Apologies and Why is My Dietary Intake So Darned High

        Hello Internetworldland!

I do apologize for not putting up a post last week. I…just…didn’t. You know what I mean? I felt super badly about it, but just couldn’t bring myself to write a damned thing.

It happens, I guess.

This past week, I went to an appointment for intake to a place that offers counseling and psychiatry. Looks like I might be on my way to being properly medicated for my brain! Yay. I mean, my body is medicated correctly, so it’s time my brain caught up.

As I’ve mentioned, I’m currently taking a couple of what I will refer to as “Optional Medications” for sleep and mood regulation. The time has come for me to go non-optional, as I’m really quite depressed, and can’t really just go with mood regulation anymore. Also, my ADHD isn’t really controlled anymore, either, so time to mix those meds up a bit, in order for me to function as a normal human. At some point. I hope. 

I’m quite tired of being shiftless. I know, I know. I’m not. Trust me, my recommended calorie count has helped me figure that out. I do a ton of stuff, and I’m actually more physically active than I ever was before. My recommended dietary calorie intake, for weight loss, mind you, is 2400 per day. If, as I did Thursday, I work off all of my caloric intake in the first hour of therapy, well, I still have to get 2400 in the rest of the day. This is what works for me, obviously. One weird little factoid is that I actually burn more calories just by nature of being disabled, which I know sounds insane, but bear with me here. I have to put conscious effort into not falling over several times per hour. Sitting, walking, standing, doesn’t matter. I could tip over at any time. 

Yay for equilibrium issues. 

Seriously though, no. No yay. It sucks. This is actually common with many disabled people. There’s just more effort involved in existing. Even with my cane, which has a small quad attachment for the part that comes in contact with the floor, I wobble more than a freakin’ Weeble. I bounce off walls, doorways and my piano on a regular basis. We’re working on it at therapies with a few different things, including but not limited to: habituation therapy, kickboxing, and golf.

The habituation is my least favorite, though I love my therapist who does this with me, and no, I’m not just saying that because she reads the blog. I really do. She’s the one who told me to find a game to play every day to help my memory get more effective. Habituation is hard work, though. All of what I do in that session is, really. You wouldn’t think so, looking at it, but it is. I do all sorts of different things to get my brain and body just used to the lack of awareness of myself and space I deal with. It could be walking up and down the hallway and finding words that represent groceries in a store, or walking down the hallway alternately looking back and forth with each step, or looking up and down with each step. It could be playing giant Yahtzee in the hallway (one of my favorites), or doing modified Eppley maneuvers (those happen when I get, hmm….lucky and have both the equilibrium issue and vestibular dizziness at the same time, and are my least favorite, but also most effective for getting me back to baseline). I honestly dread the day I tell her that walking fast is easier for me than walking slow. Oh. Well, I guess she knows now.

I very much enjoy kickboxing. That was quite literally the last thing I expected to be learning at 46 with brain damage. I practice punches and kicks, and we also do Tai Chi. All of that works toward improving my balance. It’s also a lot of work, and in combination with the 15 minute warm-up before the rest of the hour (yesterday it was a stationary bike), is what burned off my entire breakfast on Thursday.

Golf is also quite challenging. I think it’s probably making my grandparents happy too, wherever they are now (they passed back in 1997). I had golf lessons when I was in 3rd grade and was AWFUL. I did remember enough to do well on that section in PE (I went to a rather well off high school, and we would practice hitting golf balls on the practice soccer field), but mostly, it wasn’t my thing. Now it is my thing, though, and I aim to play my first game this summer. You need balance for golf though, or you end up on your butt in the grass.

All of these things are done for a reason, though, and I do them, mostly without complaint, because that goal is important to me. It’s important to me when I remember it, when I’ve forgotten it, when I’m working on it and when I’m not. This particular irritation of not being able to really know where my body is in relation to everything else is HUGE. I strove every day of my life before the stroke to be graceful. I more often than not achieved it. Now, you can hear me barrelling down the hallway from the next house. You can hear me walking across my yard the second I get off the porch. 

I HATE it. With a fiery passion.

I really want my grace back. So that’s what I’m working toward more than anything. And, as I said, it’s a lot of work. 

Some days I don’t feel like getting up and going to therapy to work on it. Some days I just want to sleep instead of taking an hour and a half long plus bus ride to just go and work on my brain for 7 hours, plus an hour lunch, 3 days per week. But then I shut off my alarm, stop whining in my head, and get going. 

This is what goals can do for a person. 

Sure, I could sit at home, eat ice cream all day and feel sorry for myself because wah…poor me…my brain exploded for no clinical reason and I can’t do the things I want. But what good would that do? Heck, I could have given up long before now, way back when I was in Rehab, working every day to get my rudimentary functioning back. But I didn’t. And you know what? I am so PROUD of that. I stuck with it. I kicked some serious butt.

There are a bunch of us at therapy who feel this way. We may not be where we once were, but you know what? We’re all a damn sight better than we were after our events. If you happen to be a disabled person, give yourself a pat on the back. If you can’t, tell whoever is there with you to pat you on the back for me. You’ve kicked so much butt already, and I imagine you’re not done yet. You deserve the recognition!