The psychiatrist reminded me of this guy.

The speech therapist came that afternoon to assess me cognitively. I passed with flying colors. Tho’ my talking was impaired, my mind was clear and all there. Tho’ I seemed and felt slow outwardly my mind was actually processing rightly. A few days later, I was reassessed by the psychiatrist for the same skills. That was weird and slightly funny. I would classify him as the absent-minded professor type and I was doubtful he could’ve passed the very tests he was giving me. But I humored him… and snickered to myself off and on at his scatter-brained ways. Lol.

That night the kids came to visit. It was an emotional time for everybody. It was very hard to watch them tear up as they realized how much my talking was different and what all the stroke had effected. I still struggle with that more than anything. I don’t know if it’s pride or self-pity. Both, maybe a little. I was told I needed to get a thicker skin and not be so sensitive about it. To not care what others think so much. It’s not that I care so much what they think about me, but it’s hard for me not to enter into their emotion about it. It’s hard for my handicaps to be the center and cause of their emotion. It’s hard for me to not hurt with them and for them even though I’m the source of their hurting. It’s kind of the same feel as at a funeral when a beloved one dies, but they’re weeping for me who’s still alive. I think that God gave me the sensitivity to others that I have. No, I don’t want to be a slave to their emotions, but neither do I want to become hard and unfeeling. I still struggle with finding the right balance there.

Another thing that was very hard was my daughter’s pregnancy. She was 8+ months at Thanksgiving. I was supposed to have been her birth coach. I felt very emotional at the prospect of missing the birth of my grandson. Her due date was December 21st, but there were signs that it was likely she would go earlier and there was no guarantee I’d be out by then. I was resigned and submitted to the possibility that I wouldn’t be there, but I asked the Lord to somehow make a way for me to attend. I asked Him not let my stay in Rehab be in man’s control, but only HIS with Him alone deciding how long I was to be there.

Go to Part Seven

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