The one where I give an update

Some folks have asked me for an update. To say "I'm fine" would be like the answer you give when the plastic containers cascade from the top shelf in the kitchen and you say--sotto voce--"Fucky McShitstain" and your husband who's hard of hearing says "What's the matter?" and you realize that your voce wasn't as sotto as you thought, and you say "I'm FINE" (bonus points if you sing it). That's the kind of fine I am. I'm getting more used to the crazy skin that I'm in--Stefanie 2.0, as I call it--and I'm fine what with the pandemic and the election and OH MY GOD, could we go ONE DAY without the dumpster fire that is 2020 throwing some unparalleled shit our way? I for one could go for some really boring, paralleled shit right now.

But everyone's had a crap 2020, and the only reason you're here is to get away from that mess and to read up on my stroke, and the people-pleaser in me gives folks what they're asking for.

My hand continues to  give me some trouble--as I'm typing this, and I am reminded of the days of yore when I had to hunt and peck because emailing was SO NEW. I only have to do it with my right hand--the left one is waiting impatiently for my right--so I guess I just hunt. Or peck. Not both. 

When I was working with my occupational therapist back in March, we were practicing on getting some feeling back some feeling in my right hand, and he had me hooked up to this scary bionic machine that worked my muscles for me, and I felt particularly cool, but l had no joy in the long term. Now I have to use my left hand to test the water temperature (for the 215th time I wash my hands every day) because I try to use my right hand, and the water gets hot before my hand realizes it, and by then I have first degree burns on my hand, and I have to say Sweary Words. You would not believe how often you use your dominant hand to feel things, and I have a list of all of 'em.

My balance is much better, though I am still cautious about it. Back in November of 2019, I took a swan dive down the stairs of my own house, and I got 28 stitches and a bad-ass scar on my chin. That was a fun ride, but I would say once is enough for me. So now I go down stiars like my Nana did, one. step. at. a. time, and I get the added benefit of making people sigh loudly as they realized they're stuck behind me one. step. at. a. time. Also, now I'm not allowed to carry anything down with both hands (so I can maintain my white-knuckle grip on the banister), so I have learned to do laundry like a custom batch of artisanal beer--very small, except it smells like fabric softener.

What they don't tell you in the Stroke Seminar (they really should have that) is the level of FATIGUE your little brain can withstand. It ain't much. I will discuss that next time because--you guessed it--fatigue is setting in and I have to go yarn something or watch a Bollywood movie or some other such nonsense that serves as a break for me.