The dropped foot is no picnic.
I fight throw rugs (no more!), trip myself and the dachshund moves out of the way.
I have WalkAide for seven years. The peroneal foot lifts the electrically…kind of a cattle prod.
I’m out of electrodes.
Fifteen years, I had stroke. I’m totally bad with numbers and the dreaded spelling. Linda from Hanger products is my contact for Pittsburgh. She called me with a voicemail, indicated that the WalkAide is here and her cellphone is total gibberish. Fifteen years, I don’t understand the concept of numbers. One to ten, or more…I struggled. I can’t hear her; though, the hearing is completely fine. Gibberish.
Finally, numerous voicemails I have a system. The area code, location and the numbers. The brain tells me that four…one…two (I jot it down), call the voicemail, two…two…five (I jot it down), call the voicemail, two…five…three…five (I jot it down). Digits are bad, (1-10) I have no concept, again my brain is fried. For example:
I get that. I get the visional, not numbers. I call numerous times, many, many times. Yikes.
Maybe, I’ll consider the captioned phone. Before the stroke, I have an A personality…always on the move, the next big thing.
God’s little irony.