Once I was a crack typist. Sixty or seventy words per minute. I almost typed WPM, and while there is a generation who would recognize that, there are two that don’t. Clickity click, ding, carriage return, clickity….. And so on. I was not so good at numbers up there above the QWERTY line; I suppose the looking dragged me down to sixty WPM.
Things have changed, and it’s not old age. Even though I've worn the register mark from the keyboard F, I still clicked along as necessary, and having the ten key number pad was wonderful. My right hand could dart over for necessary numbers and come right back to the register mark on J. Then I had that stroke, in 2010.
I’m not complaining about the outcome; some remarkable medicine let me carry on with life. I am left to deal with new shortcomings, however. The physical therapist who discharged me wrote “Unstable” on my chart, which really sums it up. And I’m unstable because my right side drags a bit.
Some days all is well and I get on like a reasonably stable old lady. Some days I sigh and reach for the cane. It’s a wonderful rudder. It’s also a hand rail at all those steps that have none. There are far too many rail-less stairs in my life. Some days my right foot comes along just fine, some days it drags a little, and some days I actually have to tell it “heel, toe, heel, toe” to encourage it along. But, I get where I have to and do what I have to do.
|Look at that right toe of my beloved red deck sneakers. I haven’t worn them through, yet!|
The real problem is the O’s. My right hand drags all the time. It adds gratuitous O’s to all my work. The red squiggle and I are firm acquaintances. Sometimes I think, people should just see this; they would laugh until the tears run. It looks like the room of monkeys attempting to recreate Shakespeare.
But, I clean it up before I hit publish. No stability, but I still have my pride.