It started with a loaf of bread. I always write the date on it, to keep track of when we bought it, and this morning, for the first time since my stroke, I put the marker in my left hand. I realized that was something I had never even tried. I couldn't stand the thought of finding just one more thing I couldn't do (even though I *knew* it in my head), so I just never made the attempt. But I was alone...no one to watch me fight with fingers that don't cooperate, or give up and throw the pen across the room out of frustration, so I gave it a try. And I did it.
It was not pretty, by any stretch. My 5 year old has better penmanship. but that isn't really the point. The point was that I did it :) If I have learned anything from all of this, it is to be thankful for every little thing...no matter HOW little it is. So for me to write the date, even if it was a mess (though I thought it was legible)was huge and it just cemented in my mind that there is ALWAYS hope. Way back in the very, very beginning of all my rehab, I remember being told that at 6 months-post, I'd probably be as "recovered"as I should expect to get. I am happy to say that whoever it was who told me that was WRONG. Granted, most of the *big* stuff happened in those first six months, and it slowed way down after that, but to be able to say, after 7+ years, that I am still having "firsts" is definitely more than I used to hope for or believe was possible.
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