When my seizures were under control, I was discharged again. I was back home, but far from being healed. I couldn’t move my left limbs, or control my core; my body would always either tilt to the left or fall down. When I picked a book to read (my older brother had bought me an eye patch that would solve both my presbyopia and my double vision), my mind wondered. When I wrote with my right hand, my writing reflected my thoughts; spider webs spread throughout the page. I felt I was trapped in an immobile body, and I let out my anger on Eric – who was desperately trying to help me – and the nurse aids. My foggy thoughts weaved a fantastic story that had others as evil culprits and myself as a victim. Since I hadn’t been able to swallow for a very long time (I had a feeding tube inserted) and had suffered an infection (with a high fever and lack of appetite) for two or three days, my weight had gone down to eighty-seven pounds, but I stubbornly resisted every effort Eric made for me to gain weight.
At the same time, I was going to the facility as an outpatient. There, I was learning how to swallow, speak, walk (with a cast, to prevent my left knee from buckling, and the physical therapist’s help), balance with my core, and use my left and right hands. Thanks to all the exercises I persistently did, I was gradually entering the adult world. Moreover, the blood in my brain was reabsorbing very slowly, so I was realizing I was having confused thoughts and fantasies. Yet, my cognitive ability continued to be diminished (and still is today, although it has quite improved), which caused me to misunderstand and forget. My brothers had to explain things to me over and over, and things would slip my mind like grains of sand in one’s fingers.
But I kept going to the facility and practicing, and improved very, very slowly. After a while, my writing became legible, and I was able to put on a coat with great effort. I could pinch with my left thumb, and let the pill jar go with the help of the occupational therapist. And I could breathe, speak, and swallow. My body still tilted sideways, but I didn’t fall. I had to keep wearing the brace because I couldn’t lock my knee, so I needed help. Yet, the therapists’ threshold wasn’t that high, so they decided to give Eric and me a six-to-nine-month hiatus.
At the same time, I was going to the facility as an outpatient. There, I was learning how to swallow, speak, walk (with a cast, to prevent my left knee from buckling, and the physical therapist’s help), balance with my core, and use my left and right hands. Thanks to all the exercises I persistently did, I was gradually entering the adult world. Moreover, the blood in my brain was reabsorbing very slowly, so I was realizing I was having confused thoughts and fantasies. Yet, my cognitive ability continued to be diminished (and still is today, although it has quite improved), which caused me to misunderstand and forget. My brothers had to explain things to me over and over, and things would slip my mind like grains of sand in one’s fingers.
But I kept going to the facility and practicing, and improved very, very slowly. After a while, my writing became legible, and I was able to put on a coat with great effort. I could pinch with my left thumb, and let the pill jar go with the help of the occupational therapist. And I could breathe, speak, and swallow. My body still tilted sideways, but I didn’t fall. I had to keep wearing the brace because I couldn’t lock my knee, so I needed help. Yet, the therapists’ threshold wasn’t that high, so they decided to give Eric and me a six-to-nine-month hiatus.
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