Category: real life

What a Stroke Looks Like from the Inside–Part Two

So, I meant to finish up my story a while back, but as it turns out, one of the side effects of a stroke is being tired—like really tired—all the time.  When you add in work, school, and doctors’ appointments, that means I’m drained the majority of the time.  If you missed the first part of my story, you can find it here.  But here goes….

I woke up the next day, a little before noon.  I was intubated and my hands were restrained (I had my appendix taken out when I was 11, and I might have pulled out the tube when I woke up.  Having the tube put back in while awake = not fun.) Anyway.  I knew right away I was in the hospital, but I had no idea why.  My parents and Baby Brother were there.  Obviously, I couldn’t talk, but I remember them talking to me, telling me they’d take the tube out soon.  My mom also told me “Bubba is here.  And he brought your nephew.”  I was coherent enough to think:  “Why is he here? He lives 600 miles away!”

The next thing I remember is my mom bringing in one of my friends from work, who was crying her eyes out.  Then, later, some of my friends from my old job.  I had my contacts out by this time, but I recognized their voices.  Turns out, they’d been at the hospital with my family most of the time.  The Saint was in NYC, but one of them called her so I could “talk” to her, reassure her.  Then the Cynic and another close friend of ours visited.  My family, of course.  They were almost always by my side.  And later that evening, the Diva and “our” husband, who were some of the first people my mom called, came in.

The next day, I was a little more with it.  Some women from therapy came to get me up, and were shocked I could walk by myself.  I got to meet my nephew—he was 4 months old then—and he is SO cute!  Most of my hospital stay is a blur.  I slept a lot.  I couldn’t use my right hand much at all.  I started learning how to eat left-handed.  I had a lot of visitors and phone calls (many of my patients called to check on me).  I got out of the hospital 5 days later and went home with my mom.

I cannot image how difficult the day of my stroke was for my friends and family.  At the hospital, they gave me tPA (the stroke drug), but it didn’t seem to help.  Actually, my symptoms worsened.  Late that night, the doctor told the nurses that something else was going on, and he was going in.  He told my parents there was a 98% fatality rate for my condition.  If I lived, they didn’t know if I would wake up.  If I somehow woke up, they didn’t know what condition I’d be in.  I woke up about 12 hours later, able to see, talk, and move.  I knew who I was and who everyone around me was.

As it turns out, I had two clots in my brain and a tear in my left vertebral artery.  I now have four stents there, and I’ll be on aspirin the rest of my life. I have reduced sensation on the right side of my body, but it’s improving.  I have tingling pretty much all the time on that side.  2 ½ weeks after my stroke, I was back in the E.R. (at the orders of my neurologist’s nurse) because the tingling had gotten worse and I’d had a mild headache for two days.  They think the right artery had dissected as well, but it was so small they could only treat it with medications for a few days.  I stayed in the hospital 4 days that time.  Since then, I’ve had an angiogram to check on my stents (they looked great).  I started working again (14 hour shifts are tough under the best circumstances.  Now…I don’t even have the words.)  The school semester started.  (I did switch to online classes this semester—French, German, and Spanish 2.)  I went back to the E.R. a week ago with some brief vision changes (doctor’s orders), but everything is fine.  Stents are great, no signs of stroke.  I’ve had blood work and other tests done, and none of the doctors know what caused my stroke.  My neurologist calls me a miracle.

Let me say this:  no matter what your personal beliefs are, I know that the only reason I survived is because of God.  He was there with me–giving me that feeling of peace—through it all.  There is a reason I had the stroke, despite being “too young” and there not being a cause.  God has a plan for this, a plan to prosper.  There is no doubt in my mind.

What a Stroke Looks Like from the Inside–Part One

You never know how quickly your life can change.  Good or bad, everything really can change in an instant.  Sometimes it’s a big, dramatic moment, sometimes it passes you by without even a whisper of acknowledgement or a hint of warning.  Like T.S. Eliot said, my old world ended with a whimper, not a bang.

June 1st was a normal Saturday.  I went for a walk, cleaned my apartment, did laundry.  I was tired from working 14 hours the day before, so I took a nap.  When I woke up an hour later, I was having a seizure.  I’d never had a seizure before, but I had seen people have them, so I knew what it was.  But the sensation of being unable to control my own body was something I’ll never forget.  Even worse was the fact that my eyes would not work together.

I remember thinking to myself “What am I going to do if they can’t fix my eyes?  I won’t be able to work or go to school or anything?”  I was still having a seizure, but I was having a rational conversation with myself.  And I knew—because of my eyes—that I’d had a stroke.  I was convinced that I was going to die.  But I wasn’t afraid.  I was filled with peace.

At the end of the seizure, I fell out of bed, somehow missing the sharp corner of my nightstand.  I ended up in the corner, between that table and the closet, and I was throwing up.  When I finally managed to stop throwing up long enough, I managed to yell for my friend who was crashed on my couch.  When she came into the room, I remember telling her, very calmly, “Don’t panic, but I think I’ve had a stroke.  I need you to call an ambulance.”  I was so relieved that I’d managed to get her attention, and that she’d called 911, that I just lay there, still throwing up, as she called my family.

When the paramedics got there, they tried to set me up on the edge of my bed, but I couldn’t sit up, and just fell over backwards.  They kept asking me what I’d taken, and I remember being really frustrated, because they thought I’d taken drugs, and I knew I’d had a stroke.

I remember the paramedic putting an arterial line in before we left the apartment complex.  It seemed to take a long time to get to the hospital, even though it was only about five miles away.  I was barely unloaded and in the E.R. before my dad was there, at my side (Baby Brother can really drive when he needs to!).  I just looked at him and said “Pray!”  He grabbed my foot, as the nurses were still hooking me up, and prayed.  Then I was wheeled away for tests, still throwing up frequently.

My mom and Baby Brother were also there, and my mom says I kept getting irritated at the doctors trying to ask me questions, and kept saying “I’m just tired!”  I remember lots of people working on me, lots of tests, but only faintly.  I remember my Other Brother being there—one of Baby Brother’s closest friends—and Mama Bear—a friend from work, but then everything faded to black.

FYI

So, in case you are wondering where I’ve been, let me tell you, I’ve kind of been wondering the same thing. Here’s the short version: last Saturday, June 1st, I had a stroke. I barely survived. I’ll try to tell you in the details—what I remember—later. For now, I’m alive, my left side is fine. My right side, on the other hand, has limited mobility currently. Of course, I’m right-handed. But my woes are a story for another day.

 

Right now, I’m grateful to be alive and (mostly) intact. Thank You, God.

 

Getting Started Again

So, after the chaos that has been my life for the past….9 or 10 months or so–work, school, break-up, depression, recovery–I finally, finally got serious about my writing again today.  I’ve been doing pretty good about blogging lately, both here, on my environmental blog, and on Writing in a Dead World (if you haven’t checked that out yet, you SHOULD), but apart from writing a few pages in The Fall a few months ago, I haven’t really written consistently in…a long, long time.  That sucks.  And I’m tired of it.  So I started doing the HTTS Ultra lessons again today.  It’s been on the to-do list for a week or two now, but the procrastination monster sort of ate that list…

I had forgotten how detailed and helpful Holly’s lessons are.  The results I got for the Shadow Room technique surprised me and might have generated another story idea (assuming I ever get this one written…and some others revised…and the other partially-finished MS written…).  So, yeah.  I’m dedicating this summer to getting my life to where I want it to be.  A big part of that is writing.  Game on.

Why You Should Never Piss Off A Writer

(Okay, so “piss off” is probably not a politically correct term.  But it’s so much more…appropriate than “anger”.  I mean, really, anger sounds so civilized.  And that’s not what I’m feeling right now.  Warning:  if you’ve done me wrong recently, I’m talking to you. <insert evil grin>)

Everyone knows it’s not a good a idea to cross Taylor Swift.  That’s a good way to end up in a hit song, and even her veiled references to events don’t always protect the guilty.  But have you ever thought about the people who cross, say, Stephen King?

Most writers take inspiration from people they know.  It may be a single character trait.  It may be an odd quirk they notice in a stranger.  It may be the way someone walks.  But all those little things combine together and end up in a single, life-like character that jumps off the page.  Now, if you’re on the writer’s good side, you can find yourself in the pages of their newest novel, and take pride in the compliment.

But if, on the other hand, you and the writer have a bit more…hostile relationship, you might also find yourself on the pages of a story, albeit in a much less complimentary fashion.  Think about it:  all those horrible villains are based on someone.  And villains have to die somehow (and usually, the more painful and gruesome, the better).  I’m just saying, maybe all those Stephen King characters wouldn’t have died so violently if the people he was thinking of when he wrote them had not made him angry.

Personally, I’ve been known to base characters, events, clothing, lots of things on people I know.  And the way I’m feeling right now…well, let’s just say I wouldn’t be too surprised if a character in my newest novel happens to be heavily tattooed, short, selfish, and full of lies….and dies tragically when run over by the karma bus.  Repeatedly.  I’m just saying….revenge is sweet.  Even if it’s only in my own mind.

 

The (Changing) Habits of Readers

Okay, I admit it.  I love to read fiction.  Especially fantasy.  Bonus enjoyability points if it’s YA fantasy.  I’ve read predominantly fantasy for years now, with a few forays out into mysteries, forensic thrillers, and humor (Stephanie Plum, anyone?).  I normally read several books at a time, with one “main” book that I pick up whenever I have a spare moment.  Normally, these are all fiction.

But lately, my TBR pile has moved into uncharted territory for me:  non-fiction.  Exclusively non-fiction.  What?  That’s what I thought, too.  Now, instead of the latest fantasy gem to catch my eye, I’m reading–and eagerly awaiting reading–books like The Omnivore’s Dilemma, In Defense of Food, Pandora’s Seed, and The First Human.  Granted, The First Human is reading for my anthropology class, but I’m really enjoying it and am finding it quite interesting.  Pandora’s Seed also started off as reading for my evolution and ecology class–last semester–but it’s pretty interesting as well, and ties into my latest personal research into environmental issues.  The Omnivore’s Dilemma and In Defense of Food are both about topics that I find very relevant of late, as I focus more on my health and eating healthier in general.  Both gave me a lot of–excuse the pun–food for thought, and gave me more focus on how I spend my food dollars, and the statement I want to make with them.

I’ve also been doing more spirit-based reading, including The Blessed Life, by Pastor Robert Morris (pastor at my church, Gateway Church, and a phenomenally gifted speaker).  Up next are the Divine Revelation books, and some more spirit-based reading.

Basically, I’ve found that my reading habits have changed lately, more closely tying in to the personal growth areas I’m working on.  Instead of reading for sheer entertainment, now I seem to be drawn to books that will help me grow.

Does anyone else find that their reading habits change over time, or in certain situations?

to someone I used to know….

(No, he doesn’t read this blog, he doesn’t even know of its existence.  This is just a form of personal therapy, a way to get these thoughts out of my head and find some sort of closure, even if it’s only in my own mind.)

Hey.  It’s me.  You know, the one you claimed to love.  The one you said you “could see yourself spending the rest of your life with.”  The one you made plans with to move to California, to get 3 dogs with (yes, I still think “Bear Jew” is a stupid name for a dog).  The one you asked “Can you just hang around for the next 50 years or so?”  Yep.  Me.

I wish I had known upfront that you were not the person you said you were.  I wish I had known that all those things you said, all those plans you described, all the promises you made, were lies.  When we first started dating, you told me so many things, things from your past, things that you weren’t proud of, and I never judged you for any of that.  I never thought less of you.  I still loved you unconditionally and accepted you , just as you were.

And I told you things I’d never told anyone else.  You knew exactly how badly I’d been hurt in the past, and promised me you wouldn’t do that to me.  But you did.  Twice.  You broke my heart, knowing exactly how badly it would hurt me, you did it anyway.  The first time, I accepted your reasoning as logical, even if I still thought it was stupid.  It made a sort of sense, and I knew you still loved me, we were still in each others’ lives.  The second time…sigh…

The second time it was just plain selfish, childish, cowardice.  Because you can’t deal with real life, with civilian life.  Because you think only of yourself.  Because growing up and having an adult relationship scares you.  Because you refuse to get  help, even when you know you need it.  Because you freak out and have panic attacks when you realize that people you’ve known for years are now grown-ups and don’t want to party and drink all the time.  Shocking, I know, how some people realize there are more important things in life than self-gratification.  Imagine that…

I still care about you, very much, but I have found peace in my life now.  I still think about you sometimes, memories still hit me out of nowhere sometimes and feel like a dagger to the heart, but I have peace.  I’m so much stronger than I was before.  But I’m harder as well, and you did that to me.  Even with my trust issues and what I knew of you, I trusted you, and now it will be harder than ever for me to trust anyone again.  I still don’t understand how you can claim to love someone and knowingly hurt them this badly.  You’d been hurt like that before, so how could you do that to me?

We had an amazing relationship.  We never fought.  We didn’t always agree, but we balanced each other out, and we enjoyed being together so much.  I never tried to change you.  I never stopped you from doing what you wanted, from going out with your friends, from spending time with your family.  The only things I ever asked of you were to be honest with me, and to be who you said you were.

Funny how those are the two things you just couldn’t do.

I heard through the grapevine that you thought about texting me, but didn’t, because you weren’t sure how I would respond.  I’ve made my peace.  I have forgiven you.  I haven’t completely let go of all of the negative emotions, all of the hurt, the regret, the pain, but I’m trying.  No, I haven’t made any effort to contact you, because you made it clear that you no longer wanted me in your life.  I simply gave you what you wanted, and took myself out of your life.  I don’t hate you.  I still care about you.  But I won’t put myself into someone’s life who doesn’t want me there.  If you want to contact me, that’s fine, but I’m not going to initiate it.

I wish only the best for you.  I hope that one day you realize who you are, that who you claim to be isn’t actually who you are.  I hope your son stays who he is, and doesn’t learn certain things from you, that he doesn’t turn into the bitter, cynical person you are.  Most of all, I hope that you find God, and that you realize that He is what you need to fill that hole inside of you, not drinking and partying and meaningless encounters.

I do still love you, but I need someone who is who they claim to be.  A real, honest, trustworthy man, someone who is worthy of my love.  Someone who won’t hurt me.  Someone who doesn’t think only of himself.  Someone like the person you claimed to be.

When I told you I was letting go, what I really meant was “good-bye.”

Zombified

"...brains..."
“…brains…”

I have become a zombie.  It’s true.  Several months ago, I noticed that most of the people on campus at my university can’t seem to go anywhere without headphones on.  It takes what, three minutes to walk between classes, and they can’t go that long without listening to music?  And some of them would sit in the classroom/auditorium/lecture hall with their headphones on, until the professor would come in and actually start talking before they’d take them off. Then they’d act like it was a huge inconvenience to be without them.  It was like all these people were withdrawing from the world, wanting to live in their own little bubble, with no contact with anyone outside of it.  On one hand, it irritated me greatly.  On the other, my Muse thought it had great potential to be used in a dystopian story, and that turned into The Fall.

Today I realized I’m guilty of this as well.  I don’t know when it happened.  I don’t know how.  But I rarely go anywhere on campus now without my headphones on.

It’s not because I don’t want contact with the people around me–although sometimes that’s the last thing I want.  Have you seen how annoying teenagers are now?  (Suddenly, I feel very old.)  Plus, there are inevitably people who decide to talk to me, even though I am clearly wearing my “Please Don’t Talk to Me” face (Seriously, people?  Can you NOT see the look I’m giving you?  Get a clue.).  But even that’s not the real reason.

The real reason is because I find myself in desperate need of inspiring and uplifting music to get through the day.  My priorities have shifted drastically over the last six months, and one of the things that has changed is the music I listen to most of the time.  It keeps me on an even keel.  And considering the stress in my life, I need an even keel (and, possibly, a life preserver).  Hence the ever-present headphones.  But I do take them off when I go into a classroom.  And I can’t listen to words with music when I’m writing–not that I’ve done much writing lately–so I don’t use them there, either.

I haven’t written in a couple of weeks, but I did some background work on The Fall this weekend, filling in some details.  I also worked on the revision outline for the zombie story, AND the revision on the werewolf story.  I also spent an hour or so starting the Scrivener tutorial.  I’ll try to finish that up this week, and start actually using it this weekend.

I need to write.

Doing Too Much

In case you’re wondering where I’ve been (you know, all three of you that are reading this), I need to make a confession: I tend to over-commit myself. Basically, I need about 5 extra hours in every day to get everything done I need and/or want to do. Here’s a list of things I need to be doing on a weekly basis (some of which I’m failing miserably at):

1) Work (2 15-hour days, 1 13-hour day). On my feet….
2) School: 17 hours this semester (5 class, one lab, WTF was I thinking?)
3) 3 blogs (my writing blog, my personal blog, my environmental blog)
4) Write the first draft of The Fall (My Muse thinks I’ve gone on strike.)
5) Revise the zombie story
6) Revise the werewolf story
7) Write book reviews for Examiner.com (assuming I have actual time to read)
8) Keep up with my writing crit circle (I’m trying.)
9) Church (This has become a necessity in my life. Period.)
10) Keep up with all my home projects (the green-friendly ones that are now my priority)
11) Hang out with family and The Diva (so she doesn’t have a complete breakdown. I love you, sister-wife!).
12) Work out. (Ha. Hahahaha. Yeah. With what free time? I’m pretty sure the 5-7 miles I walk at work 3 times a week count for something.)
13) I’m taking a 6-week Nutrition class on Coursera (halfway through), with a Philosophy class starting in 2 weeks…
14) I’m pretty sure I’m missing something, but I can’t remember what just now…

You’ll notice this list does not include things like, oh, sleep, relax, hang out with friends. All of which are things I do try to do, too. I’ve had some stuff going on with the Sierra Club and Environment Texas. This past weekend, I had a membership class at church. I have another one next weekend.

Watching TV…sigh. It’s a good thing I have a DVR. That’s all I’m saying. Actually, I did watch two shows I had recorded on Sunday, while I was doing other things. A friend of mine called while I was watching. He asked what I was doing. When I said “Watching TV,” there was dead silence on the line for a good ten seconds, then “REALLY?!” Yeah. Before that, it had been…oh, probably a month, since I had my TV on. Money well spent on the cable bill, huh?

In short, I’d show you my daily planner, but I’m too embarrassed. It’s probably confusing to everyone but me. Plus, I’m severely OCD when it comes to my planner and it might be color coded…

So, every day, I feel like this:

"Lalalala...I've got this!"
“Lalalala…I’ve got this!”

But in reality, I look like this:

...or not...
…or not…