I am going to talk more about weapons. Yesterday, I spent a huge chunk of the post talking about my stroke. There was a reason for it, and I’m going to talk a little more about it today. I was saying how since I recovered so well from my medical crisis, I sometimes forget that it actually happen. It’s because I didn’t really have to do much of anything to recover other than rest (and Taiji once I was able to do it).
I did not have to do any rehab. At all. On the second or third day that I was awake in the hospital, one of the physical therapist (PTs) who was testing my abilities told me that it took a year or two to return to what could be considered normal. Even in my drugged up state, I could tell that she was carefully picking her words and that she didn’t believe what she was saying. I didn’t say anything because as I mentioned, I was drugged to the gills. I could talk, yes, but not well nor did I want to.
Fun fact: I had something called tickertape synesthesia in the first few days I woke up. That meant that when I was talking to someone (or rather when they were talking to me), I could see a bubble over their head that had what they were saying in fonts that related to a name my brain gave them. So, for example, there was one nurse named Leif something or the other. My brain decided his name was Forest and gave his words a leafy font. Plus, trees. And green and brown colors.
It was a really interesting experience, but I was not sad when it faded away. I did not need to be in the middle of a cartoon, and I wanted my brain to be as clear as possible.
A few months after my medical crisis, I felt nearly 100%. Physically, anyway. By that time, my parents were back in Taiwan, and I was on my own again. I considered myself fully recovered and went about my merry way.
Except.
I could not get the experience out of my mind. I’m not knocking myself for it, mind. I mean, it was literally a life-changing event. Except it wwasn’t, really. What I mean is that, ye,s in the literal sense, it changed my world. But, because I recovered so well, I didn’t feel as if something had actually happened to me. Yes, I was exteremely tired all the time, but when wasn’t I? Sleep and I have not gotten along ever. In fact, the time I slept the best was after my medical crisis. In part beacuse I was so drugged up, I slept a lot. Oh, also because I died. Twice. I always separate died and twice. I have no idea why, but I’m going to keep doing it, so sue me.