Photos: The stroke

Armband

This is the armband that I wore for a month and a half. It was used so nurses would know they’re giving the right medication to the right patients, and wardsmen knew they were wheeling the right patients to the right places. There were probably other reasons too. I memorised my hospital ID – 2017149. (I also no longer live at that address, so you can’t stalk me there.)

General ward

This was the first general ward room I was in. The second room I was in was just the mirror opposite, and next door. There was an infectious person brought into that room one night, and so in the middle night, the nurse had to move me and the other patient in that room into another one. I told them they should have had bed races, but they didn’t.

Such a lovely bed

This was me on Boxing Day, exactly one month after I was first admitted into hospital. I hate those pyjamas now. I now have a set of clothes that remind me of the hospital. I never wear them, mainly because they no longer fit, since I’ve lost all my Cushing’s weight.

Waving

After the stroke, everything became an achivement. Being able to feel something with my left side was an achievement. This was one of my first party tricks – waving with my left hand.

Sitting up

Every hospital bed had one of those blue chairs next to it. As soon as I was in the general ward and not lying down all day, I’d spend most of the day sitting in that chair.

Laptop

Some days, my boyfriend would bring his laptop for me to use. I still couldn’t actually move my left arm or hand very well, but it was getting there.

Another achievement

Putting on my own shoes!

The best party trick

And going for a walk! This was the best party trick. The occupational therapist (OT) worked with my arm, and the physio worked with my leg. At some of the sessions, my OT would pretend that there was a race between OT and physio – seeing whether arm or leg would work better faster. She said around Christmas that she’d better work hard, because my physio was going to have me running soon. When I told my physio this exchange, he said that the real winner wasn’t OT or physio, but me.