Eight Months

“It is not death that a man should fear, but he should fear never beginning to live.” 
― Marcus AureliusMeditations

It just occurred to me that it’s been eight months and three days since the stroke. What a strange eight months and three days it has been.

The flurry of Christmas stuff made me forget the anniversary… plus, I don’t really want to dwell on it in a sentimental way. But I wanted to mark the date with a ‘thank you’ to everyone here, and those in my immediate life of flesh and corn flakes and gas bills. You all have meant a lot over the months, especially in the first 3-4 when I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to write again.

I was lucky, though. Despite some lingering numbness here and there, I never had the kind of paralysis that kept me from using my right hand after the first week, and I never had the kind of damage that causes aphasia. I could still think of words and I could still type.

The latter wasn’t guaranteed, as my right side, including my arm and hand, were affected. I asked my wife to bring my laptop to the ICU the first night. I spent every second when the nurses left me alone typing, typing, typing. The idea of losing that ability was frightening. But despite some clumsiness and slowness at first, it went away fairly soon. I got tired easily, and sitting at a desk was a strain after 30 minutes. I still have reminders when I try to reach for something and I feel a catch in my back, but the new year will see a rowing machine put to good use, and it’s time to make some other changes.

But the blog kept me going, coming back, and for that I have you to thank. I’ve been able to tap into a part of me that I had thought long dead.

Now I just wish, along with Roger McGough, to ‘die a young man’s death’, where my mistress dispatches me when she finds me in bed with her daughter. 🙂

Now all I have to do is finish that goddamned novel.


4 Replies to “Eight Months”

  1. You’re managing well, my friend. You’ve been working your way forward since your first baby steps – a lesson from Marcus A. – I wish you a beautiful new season of whatever you desire (except maybe not the young ‘chippy’ 😉 ).


    1. Well, it’s the thought that counts. But in fairness, in that poem, I’d have to be 104. At that point, I should be allowed some leeway. The last line is the best. 🙂

      “..Or when I’m 104
      and banned from the Cavern
      may my mistress
      catching me in bed with her daughter
      and fearing for her son
      cut me up into little pieces
      and throw away every piece but one”


      1. Hah, what is it ‘they’ say – ignorance is bliss. (I liked it better when I didn’t know the rest…) 😉
        Dare I dream, the one little piece was gently preserved in a heart-shaped box of blackest onyx.
        Future 104 is an admirable goal – maybe there will be hover-wheelchairs, jetpack walkers, and magic ortho-sneakers! I’m in!
        Happy New Year, Sir!!!
        AnnMarie 🙂


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