From strokes to monographs Part 1
It seems hard to look back and consider that in August 2019 I could not walk, endured a left hand that was clasped firmly shut, sported a completely immobile left arm that flopped around like Nellie the elephants trunk and any attempt to talk after five minutes 'exercise ' was virtually incomprehensible - and resulted in fatigue and brain 'fog' for days at a time.
All of the above was a consequence of a stroke (in my case a blood clot) that struck from nowhere on the 19th of February 2019 whilst sleeping. It has taken four years a pandemic and no small amount of determination, love and support from so many to return to a new place close but not as before.
Suffering a stroke such as mine seldom ends well, so I feel in all conscience I must make it clear that many folk and families cannot be as fortunate as myself. Circumstances and fate make my story all to often the odd one out, and leave me wishing that if only all stroke sufferers could be as fortunate as I have been.
Following my stroke and after a period of institutional rehabilitation, I was released on early discharge with no working left arm and a stumbling shuffle to allow the ward to be used for the looming COVID-19 pandemic preparations. Twelve months later I was awarded a place at the amazing UCL Queens Square rehabilitation unit for a one-month residential stay. This was cancelled the day before, courtesy of lockdown 2 . Nearly another year passed, and the course commenced but was conducted remotely over Zoom. Part of this therapy consisted of using any preferred skills I may have as a corridor to recovery. You can imagine the look on my wonderful therapist's face when answering the standard question 'Do you have any skill you wish to aim for? ......Yes I reply. Oh excellent she joyfully exclaimed, what is it ?! Glass I say, a pleasant smile says oh lovely, is that collecting? No, I say it is cutting and fusing sheet glass in a kiln at around 800 degrees C ... the meeting ends with a bemused 'let me have a word with my boss .... . ' The next day the boss joined my appointment. Mr Dymond, our problem is that we have to produce a written risk assessment; your aim is rather off the radar of what we might expect. Several discussions pass, eventualy an agreement on how a one-armed, one-legged me can safely lift, cut and place glass into a kiln is created. To their endless credit, the Queens Square Upper Limb Clinic percivered with my therapy to a point where I had mastered several somewhat scrappy but nonetheless cut-formed and fused pieces of glass. No photo exists of these small but significant (to me) pieces, but they do reside somewhere at Queens Square.
Next time - my first emotional public piece.