterwards, he was so much light years ahead of where he was 2 and half weeks ago, chatting and even asking “Where are you guys?” and when we replied that we were in the office, he said, “Oh that makes sense.” Life is good, God is in the heavens, gratitude, gratitude, every day.

Who were we before April 26? It might not matter anymore. We are becoming the people we were meant to be, embracing light over dark, weaving love of friends and family into every action. Perhaps we are living, and loving, more fully every minute after facing the possibility of irreparable loss.

Gratitude, gratitude, gratitude, in every breath. The divine in me honors the divine in you. Namaste.