I’m More Than Just a Stroke
There is so much judgement to having a stroke. Normally I get it by just a look sent my way from someone in passing. I usually notice it and go for the wry smile anyway. I prefer to kill with kindness.
Sometimes others witness this judgement and they take care of it too. To be clear my mum personalises every single slight that happens to me. So, she reacts like it’s all happening to her. She can’t help herself.
But the carer while arranging her social engagements for the Sunday afternoon, she told her friend she had me in the morning. She described me as and in the context of “Helen’s forty-five and had a stroke.” Something about the tone she used, I responded with a “Yes?” with the end of the word lifted. Raised my eyebrows some. She sniggered a little and seemed reluctant to share.
Her friend’s judgement was swift “forty-five and had a stroke? That’s young for a stroke.”
I reminded her I’d been in my late thirties, but she informed me that he had put him (her friend) in his place, that I hadn’t been a drinker or a smoker.
Big love her way. Bless her cotton socks.
But I reassured her, I’m used to that level of judgement from complete strangers. I told her it was fine, I wasn’t even offended. I had a fairly thick skin in some ways these days and I will growl a questioning grumpy “What?” at someone who gives me a look of disrespect or I will give them a “FUCK YOU” if needed.
So, there are times, it’s just not worth it to need to advocate every single time someone disrespects me or I wouldn’t leave the house or answer the phone or deal with family. I would just stay home and wait to die.
I do of course reward and thank people who take the time to simply step out of my way, so I can pass and I don’t make a big thing of it, so I incline my head slightly and give them a quiet thank you in their direction.