THIRTEEN

Thirteen. It's been 13 years since my first, most damaging stroke. My son was just shy of his 2nd birthday. I couldn't hold him. I certainly couldn't chase after him. Shit. That was the last morning I ever ran after him. 

Rereading this post after all this time, its's clear how naïve I was, or just exhausted. The thing is I was paralyzed, completely on my right side. I typed that out on my phone with my left hand. I am not a leftie. I remember thinking I'd be back to work in a couple days, because I was very busy and surely the doctors knew how to fix this. Spoiler alert: they didn't; they couldn't. 

I didn't write about this on the 10th anniversary. I don't remember even posting about it on social media. Strange, considering it was a big milestone. I honestly forgot. I'm friends with a lot of fellow stroke survivors, "strokies" as we fondly refer to ourselves. And on stroke anniversaries they refer to their "rebirthdays" and we give virtual high fives because fuck yeah, we've made it this far. But when it comes to my situation, I don't see a cause for celebration. I'm not bitter, and I get that I have a lot to be proud of and thankful for. I just don't want a high five for having my life derailed. I don't like to look back on that time, preferring instead to focus on right now and things to come. Frankly, I'm not in the clear and I won't ever be.

I was 32 when that stroke hit. While it left me permanently disabled with right side weakness, it didn't affect my speech or cognition, nor any of the muscles in my face. Then years later, in the summer of 2019 (I think - my memory fades) I woke up and got ready like I do every morning. My tongue suddenly felt weird. I went to say something to my son, and I couldn't speak. It came out as grunts which rapidly turned to frantic whimpers as tears streamed down my face. I knew what was happening but couldn't say it. We were visiting my brother's family up North, and my husband and brother had stepped out for a bit. I was able to use my hands so I sent a text to my husband telling him, "I'm having a stroke. My tongue is paralyzed. Can't talk."

They called my sister-in-law who was at the house with me but in another room. She came running in and found me crying and trying to talk. And slowly I could. At first it sounded like when you slow down the playback of an audio recording. Then I sounded normal again. All of this happened in maybe 10 minutes. 

It wasn't a full-blown stroke. It was a TIA, Transient Ishemic Attack. (I find the name funny. A transient attacking my brain - just my fucking luck.) These are also known as mini strokes. They are temporary blockages in the brain that resolve themselves and typically do not result in permanent deficits. It happened half a dozen more times before that summer was over.

Why the fuck was this happening? In order to find out I had to do what I did back in 2011 when I found I had become paralyzed at 4am; I had to light some fires under the right asses. It was my pharmacist who said, "Stop calling your neurologist. Drive over there and refuse to leave until they see you." 

That pharmacist saved my life. It turns I have multiple tiny blockages in various small blood vessels in different parts of my brain. 

                                         

I was referred to a neurosurgeon and they discovered that my right carotid artery is completely obstructed. It's done. It's been done. In some cases, a stint can be put in to open it to allow the blood to flow through. In my case, the obstruction is so deep that attempting the procedure could kill me. Again, just my fucking luck. The test they performed to discover all this is called a "cerebral angiogram." I was scared shitless to have it done. I called my best friend and told her there was a 3% chance of something going wrong, and she said, "Don't worry. You're not that special. You won't be one of the 3%." And that's why we've been best friends for 30 years.

When a neurologist tells you, "We are sending you to the top neurosurgeon in our area and you need to be seen right away" that does some shit to your mental health. I had to start considering that I may not be alive much longer. Oh relax. I'm still here. And how the fuck is that? How am I alive when a bunch of my brain is blocked off? BEHOLD: THE CIRCLE OF WILLIS.

"At the base of the brain, the carotid arteries and vertebral arteries come together to form the Circle of Willis. This is a circle of arteries that provide many paths for blood to supply oxygen and nutrients to the brain." UNC School of Medicine

Basically humans evolved to create a backup system of networked blood vessels so when one (or more) fail, other blood vessels pick up the slack to get blood where it needs to go. Yay science!

And that is the context in which I live my life. I've known about these unfortunate developments in my brain for 5 years now. While at first I felt like a ticking time bomb, I don't think about it a whole lot now. It's not pleasant to think about. I cringe and get sad when these posts pop up in my Facebook Memories because while it was 13 years ago, it isn't really behind me. That's a privilege that won't be mine. 

I Am Courage

A friend recently gifted me a sparkly medallion with a heart and wings on one side, and the words "I am courage" on the other. I love all things shimmer and sparkle - a detail about me that my younger self would have never admitted. I promptly hung it from my rearview mirror, partly for adornment, partly as a reminder that there are people in my life rooting for me, believing I can do big things. I know there are folx who place great significance on trinkets. They believe in crystals and amulets and all sorts of tangible things that conjure the intangible. I've mentioned this before but it bears repeating: I am an atheist; a skeptic by default. I was the little girl in Catholic school scrunching up her nose at the nuns thinking, "ehh...that doesn't sound right." 

The thing about we atheists though is that people perceive us as a collective group sharing values and perspectives the way religious people do. It is presumed we are like-minded. We aren't. The only thing we agree on is that God(s) aren't real. That's it. That's the extent of our agreement. I have to remind myself of this because I see things happening with atheists I've known for years and so much doesn't make sense to me. I see a movement toward embracing astrology, the esoteric, and pseudoscientific healing. It baffles me. But then I consider what we've been up against. A rapidly devolving hell scape of oppressive politics, Covid and the overwhelming loss of life, a recession...these are enormous shifts that are bound to make anyone grab onto what they can to make sense of this fucking mess. To find some meaning and a reason to have some goddamn hope. 

I drive around town every day with my courage medallion hanging from my rearview mirror. It sways gently with the movement of the car, sometimes swinging more rapidly as I pick up speed. I spend a lot of time alone in the car, singing off-key, bouncing in my seat to righteous tunes. That's also where I do a lot of thinking. Daydreaming and scheming. That's where I stand at the edge of the rabbit hole of "what if" and dive into the realm of "I can." Fantasies become game plans and whimsy becomes courage. Hell, the fact that I can drive at all after having been paralyzed is a feat in itself.

✨ MAGIC ✨

I come to a red light and reach for my shimmery trinket. I adjust the necklace from where it hangs to make sure it looks just right, while my mind runs through scenarios and possibilities and "definitelies." It's a tangible reminder that I can do big things, and that right there is magic.