One of the hardest things for me to realize about my stroke is that on scale of 1 to 10, where 1 is being shaky for a day or so, and 10 is dying, my stroke was an 8.5 or 9. Some would say 9.5, but I have to believe somewhere out there is someone worse off than I.
It's hard to believe. I just keep on going, you know? Keep on getting better, keep on getting around, keep on knitting and spinning. Last week I started cooking supper for us again. With one hand. It's really hard, but it gives me purpose. It becomes one more thing I can do so my husband won't have to do it all himself. It's been three years, I have done cooking before, but this is the first time I've taken it on as something to do regularly, every day.
I find that going slowly, being patient, is the key. Just getting to the sink and back is something I have to think about. Peeling cloves of garlic, such a sticky little chore. Taking the ends off green beans, an endless job. Peeling potatotoes -- no longer can I peel nice, long peelings, I have to make short, little peelings because my cutting board, which has three prongs sticking up to hold the potato, only lets me peel a little tiny peeling at a time. I have thrown out all that I knew before, and I'm finding ways to cook that are different from anything that seems logical. It's like cooking underwater in slow motion.
It feels good, though. Cooking is good for the soul :)