When I first woke up from being unconscious for a week, I counted in days. The first day I was awake, the second day, etc. I talked to both Ian and K the second day I was awake, and I remember both of the conversations. Or monologues, to be more accurate. I just babbled at them until I got tired.
The next few days were testing days. I met with different therapists to test what I could still do–and what I couldn’t. They tested my memory, my motor abilities, my occupational skills, and my speech. I passed everything with flying colors. I was normal/fine on memory and above that for everything else. The physical therapist (PT) who was helping me with walking said to me the second time we met that she had nothing else to teach me. I’m the most proud of that thought it was not anything to do with me. I mean, I didn’t DO anything to be able to walk like normal–I was just lucky.
One week after I woke up and two weeks after the medical crisis itself, I went home. That’s when it went from days to weeks. I mean, there were things that happened on certain days, but in general, it was, “I’ve been home a week. Two weeks, etc. Not days.”
Side note: It’s easy for me to be glib now about it, but those first few days home were frightening. I could not see very well. Everyone had one big, melted eye in the middle of where their eyes should be, They also had a mely mouth/nose (melted together) and everyone, including Shadow, my cat, looked like a monster.
I could not read the font on the internet websites. My brother had to enlarge the font for me, and I still had to squint in order to be able to read anything. As I messaged with Ian (which I did every day), I had to trust that I was tying the right thing. It didn’t help that I used the Dvorak system but still have a QWERTY keyboard. I’m a touch typist, which is no problem most of the time. But when I had to actually read what I was typing, it was a problem.
The first few days, I was scared out of my mind that I might not ever recover my eyesight. At least the tickertape synesthesia I had experienced in the hospital was gone by the time I left, but I still couldn’t read anything.
Reading and writing were my life. I didn’t know if I wanted to live if I couldn’t do either. I know that sounds like hyperbole, but I spend most of my time doing one or the other. I write at least 3,000 words a day, and it’s usually closer to 5,000.
Fun fact: when I first did NaNoWriMo about a decade ago, it was such a breeze, I kept changing my own personal goal. 50,000 words a month was nothing. I prefer NaNoRebel in which I can set my own goals. This year, I want to have the first draft of my memoir finished by my first re-birthday (roughly a month). Then, I want to edit the fuck out of it during NaNoWriMo. Or rather, finishing the editing of it during that month.
I counted my recovery in weeks. What I could and couldn’t do each week. Around the eighth week, I started to wonder when I would count in months instead. I really liked weeks because it was a small, discrete measurement, but it wasn’t as small as days. One day was too small as not much changed day to day. But a week? Yeah, that worked for me.
You have to realize, though, that I started very close to normal. I was exhausted, yes, and my stamina was miniscule. However, I could do almost everything I could before I went into the hospital. I could walk. That’s the big one. And I could talk. Another big one. I had small memory issues and once in a while, I forgot a word, but that was such small potatoes compared to what could have happened.
A week or two after I returned home, people faces began to clear up again. Shadow was the first to have two eyes, and a distinct mouth and nose again. My eyes cleared up and I could read on my laptop again. The letters were a bit fuzzy, but that was because of my terrible glasses and my aging eyes.
The second day I was home, I foolishly tried to do the Sword Form because my weapons are so important to me. After three postures, I was wiped out and put down my sword once again. I was afraid that I would never be able to do my weapons with the same ease I had done them before.
Hm. Ease. That’s not quite right. Yes, I had an easy time learning the Sword Form, the first weapon form I learned. My teacher pushed a wooden sword in my hand after I refused to touch one several times, telling me to just hold it. Once my fingers closed around the hilt, I was hooked. This was what I was meant to do, and it felt so natural in my hand. I breezed through the Sword Form, learning it as fast as I could. Once I was done, I taught myself the left side with very little problem.
Then came the Saber Form. I thought it would be similar to the Sword Form, so it would be easy. Nope. I hated it from the second I held one. I fought it every step of the way and it was only years later when my teacher taught it to me for the second time (we reached the end of the fourth row (out of six) the first time) that I felt more comfortable with it. I still don’t like it as much as the Sword Form, but I understand it much better now.
I fucking love the Double Saber Form and really like the Fan Form, too. The Cane Form? Eh, it’s ok. The Dancing Wu-Li Sword Form is fun. I like the Karambit Form (not Taiji, and I still have to teach myself the last row), and I have fun walking the circle (Bagua) with Deerhorn Knives.
It was two or three weeks after I came home from the hospital that I started up with my weapons again. I had to take it easy and not go full force, of course, but it felt good to move my weapons in the air once again. And it was a relief that I remembered the forms with only minimal forgotten moments. I feel better and stronger than ever, and I love my muscles that I’m developing.
Around eight weeks, I asked Twitter when I should start thinking in months instead of weeks. Most agreed that 3 months was the tipping point. I found it to be true. When I hit three months (after the initial event), I started talking about months. That’s when my parents went back to Taiwan and I was finally ‘back to normal’. Living alone with only Shadow by my side. I do send a check-in email to my parents and my brother every night at 6 p.m., but other than that, I’m back to living my day-to-day life without much thought as to what I went through.
I think about it, of course, but it doesn’t affect my daily life. I get up, do my Taiji routine, and then feed Shadow. My Taiji routine has grown, by the way. It’s anywhere from forty-five minutes to an hour. It’s my time to revel in my body, appreciating what it’s gone through for me. I’m so fucking insufferable when it comes to my body now. I glory in every inch and how fine I look in my tank top and booty shorts (both black, of course). I don’t give a fuck what other people think. I am hot AF!
Now, as I near the first re-birthday, it might be time to move into talking about years. That’s so weird to me. I spent so much time in weeks and then months, and now it’s *knock on wood* going to be my first year. I don’t know what I think about that. I’ll have to mull it over a bit more before I make any final declaration.