Fear is the greatest obstacle to one’s recovery that I know. In the words of the old saw, when you fear you can’t you’re probably right. When I was in the hospital and after when I returned home fear was my biggest hindrance. I feared everything the therapy, the therapist, my doctors and most of all I feared myself. Could I do the things they were asking of me and what would my life be after the traumatic injury I had survived. My lifestyle was that of an almost loner, I live by myself and though I live of the periphery of the public eye I’m not of it. I usually work in anonymity taking my photos and try to remain in the background. Here I was the center of focus (no pun intended) and I could fail or succeed at my will, it was all up to me. It took a long time to get comfortable with myself, too much of myself confidence and self-reliance were shaken to the core. I wasn’t this strong rugged individual I projected. I had some visitors, photographers I was friend’s with and some models who came by to wish me well. But they were really talking to a shell of myself, I knew that there was a fundamental change in me and my perceptions of the world about me. The models who came by were a real help, their young fresh minds and body’s couldn’t conceive of me being down for the count and getting up only just before the final bell. Instead I could lose myself in their problems and concerns, they provided an escape for me and mine.
I had no good options to getting better and I worried about the long term repercussions. Would I recover just to succumb to another stroke later or would I recover only marginally and never be able to work again and how on earth would I ever recover from the mounting bills. All this pressure and all I could do was take it one day at a time and hope my constitution was strong enough. And that’s what I did or tried to do, one day at a time, one foot in front of another and one hand dragged along for the ride. No heroic’s, no effort to hide it from myself. Just grim determination with a mind to the timetable attached to my recovery. I just had to do what I had to get back to my life. Now I find I’m in the company of some truly heroic people who struggle much harder than I do. They struggle with a mate and the hardest of all their children. My heart and hope’s go out to them along with my prayers. When I was recovering I happened to visit a church in another town and I lit a candle and said a prayer of hope for those I knew were struggling with life. Not for me because I was truly blessed but for my friends who were truly in need of some extra help. A word of thanks for the blessing in my life. A word of thanks for having a life worth living.
(I want to thank you all for commenting on my blog and giving me a space on yours. We truly are not alone in this world..., we are all brother’s and sister’s.)