I like to claim I’m an optimist. I see the rain barrels as half full, not half empty. I’m pleased by simple achievements.

Whatever is going on in my brain – stroke, migraine, or otherwise – makes the positive difficult to find. If I’m honest with myself, (which I’m not very often because it’s tough to face the truth that the worst may be yet to come), there are positives in this situation. Unfortunately, most of the positives are more along the lines of “At least it’s not….” which is a poor excuse for a bright side and more like a silver lining in a bank of tornado-producing thunderheads..

But here goes anyway.

I have a good ER nearby – less than 10 minutes away – which meant Chuck could leave the hospital while I was getting my MRI and make sure Amigo was doing okay (he was) and then come back to my side when the doctor had information. 

I work with compassionate people. They’re concerned, and they ask how I am, and yet no one is nosy. They accept what I’m willing to tell and respect what I don’t want to say. Within three minutes of my arrival at work this week, I had a stack of phone numbers from people willing to give me a ride to work if I feel unable to drive.

The neurologist wears awesome shoes. Dark red suede short boots with a jet black zipper center front – don’t judge me, people, I enjoy footwear. It’s a simple pleasure.

Still upsetting:

• the inability to walk to work in nicer weather
• the need to grab a wall or a countertop when I’m wobbling
• the fear that the leg will fall out from under me while walking down a hallway or carrying a hot cup of coffee
• parking in the crowded lot so I can use the elevator
• feeling off-balance unexpectedly
• the sheer irritation of feeling perpetually numb on one side of my face
• the unpredictability of the weakness and wobbles in my left side overall

And yet, I feel thankful every day that the effects of this condition, whatever its name might be, have so far been purely physical. Nothing indicates cognitive trouble. My speech is clear and my language functioning is still strong. I can communicate. I can still think.

Maybe those rose-colored lenses have a little more wear left in them.