One Year On

Just over a year ago, my husband H had a stroke. The following seven months were hell; from the first ten days where I’d no idea if he’d even wake up never mind recover, to the long trips to Trafford General to visit him in rehab.

On the 12th December 2019, we were at physio, where they broke the news that they don’t believe he’ll make any further progress. That means no movement at all in his left arm. Very little in his left leg. The bleed on his brain has affected his concentration and he’s too easily distracted to be able to walk more than a couple of steps. Stairs are impossible.

H will be discharged from physio at the end of January, when he’ll be passed on to other agencies. Their job will be to assess our home and make the necessary adaptations. So in that respect, we’ll be able to move on with our lives instead of being in our current limbo.

We’re still waiting on PIP. Once that’s sorted, we can organise a car and a blue badge. We’ll be able to get out more and, you know, have something of a life.

So while there’s a lot to process, it’s not all bad.

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