Below is picture of a seemingly innocuous plastic tub. It was a tub that contained a fig tree that died. It was a tub buried deep into the border of my orchard. I had removed the fig tree, and in June 2020, was attempting to dig out this tub when I felt the earth move towards me. I stabbed my spade into the ground, and flew out of the orchard on a small ride-on tractor. It was to be the start of six TIAs that blitzed me over three months before the storm clouds had gathered enough to deliver such a smite that I was struck down.
Well, almost a year and a half later … I have dug out that blasted, plastic tub. Yesterday, in fact. I was a little bit nervous doing it. I find having had a stroke brings out all sorts of superstitious thoughts. I took it easy, dig by dig. Talking myself through it. Every time I felt a particularly acute, giddy disorientation, I gritted my teeth and kept on digging, until like an infected molar, I was able to wrench it out. It’s been a sort of symbolic victory for me, and I hope I can keep it in mind when confronted with new challenges.