Anniversaries I’ve always associated with weddings or birthdays. Shared events. Celebrations. However, on the 17^th of June this year, when the calendar marked my four-year anniversary, I definitely didn’t feel like partying! How do you ‘celebrate’ the four-year anniversary of acquiring a brain injury? I mean at four years of age most children start kindergarten and it takes four years to complete most full-time bachelor degrees. It even took them four years to construct the 1.9-acre Holocaust museum. So maybe that time frame was realistic for rebuilding my life. But unlike a certificate or completed structure, I felt that the outcome didn’t come close to the effort and discomfort I’d encountered along the way.  Basically, when I stroked, it was as if someone had flushed my degree down the toilet or knocked down that mighty building.

Throughout my recovery I’ve been told that I had roughly three or four years to improve. Initially, lying there unable to move or speak, that had felt like an eternity. But (in retrospect only) that time has flown by. I guess each anniversary I thought would be eerie but to be honest they’ve all been pretty uneventful– nothing really to get excited about. I mean it wasn’t like twelve months into it I was suddenly able to walk! But my four years milestone was a bit different. For me, the four-year period had passed. I was now faced with the longevity of my recovery; a lifetime of deficits I’d convinced myself would disappear, were foremost in my mind.  I’d grappled with different aids, trialled a fist full of pain medications and copped stares and pointed fingers from strangers. I was no longer a ‘new’ strokee.  I had passed my expiry date. I felt old and worn. The prospect of enduring another 60 years of this was daunting. I was already on a walking frame! Comments by those that did remember, like – “But you’ve achieved so much Em!” and “But look how far you’ve come!” were reassuring words – for them more than for me. I knew I had accomplished so much, but the energy that it had zapped and the time that it had taken and the adaptations I had had to apply to every task were daunting. I sulked. I mourned my old life.

However, the day after my anniversary I felt relieved. I no longer felt I had to race the recovery clock. I could stop. Stop and reflect.  Four years on I now am proud to be a stroke survivor. I actually can’t imagine ever not having double vision or walking without my trusty aid. The thought of running on sand or wearing heels again only makes me laugh. I’ve learnt so much in the last four years- more learning than any degree could accomplish. (Of course, support, optimism, hope, acceptance and laughter have been vital.)

Who knows where I’ll be at on my fifth anniversary? It may be a celebration.  What I do know is that it’s not what happens to you that matters; it’s how you choose to deal with it!

 So I certainly won’ t kick my heels off and dance but I could do an ataxic bop!