mirror was placed on a table by my
right shoulder, my right arm behind
the mirror. Then with my good hand
I performed several simple exercises,
staring in the mirror as hard as I could.
I drummed my fingers, formed a
fist, flexed the fingers of my left hand.
I did this slowly so my brain could
take in the movement, pausing and
then repeating, for about a half hour.What I saw, of course, was the re-
verse image. I thought I was looking at
my right hand doing the movements,
not my left hand. My brain was being
fooled. Or was it? I wasn’t sure. But I
was determined to embrace this little
deception. I think these exercises
helped forge new pathways between
the hemispheres of my brain.
One day, after a few weeks, Nicole
was sitting opposite me when she
jumped to her feet and shouted that
my damaged hand had mimicked the
movement of my good hand. At first,
I didn’t believe her, but then I lifted
my paralyzed arm and, much to my
amazement, flung it in a circle, hit-
ting the mirror. I let out a whoop. I
had movement in my arm for the first
time since the day of the stroke!GOING HOME
The week before Christmas, five
weeks after my stroke, the rehab doc-
tor came to see me one morning. By
then, I was able to stand on my own.
I had started to climb the stairs in the
gym, hanging on to the railing. I could
pedal the stationary bike for 15 min-
utes. And I was now able to transfer
myself to the toilet without assistance.
Sure, I sometimes became morose,
but I had taken a vow: to remain posi-
tive and happy. And recover.
The doctor said to me, “Would you
like to go home for Christmas? Then
if things work out, you’d return in the
New Year as an outpatient for three
months.”
I was both elated and a bit scared.
“Who’ll take care of me?” I asked.
“Pat. Your wife? You do remember
her, don’t you?” he said, and then he
smiled. “We think you’re ready. Pat’s
keen to give the idea a go. We’ll supply
all your medications and requisitions
for the aids you need—wheelchair,
walker, anything to make your home
more comfortable.”
OK, I thought, being home was a
good choice. As the doctor turned
to leave, he smiled and said, “Merry
Christmas.”
I spent most of Christmas Day sleep-
ing. Nicole arrived the next day with
her partner, Iain, and their daughter,
Flora. As soon as my granddaughter
saw me, she frowned. What happened
to Poppa? She was intrigued by my
wheelchair. And fearful.THERE IS NOTHING
SMOOTH ABOUT
STROKE RECOVERY, BUT
THERE’S ALSO NO LIMIT.112 july/august 2019
Reader’s Digest