My parents had strokes in their early sixties, their fridge a cholesterol time-bomb.
My mother lost her left side, my father his right so they leaned against each other in their slow three-legged race.
No surprise then when I had a stroke recently. I was walking Rocky when my face went numb.
I thought it was a bee sting at first. Then my left arm went numb.
I knew it was a stroke, so I headed home, a weird walk in the dark. I felt removed, like a spirit hovering over myself, involved but not committed, reflecting on my parents, rescheduling commitments.
But first I did a bloke-thing. I put the orange boxes and waste bin out for collection.
My wife didn’t hang about. I was in A&E as my leg gave way and a few days more until they found the clot.
I’m on the mend, face recovered, and my left leg is normal.
The amazing NHS medics were fabulous and surprised by my recovery. Being healthy and fit for my 75 years was important.
Let’s face it, we can’t avoid the nasties – cancer and stroke in particular – but a fit non-smoker with normal weight has every chance of a quick recovery.
If I hadn’t been fit, it’s possible this would’ve been a blank page, a metaphor for regret.
At times like this I turn to Mary Oliver. Here are lines from “The Journey”:
and there was a new voice which you slowly recognized as your own, that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world, determined to do
the only thing you could
do—
determined to save
the only life you could save.
January events: www. poetryswindon.com
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