Chemical Reaction

In mid September, after a lot of thinking, doubting and talking to a lot of people, I made the decision to go on anti-depressants. I am not opposed to taking medication if needed, but I am one of those people that always try to take care of things without it. If I have a headache, I try to relax and take aspirin only if that is the last resort. So starting on anti-depressants was a big step for me, not one I took lightly at all, but speaking to several people I trust, I decided to try it and see if they would help.

I have written a lot in the past year about the emotional roller coaster I have been on since having the stroke just over a year ago. While the physical recovery was something that was relatively easy to deal with, the emotional part has been an intimidating challenge I was at times not sure I would overcome. One of the major things that helped, was having the support of friends and family. That support was amazing, but at the end of the day, I was the only person who could make the changes that needed to be made in order to move forward. I often times felt like I was weighing people down. I felt stuck in a place I didn't like and I felt absolutely hopeless and frustrated. I wrote about feeling worthless back in August, and it was after writing that that I realized I just needed to do something drastic. At least drastic for me, so a few weeks later, I started taking medication.

Instead of writing what I remember about going on the medication, below are entries from the journal I kept at the time. 

September 28, 2012

I started Prozac exactly a week ago. I fought the idea of anti-depressants for a long time. Not that I have anything against them, but I was just worried that they weren't really for me, or worse, that after the stroke, they would have a much more pronounced effect on my personality, or perhaps even be harmful. In addition to that, I haven't felt depressed in a few weeks and am wondering if I even need them after all. But I started them anyway. I was told that they could take a couple of weeks to start working, but as of today, I am pretty sure they are. I just watched an episode of Grey's Anatomy, when Mark Sloane dies, and I knew I felt sad, but I didn't have the reaction I would have normally had, possibly crying. I usually cry at things like that. During the episode, he dies when they take him off life support and his friends are around him. I started thinking about who would be around me if I were dying. Again, I knew I should feel sad, I knew I would normally feel sad, but I can't feel sad or upset by it. I am not so sure I like the feeling at all. I am glad I am not feeling depressed about something, but I find it strange that I don't feel upset.

Actually, in a way I do. I can sense the feeling is there, I just can't access it. It doesn't come up to the surface. Like a person in a dream that you don't really see but you know is there. I know the feelings are there, I can "feel" something that resembles feelings, but they are different in a way I can't really describe. They seem foggy, for lack of a better explanation.

In a weird way, I miss the intense feeling. I didn't think I would, but I do. I miss feeling. As much as I sometimes hate the feeling itself, I love the fact I can actually feel. It makes me feel alive, makes me feel like I am here, connected and in my body, even if I am not really happy about being there, in that moment. So many things have changed for me since December. I am in a body I still am trying to understand, living a life I am trying to sort out and that is finally coming together. The one thing I had, for better or worse, were my emotions They were truly mine. And now they aren't. Is it strange I miss the sad feelings? Have I been carrying them around so long that they became a sort of comfort to me? I do feel a bit lost, naked even, without them. I feel an odd and yet unreachable sadness that I can't access those feelings. Is this just the start? Will I get used to it? Do I want to get used to it?

October 2, 2012

I hate this. The constant feeling of just wanting to stay in bed. In many ways it is worse than the depression. With depression, I knew what was going on and while it was overwhelming, I knew I would get out of it. Now, I don't feel depressed, but I seem to be, due to my actions. I just want to stay in bed. I have no motivation to do anything. I have a new lens for my camera, a lens I have wanted for years and I am not even interested in using it. I see it there on my camera, but have no interest in picking it up. This is making me feel more alone and strange. I hope it gets better. I think what is really odd, is the overall feeling of nothing, but my body and mind acting as though there is something. I am constantly tired, I sleep and sleep. I watched "Steel Magnolias", a movie that always gets some sort of emotional response, and there was nothing. Even the concentration to piece together the words to write this seems to be taking a whole lot of effort. Writing isn't fun anymore. And I have articles to write for a magazine and I just don't feel like doing it. I picked the topics, things that really interest me, like Frank Lloyd Wright, and I just can't seem to get myself to a place where I want to do it. With the depression, I could cry, get it out. Now I just feel hollow. I can't reach the emotion. It is just there below the surface and I can't get to it. I feel like I want to cry, but I can't. There are still so many things I feel I lost since the stroke. Some of them have come back and some haven't and possibly never will, but now I feel I am losing things again, and again, I find myself trying to figure out what this all means and who I am if I don't have parts of myself.

Even Ken and Charise have noticed the change in my personality or mood, not sure yet which is ultimately being affected. Ken said I am more "blah" and seem a bit withdrawn. Charise said I spend more time by myself, keeping to myself. It has only been about 10 days since I started, and normally things don't really start changing for a few weeks. Maybe the stroke is affecting the effects of the medication?

I feel as though I am moving backwards again. I felt so good before I went on the Prozac. Things in my life were moving in a good direction, I felt like my moods had started to stabilize a bit and now they seem to have gone back to the confusion they were. The only real difference now is that I seem not to be so concerned by it emotionally. I can look at it all logically and see the differences, but emotionally, I don't connect.

October 18, 2012

I hings seem to have leveled out over the past couple of weeks. Not thinking about it has really helped, but I still don't like the fact I have to wake up and take a capsule every morning. That said, I do feel better. I still have the issue of not being able to really feel sad stuff, but maybe after everything that has happened over the past almost-year, not feeling the sad parts really isn't all that bad. I guess my biggest fear is losing more of myself. I feel like I have lost so much, become a different person. A person I am still trying to figure out and know.

It has been almost ten months since the stroke and so many times I still find myself trying to wrap my head around it and make sense of it all. I still often feel confused and like a lesser version of myself. I see things on TV and remember when I could do those things. Simple things, like riding a bike or even running. It occurred to me the other day that even jumping is not something I can do right now. I was at the gym last week and was working on my legs. I tried doing lunges, a leg exercise where you step forward with one foot and then lower yourself until your back knee almost touches the floor. Normally I would do it with weights, but as I am just trying to get myself back in shape, I didn't use any. Good thing, because when I stepped forward and started to lower myself, I lost my balance and fell. The gym was only a little busy, but it was still embarrassing. I spend so much time trying to hide the fact there is anything wrong that it sometimes catches me by surprise when confronted with the fact that so much is still on the mend. Or will perhaps never mend.

It makes it both easier and harder that I have almost no visible outward symptoms of the stroke. It is nice because I meet people and they have no clue. Most of the time, I can blend. I have learned to cover balance issues and hide other challenges like walking down stairs. On the other hand, because there is nothing to see, everyone assumes that everything is great, and it is not great. A lot of times, not even good. The moody feelings are gone, but I still feel like a mess inside. I also feel as though I am isolating myself more and more. I am not as much in contact with people as I once was. Even Ken and Charise, who I absolutely love being around, I have been keeping at more of a distance. Instead of spending time with them, I spend my time at the house on my own, watching videos or sleeping. I want to socialize, but at the same time I don't want to. I don't feel depressed anymore, but I do feel lost and misplaced and without any feeling of direction or motivation.

Several weeks ago, I got some freelance work, writing for a group of magazines. I normally love and feel the urge to write, but now I have no motivation or inspiration to write. Even photography is not such an interest right now. I want to take pictures, but when it comes down to it, picking up my camera just seems like so much effort. Ulco is arriving next week and we are going on a road trip. I hope that helps break me out of this place I am in.

I am off to Vegas tomorrow with friends, and then I will spend time with my sister, niece and nephews before more family arrives. I am both looking forward to and dreading the visit. My life seems to be filled with conflict at the moment, every emotion and want having an immediate and opposite emotion and want. I feel like I am pushing forward and pulling back at the same time. It makes no sense to me and probably not to anyone else. People just tell me to be strong and just do something. Do what? I wish I knew.

I am quite tired of things feeling like they are both coming together and falling apart.

Working with the doctor, I went off medication ten days ago. More on that next time.

It Is All About The Bike

The past thirteen months have been crammed full of challenges and victories that I could not even have imagined . This time last year, I had just learned to walk again and spent a lot of my time practicing putting one foot in front of the other. Today, I still have balance issues which affect my ability to do many things. There are times this has caused deep depression, feelings of being less than who I was and often times wondering who I am in in this new situation. Last August I tried to ride a bike. I couldn't do it and that started a seemingly out of control emotional tailspin and since then, every time I would see someone on a bike, I would feel jealous and a little angry. I often miss the days when I took things like that for granted.

In October and November, I managed to do a bit of hiking in Zion, Bryce, Arches and the Grand Canyon. I was terrified. What if I fell? What if I broke something? What if I had a panic attack? It's one thing to try something at home or the gym in a safe environment where if something goes awry it is no that big of a deal. In the middle of a canyon, there is no such luxury as giving up or failing. And I will be the first to admit, I do often give up as it is sometimes just so much easier than the knowledge of failure.

I am trying more and more to jump the hurdles of fear and attack what scares me head-on. I don't always try as I could or succeed as I would like, but I do keep the list in my head and every once in a while, just bite the bullet and do it. Yesterday was one such day.

I have been wanting to ride a bike again for a long time, but my balance and coordination just would not work with me. And then there is the fear of crashing or getting hurt, but ore than that, there was the fear of failure. I was in Huntington Beach yesterday for a Super Bowl get-together at a friend's house and decided it was time to get back on the bike. It was a bit of a challenge to get my leg over the bar without falling. Balance on one foot is more unreliable than not, but I managed to straddle the bike. Then the panicky voices started. What if I fell? What if someone sees? Getting myself to push off and start peddling was more intense than bungee jumping. I was never that scared or nervous when jumping out of a balloon or off a crane. That was excitement. Being on the bike was terror.

But, I did it. I pushed off and started peddling. I wobbled a bit but didn't fall. I didn't go far, just a few dozen feet and then turned back. Then I went around the block. Again, I wobbled and almost fell, but kept going. I went over a speed bump and almost crashed, but I didn't. Then I went across the street to the bike trail along the beach. The Super Bowl was on and I figured I would have the trail pretty much to myself which turned out to be the case. Again, getting on the bike and pushing off was daunting, but again, I did it and managed to ride for fifteen or twenty minutes. I had a few close calls, but I did it.

In many ways, it has been a difficult few months, and I really needed that victory. It feels amazing and later today, I am going for a longer ride down the beach. I know I might fall, but now, I really don't care. More and more, I understand the meaning of “the only thing we have to fear, is fear itself.”

What a Difference a Year Makes

One year ago. One year ago today was the first day of life as I would come to know it. When I woke up the day before, I had no idea that in just a few hours, my brain would be swelling, I would "forget" how to walk, my vision would become almost useless and my life would start on a trajectory that would take me places I never imagined. Or even wanted. I would like to say I spent that day doing something spectacular, adventurous or even interesting, but the fact is, I spent the morning in the house doing some market research on my laptop. Then Ulco and I ran some errands and I cooked some pasta, watched some TV and then went to bed. I never imagined that such monumental changes could happen in such a non-monumental way. Who I was changed from one second to the next and looking back over the past year, I am glad I had no idea what was in store.

A year ago, I just wanted to get one year further. I am not sure if I remember correctly, but I think I read or heard something about being more at risk for a second stroke during the first year. I might have even written about it, but I haven't really reread anything from the past year. I was waiting for this milestone, I wanted to reach the one-year mark before looking back and revisiting.

I tossed and turned all night last night. Images and snapshots of one year ago filling my head. I tend not to think about that time, the events of that day and the immediately following weeks. There is still so much I don't remember or understand. For some reason, I could not stop it last night. The hospital, nurses, IV's, tubes, hiccups, Ulco, the clicking of the MRI. I can still smell the hospital and hear the voices of the nurses. I remember thinking how gentle they were when putting the IV in my left hand, not yet realizing I had lost all sensation of pain on that side. I remember trying to get up and realizing I was unable to stand. I was unable to even sit up without assistance.

I also remember when I could walk the three or four steps from my bed to the sofa in my room. I remember the first time I could stand on my own in the shower and the first time I walked without the walker. I remember writing my blog with the screen at the highest magnification and my nose almost touching the screen so I could read what was on the screen. I remember the day in March when that endless feeling of falling went away, and the first set of steps I was able to walk down. It was slow going and I was wobbly, but I did it.

I still have those moments when I do something I wasn't sure I would ever do again. I find myself smiling to myself when I can step off the curb and onto the street without pausing first. Two weeks ago, I was able to run in for the first time. I was on the treadmill and I had to hold the sides for balance, but I ran. I was so overwhelmed with emotion, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so instead of doing either, I just held on and ran some more. I always hated running, and now I find myself almost obsessed with it. I just want to run more and more. The feeling is still odd and I am not really finding it a pleasurable physical experience, but knowing I can do it is indescribable. The next goal is to run on the beach without any help. I also want to try ice skating and possible riding a bike. And for the record, that saying about always knowing how to ride a bike is just not true!

This Christmas is my first Christmas in several years, my first one in the US since 1993, the first one with my sister and mom since 1987 or so, and the first one ever with my niece and nephews. I have to say, I really miss being in another country, the adventure and all the things that come with it, but I am really enjoying being a brother and uncle in close proximity to family. It is not always easy havig to suddenly deal with certain dramas up close instead of across multiple time zones, but that comes along with having family. At least my family.

One year ago, my life changed. It went in directions I never imagined and I have experienced so many new things. Some I hope to never go through again and some I didn't even know I wanted. I have learned not to take things for granted, especially the everyday, ordinary things we never think about, like walking, running, being able to swallow, reading, feeling physical pain or the difference between hot and cold. I am happy some of the struggles are behind me, and I am looing forward to when more of them are in the past, but I hope to never forget to appreciate what I have learned.

About myself, about others, and about life.

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Being a Wallflower

It has been a couple of months since I last posted anything. There wasn't anything wrong, It was just that so many things have changed in such drastic and unimaginable ways that I lost myself a bit in all of it. I had become so used to my own limitations, however temporary or permanent they may be and while I didn't realize I was pretty much giving up, I resigned myself to the idea that things were just the way they were. I could walk again and was thankful for that. Was it really so important that I be able to ride a bicycle, skate, run, jump, hike, scuba dive or any of the other activities I love?

So, I stopped trying. It was so much easier not to almost fall off a bike or risk the disappointment of my body not being able to do something and just settle into what I had become instead of striving and reaching for more. I was walking, which was more than so many other people who had gone through my situation. Why be greedy and why risk failing?

I sat back while others did what I could not. I would see people on TV and know that not so long ago, I could have done the same thing and maybe have done it even better. Then I would tell myself that those days were over and to not be sad since I had already had so many wonderfully incredible experiences in my life. So I took a few steps back and let others do what I would have done and still wanted to do, but I was scared. I am not a person used to failing or underachieving. I am also a person that takes failure or anything less than perfection very personal, and with that looming in front of me, I stepped out of my life and into the assumed safety of settling for what seemed to be.

I might have stayed in that situation had it not been for a couple of seemingly minor, yet major things that happened. Frist, I was reading “The Perks of Being a Wallflower” by Stephen Chbosky and there is a point when Charlie, the main character and narrator of the book is told by his teacher, “Sometimes people use thought to not participate in life,” I saw a lot of myself reflected back in that sentence. I was suddenly aware I had traded participation for observation and had become quite adept at coming up with reasons not to do something. I wanted to break out of that, but the fear was more powerful than my willpower. That is, until one of the stops on the road trip I did with Ulco.

Ulco had come to the US to see how I was getting along since we last saw each other in Dar es Salaam almost six months earlier. My balance was still unreliable and I was dealing with major bouts of depression. Ulco decided to use his holiday to come to the US and see places like the Grand Canyon.

It was a few days into the trip when we arrived in Bryce Canyon, Utah. In Bryce, the road and parking areas are along the rim of the canyon, several hundred feet above the canyon floor. Ulco decided we should go for a hike of about a mile, uphill along the rim. I wanted to, I really did, but as soon as I found the first excuse not to go, I told Ulco I would wait for him and he could do the hike on his own. I was angry at myself and jealous of his ability to just do what he wanted, but I put it all out of my mind and told myself it was just the way things were and the way things would be. A few minutes later, Ulco phoned me. I could see him further up the path and he was calling to tell me the path was not bad at all and that he thought I should just try it. I decided to do it, if for no other reason than to prove to him I couldn't so he would not push me for the rest of the two weeks we had ahead of us.

I caught up to Ulco and indeed, it wasn't bad at all. The slope was not too steep and the views of the canyon were beyond spectacular. As soon as I realized we we walking past another parking area on our way up, I plotted that I would wait there while Ulco pulled the car up and I could just drive out. That was when I saw it. There on the path leading up to the lookout point was a walker. It was almost identical to the one I used when I first got out of the hospital. Suddenly months of memories came flooding back. I remembered not even being able to stand up without help. I remembered the walker, the first steps I took without it, walking the perimeter of the compound, being able to stand in the shower again, learning to walk down stairs. It was almost exactly ten months to the day I lost the ability to walk, that I was hiking unaided in one of the most beautiful places I had ever seen. I made it to the top lookout point. Then fear struck. I had to go back down the same path and I tend to get vertigo on my right side, even when walking next to a swimming pool. I had to walk down with the steep cliffs on my right side. A fall would mean being seriously injured at best and more likely than not, killed. I was suddenly in a battle between my fear, panic and doubt on one side and determination on the other. We walked back down with Ulco keeping himself between me and the edge and before I knew it, we were back at the place we started. I did it.

We paused to take a few more pictures when we saw the sign for a two mile trail which would wind from the top of the canyon, down to the canyon floor and then back up. Ulco wanted to do it and I decided to try it. The first trail had been easy, but the trail we were looking at was labeled as moderate. I wasn't sure I was up for it, but decided to do it. It was not so much for the challenge as it was due to the fact I wanted pictures from within the canyon. Ulco and I have a sort of friendly photo competition and I wasn't about to let him have a series of photos from that trip that I didn't have. We started down the cliff on a zig-zag trail that descended incredibly fast and soon we were in the cool shade of the canyon. Then, one of my worst fears came to be. I fell. I had tried to go up a slope a bit to get a picture and stepped on what turned out to be loose gravel. I started sliding and didn't know how to stop. There was a small, shallow crevice in my way that I would either get tripped by or have to get over. I remember yelling for Ulco and sliding down, somehow getting over the crevice and stopping myself when I went up against the cliff face of one of the rocks. The whole thing had lasted two or three seconds and looking back, there was no real danger, but I was most definitely shaken and when I sat down to regroup, I felt the tears come.

I felt them come, but stopped them. I was in the bottom of a canyon, a mile in either direction and hundreds of feet up to get out. It was no time to panic or give into any feelings of doubt. The only way I was getting out was to keep it together, ignore the fear and walk. And that is exactly what I did, and I made my way to the top all in one piece and with the knowledge and pride that I did it. Over the next couple of weeks, there would be hikes and climbing on rocks. I may not have done it as fast or as graceful as I used to. I may have stopped and rested more often than I ever did before, but the fact I did it made me realize that the only true defeat is giving up and the events that happened during the trip make me realize that I am not built to be just a bystander.

So these days, I am participating in life as much as I am observing it. Perhaps even a little more.

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