Doing the cricket

cricket musicThe word ‘cricket’ is usually a noun. However this is one of those instances where a noun becomes a verb. ‘Doing the cricket’ is what I call the Cirque du Soleil caliber gyrations I perform in order to put lotion on my right arm. It involves applying a blob of lotion on the inside of my right knee or the underside of my left forearm, then rubbing my right arm back and forth along these surfaces. Much like a cricket rubs it’s legs together to make summertime cricket music. This is just one of the many weird things I do in order to be more independent.

I have good Lida news. Lida turned the faucet off at the garden yesterday because I was holding a handful of squash in the other hand. Granted it’s just one of those lever faucets, but a new milestone nonetheless. My occupational therapist is very focused on Lida right now and I’m doing a lot of exercises to help build strength and open the communication channel between my brain and my hand. My arm is getting stronger, but my hand she just don’t listen yet. I have read that the second anniversary of a stroke can be a time of surprising healing. August 11 will mark my second year of stroke survival. Many things changed two years ago but not all of them were bad. I believe my outlook on life, which was always relatively positive, became even more gracious. Not right at the beginning, of course but with healing I experienced an even greater appreciation of my life, my family and my friends. Thanks for being behind me through the last two years. I am blessed.

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About Vic Cobb Fountain

Empowered Stroke survivor: appreciating where I've been, anticipating where I'm going.
This entry was posted in stroke, stroke recovery, stroke survivor and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

5 Responses to Doing the cricket

  1. I laughed at your lotion description because I do something similar. I was also thrilled when my hemiplegic hand started grasping objects without my thinking about it. Therapists call my hand an assistive hand, but I call it my blessed hand because I don’t have to put objects in my mouth or squeeze them between my thighs.

  2. Marta Szwaya says:

    I have the same moves…prestroke, my left hand was never very productive, but since it does mnothing, but will hold n object I place in it, I am grateful for small steps. Sometimes, I think it’s going to participate, but no!…I believe it will return to me, would be grateful for even a return to its old weak self…stillwaiting; worst of all is when I turn in bed at night….sometimes she gets left behind completely, but my shoulder has no pain which is a tremendous improvement. It doesn’t just flop at my sideanymore and I have a return of appropriate proprioception…another plus. I wait and work and hope. What have you found to be helpful?

  3. Julia says:

    I just passed my one year anniversary a week ago, and I guess I’m just a hopelessly negative person but I call it the day I died. I am an artist and housewife and the loss of function in my left arm and hand has meant that everything I used to do that made me a useful and joyous person is gone. I am having a lot of trouble coping with this loss and frequently want to give up. My walking isn’t good enough yet to let me leave home on my own so I can’t even escape with a long walk as I used to when I was sad. What therapies are you doing for hand return? Does anything work? I am trying to reach out to other stroke survivors(like yourself) but asking for help is very hard for me and I am very afraid of rejection.

  4. Marta Szwaya says:

    Julia, early on in my recovery, I had a lot of physical therapy for my arm, but with no improvement, it makes me sad too, especially because I love to sew, and can’t do that yet. I always thought I would work on my skills to produce couture level garments, but that seems very far away these days. One thing I did learn was that there was no point in trying to force things, The body must be ready to take the next steps. It’s silly, but what I miss most is being able to quickly fold towels. At my house they are all white, and I find the sight of a neat linen closet very satisfying. So I remain optimistic and do the things I can, allbeit one handed. I’ve now mastered making the bed which is good training for balance, every activity of daily living contributes to recovery. I have learned to focus on what I can do, not what I can’t which has contributed to increasing my happiness. Will our hands come back? I do not know the answer to that, but I remain an optimist, not to be, serves no purpose. Marta

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