Emotional recovery is stupid, it sucks to get through, and unfortunately takes a lot longer than the physical side. For the first three months all I could do was put my head down and try to get through each day. My focus had to solely be on what Brock needed. Completely changing our routine from waking up an hour earlier to late evening rehab appointments twice a week, catheters, diapers, medications, and so on and so on. You don’t have time to stop and think about feelings. Feelings don’t clean up poo on the side of the highway at 7am, in the pitch black of winter, while raining and 40 degrees. Trust me that you don’t want to feel anything in that moment.

It’s hard to think long term when you have zero clue what long term looks like. Is he going to be permanently disabled? What functions will he regain? Can he ever stay home alone for more than a trip to the grocery? There are so many more questions like these and the only answer is time. You have no idea and putting any thought to what the answers are will make you crazy. You have to compartmentalize or even cut off your emotions. I had to be matter of fact about everything. To many people that probably sounds unhealthy, and maybe it is, but thinking about anything other than what’s directly in front of me was overwhelming. In a matter of hours life had veered in the most unexpected direction, and there’s simply no way to prepare for that.

All the work and stress takes its toll without even realizing it. I honestly thought I had done a good job of processing my emotions, but boy was I wrong. I didn’t realize just how much I had cut that portion off. I consciously thought about making logical decisions, which to me meant I was also emotionally processing. Again, I was wrong. I think I just didn’t want to accept this had happened. I kept thinking in terms of how much Brock had been affected without thinking as much about how I had been affected. I wasn’t the one who had the stroke.

A few weeks ago the totality of the situation hit me like a ton of bricks. Once Brock got to the point where he could be more independent I had the chance to catch my breath. I started to process just how much life had changed, and how much it will forever be changed. I don’t for a second regret bringing him home, but I also didn’t have a clue what I was bringing home. I’ve had to really think about what recovery actually means. Physically, he has exceeded expectations. The Neurologist used the word shocked to describe his progress. That’s amazing to hear, but I’ve also had to accept Brock’s limitations. He likely will never regain the use of his left leg or the ability to control his bowels. He can’t jump or play for more than 10 minutes. I’ve finally had to emotionally accept that he won’t be the dog he was. He’s such a loving, and playful, and sweet boy that I don’t need him to be anything more. Sure, things get frustrating but being able to step back and see just how far he’s come is humbling.

Being honest with yourself isn’t always easy, but necessary. Selfishly, I want my old life back where I didn’t have to plan everything around him. I guess it’s normal to have all these feelings of selfishness and frustration, but still be so thankful. It can be hard to have such conflicting emotions. I can adore my little guy but be completely disgusted by his habit of licking pee mid stream. I think the best approach is just being aware of how you feel and allowing yourself to feel whatever that is. At least that’s what seems to be working for me.