My Stroke

This a copy of my story of my stroke and what I went through!

My Stroke

By: Jesse O’Brien

Copyright © 2020

All rights reserved.

This writing of my account may not be reproduced without written permission from the author.

I always had low blood pressure all of my young life! I had no surgeries, none! I still have my tonsils; my appendix is still in place! The only problem, health-wise, was when I was 13, I was afraid to bring anything up to my parents for fear of getting in trouble from my father. I had learned early on how to stitch my own cuts and hide them! But the one illness that I could not hide was a kidney infection that had me urinating nothing but blood. I had been suffering for about two weeks praying for it to just go away, but to no avail! I got in trouble from my mother for not saying anything sooner, and with my father for ruining his trip. Other than that, nothing, until I went into the Navy Seabees as a SteelWorker 2^nd class, I hairline fractured my entire right hand, then when I got out and went to work for the City of San Diego as a Welder/Fabricator, I broke more bones, had numerous cuts and contusions, and began developing kidney stones. Other than that, nothing. I was a 10-gallon member at the blood Bank and counting. That was when I noticed that my lower number was around 100. I couldn’t figure as to why sometimes I could donate, sometimes I had to wait a while, and sometimes I was sent home. I thought it was because I was a recording secretary in my local union. Any position there made your blood pressure skyrocket. When, thankfully, I was finally voted out after 16 years. I did notice a slight dip in my blood pressure, but it wasn’t much of a drop.

My last physical was about three weeks before we left San Diego. The doctor said everything looked fine but I should have a prostate exam and that she could do it then, I made a joke and said that she had not yet wined and dined me! We laughed and somehow, we forgot about it. But there were no concerns about my blood pressure.

We moved back to Indiana and I took five different jobs and six years before I had health-care, the VA said I did not qualify, something about my wife working as I was unemployed. I wasn’t even qualified for Obamacare! So, I had to be very careful, which I was not. At one time in San Diego, I fell 15 feet onto my face and folded up like a pocket knife and my knees hit behind my head. About once every two years I had to have a script for Flexoril. But that was off the table now. I had to prove that I had insurance, and that was not cheap and it was not good, I was not covered for anything, I had to pay for any wellness checks, and anything that my old health-care automatically covered, I would have to pay for, plus the $50 co-pay!

Well, that brings you up to a point. So, let’s move on now!

As I said I had problems with my blood donations for ever, it would have seemed. I mean for at least nine years it was iffy on if the Blood Bank would allow me to donate or not. My systolic wasn’t all that high (in the 140 thru 160 range) at least I didn’t think so any way. It wasn’t anywhere close to 200. But my diastolic was around 90 thru 115 and was more consistently above the 100 range. I felt fine, and my blood pressure wasn’t ridiculously high, so I wasn’t worried about it.

It wasn’t until I got a job at the local hospital that I realized that it was ridiculously high. They wouldn’t let me start working until it was below 140/99. I was taken aback at what they thought was high and how dangerous my blood pressure really was.

I finely achieved my goal but was unable to maintain it. The Nurse Practitioner I was seeing had placed me on Metoprolol and a water pill. It was still high but barely within the limitations for me to be able to work.

Even though I was now gainfully employed and enjoying my life, while working where I wanted to work. I was working a great schedule and had not missed one single day of work. I had changed my career path from a journeyman welder of 38 years, to a CNA and Home Health Aide, to being what I am today. I had accomplished many projects as a welder, but working in a Behavior Health Hospital was my next calling and very fulfilling for me. My body told me to ease up because my knees and other parts of my body just couldn’t be in production welding any more, even though I did, and still do, a contract now and then.

Five months went by and we were still having trouble getting my blood pressure under control. It was a constant uphill battle. It would just not stabilize and get within a lower level and remain there.

I was beginning my own research as I was feeling worse and worse by the day. I couldn’t get my blood pressure below 99 with the Nurse Practitioner’s help and I was looking into Holistic ways to bring it down when it happened.

I had a stack of paper work on Holistic remedies to study and I was still taking my meds, but the meds were not working. 

I got home that night and my wife and I, since our daughter had just moved out, we had a romantic interlude. I got up later to go to the bathroom. The next thing I remembered I was waking up on the floor and not being able to move, get up, or even speak. My wife came to my aide and asking me questions. I thought I was answering her but what was intelligent thought to me was coming out as word salad for her. I was confused as to why she could not understand me.

I was living in fear of having urinated myself and not being able to get myself up. Not only could I not get up, but at least I was still dry. My wife helped me back up on the bed, she then called the ambulance and suddenly I was able to walk, talk intelligently, and dress myself. I was now in full-on panic mode not understanding what was going on. I even walked out to the ambulance and got on the gurney by myself.  On the way to the hospital, I had two more episodes and one more at the hospital. Then I could move normally once again.

I was transferred to the hospital where I worked after a short visit to a local hospital. I was able to move normally by then. I had no more stroke symptoms. Two days later, I was released and sent home after a series of tests, MRIs, and other tests. The tests showed a sign of a stroke, only one stroke and it was a bleeder, not a clot, but nothing substantial.

On the way home, my wife had stopped at CVS to pick up a different prescription for me, that is when the stroke symptoms started again.

Things started to go south as I waited on my wife to return. I began to feel like I was going to die.  I felt things close in, my body felt as though it was shutting down, I didn’t have a headache though; I never had a headache through the whole ordeal. I called my wife and told her that we had to go. I needed to go back to the hospital. She asked me if I could still move everything and I said yes. She said that the hospital wouldn’t do anything without any deep symptoms, and I knew she was right.

She got me home and I went to bed. By two in the morning, I was starting to have symptoms on top of the feelings I had.

The ambulance came again and took me back to the local hospital. This time, they had to bring in the gurney and load me up. I could no longer move anything on my right side.  My right leg, arm, mouth, speech, and eyes were affected. After a few hours, I was once again transferred to my hospital. I went through the battery of testing again which I was barely able to tolerate. Close spaces never bothered me like that before. It was only in spaces that I saw no way out that I had problems with, but I was in a panic in the MRI machine. I had to get out. I couldn’t hold still very long for the tests. What took 5 minutes felt like hours. The machine was collapsing in on me even though I had my eyes clinched shut, the MRI was closing in.

The testing proved that I had a stroke, just one stroke. Not different strokes like they thought I had, and the stroke proved it was not from my heart as I had feared because my father had a birth defect in his heart causing his strokes which killed him in the end. It wasn’t a clot, like in his case, it was a brain bleed.

They wouldn’t allow me to drink or eat anything. Nothing by the mouth until I did the swallow test, that’s when I was to be categorized. This was really hard for me. I was hungry, I was peckish even. Even though I can joke now, I was scared to no end then. I kept thinking I was going to die; I was sure of it. That feeling refused to go away.

I was transferred to a rehab clinic after a couple of days where they did a thorough swallow test on me. It was discovered that I could swallow. I got a nice meal following the test. Even though it was bland, it tasted good for not eating in three or four days.

I found that I was afraid of everything. I never was afraid of anything before. I know how that may sound to some, but it was true! Just a little bit about myself here, I was raised to depend on myself, I had 11 years behind me in the U.S.N. Seabees. I loved the dark. I could navigate myself around just fine. I considered myself free from fear of any human, but did respect and fear some animals. And I loved being alone when necessary, and loved being with my family even more. So, yes, I considered myself one tough customer. BUT now I was afraid of the dark, closed doors, total silence, anything that left me alone. My normal tinnitus was even worse! My TV ran all the time I was in my room, I would almost panic when staff closed my door or the fire drill that occasionally took place. I was afraid to go to sleep at night. I would even wake up when the TV lost its signal. But I was still not afraid of man nor beast. The doctor added anxiety and depression medication to the list of medication I was taking bout it still did not nelp.

I don’t know what brought on the fears, but they were real to me.

A few of my fears subsided with time, but those that subsided were replaced with worse fears. I could not be isolated. They had me in speech, arm and leg therapy five days a week. A hard and harsh week turned into more and the only things that helped me through the weeks of pain were my wife, my sister, my mom, my daughter, and my aunt. I had visits from others as well and I appreciated each and every visit I got. I got visits from my Masonic Brothers, some Brothers from church. I yearned to see my wife daily even though she had to go back to work, I am addicted to being with my wife, always have been, always will be. I got visits from my co-workers and supervisor as well. I wanted to go home and back to work so badly. I had an incentive to get better, my wife held my motorcycle and basses over my head. I knew she was joking, but it still would work me up.

Each week was a trail in patience. So much was happening that I hope I can remember to put it all down. But I was getting really tired of the food. I raise chickens and couldn’t tolerate the facilities eggs. I couldn’t take the sausage and other food as well. I would only eat oatmeal and fruit for breakfast, I only had fruit for lunch, and a sensible dinner. More fruit and a main course, I ate somewhat but not anything what a lot of people ate. They offered sprite but I couldn’t tolerate the acids from soda anymore and I took to drinking lemonade mixed with tea. It took a lot of the acid down. I also drank a lot of water.

I went to therapy and back to my room. I rolled my wheel chair back to my room instead of waiting to be pushed. It was all I could do to keep track of my time. I was also in group, once a week. And once a week I was brought back down from being told I could and would make a full recovery, to the first two group sessions were if I were to recover, my next two group sessions made me more hopeful.

In therapy, we found that my shoulder was drooping. The only way to cure that problem was to tape up my arm. This brought up another problem; I was allergic to the tape. I broke out in a bad rash and it drove me out of my mind until I could take it no more. I began pulling at the tape. I had an idea that I was having an allergic reaction and had to get the tape off of me. They had devised a way to tape up my shoulder to where the tape didn’t touch my skin. My therapist also had me dressing myself. Now, I am fully ambidextrous so I didn’t have any problems using my left hand, and I eat left-handed anyway. You put a fork in my right hand and I wouldn’t know what to do with it. It might even be dangerous. This would prove to slow me down somewhat in time.

I was also counting coins and doing lots of mental work as well. Though my eyes were still messed up and not focusing well, reading was a challenge. The speech therapist and I talked at length about my writings and the topics I wrote about. But I did not tell her about my problems with anxiety and my alarming thoughts. I know from where I work in psych, that the ramifications and costs to my collections would be much too high if I told her of my thoughts and concerns.

I felt my body starting to return to some sense of normalcy in many ways.  I was sort of relieved that my internal organs were on track, even though my diet change did affect me greatly. At the time I did not notice that I was losing weight on a drastic scale, but others did notice the difference in my weight loss. Even my wife said that I had lost some weight.

In the meantime, I decided to become more independent. I began to do things in my room that I wasn’t supposed to do like go to the bathroom unattended when I felt capable by myself, among other things, but only when I felt capable to do so. My first attempt was scary to say the least. I fell, sort of. I lost my balance getting back into my wheel chair. I panicked to get up off the floor and get back in my chair before I was noticed. I didn’t know what would happen and I didn’t want to find out. Where I work, the term non-compliant came to mind. Thoughts of a wheelchair with a lap buddy, chair alarm and bed alarm danced in my head while I lay there struggling to get back into my wheel chair. Even though I could barely stand up, I felt like I could transfer myself from my chair to the toilet and back.

I was still on a lot of medication and extremely anxious. I was afraid of a lot of things still, and still afraid to talk to anyone about any of it.

In the meantime, I was still going to therapy and the cafeteria. I was wheeled down by an aide and I wheeled myself back. I spent all of my time in my room when I was alone and glued to the TV as a distraction, I did not want to be left alone with my thoughts.

I was still having trouble with some things and one of them was my medication. My vitamins were in the mix and one of them was fish oil. I took fish oil on a rare basis because of the taste. But they had me on the stuff every day, but when I was at home, I would only take it once every two weeks. It got to the point that everything tasted like fish oil as well as smelled like fish oil. During one of my physical therapy sessions, it got too much and I became nauseated, I did manage to get through my session when I let loose and puked all over. I apologized and they took me back to my room. I had more therapy sessions and they were going to inform the therapist that I had afterward. Well, the therapist was already out of her room and on her way to get me by that time. I was able to perform and finished my sessions which blew away the staff. Well, afterward I was not given any more fish oil tablets. It took a while, but nothing tasted like fish oil after that.

I was also recommended for a study for my stroke. It was one of three visits for the study. They had me walking laps with my walker, standing on one leg for balance, and walk with sensors on my legs. The sensors were very confining, I was glad when that part was over with. It is hard to describe just how it felt being tied up, but still being able to move.

My time was drawing to a close and I was glad to be going home. I was still working on using a walker and was having some difficulty with that. They had me in a leg brace to boot. I had to have a special attachment to hold my hand on the walker. I still couldn’t control my right hand.

I received visitors from a group of well-wishers that had strokes as well. I found it funny when a guy told me he had a stroke with exactly the same symptoms I had that he was only down for two months total, and he was fine after that. I thought about it constantly. I had a new hope. I began counting the days.

My hand still didn’t work, every time I would yawn, my leg and arm took on a life of their own. My leg was also numb and cold at night when I laid down. The numbness had finally gone away, but it would still get cold. My arm used to get cold, but it went away. Well, to some extent anyway.

My release time came and went. They had approved me for two more weeks because of how much progress I was making. I was not informed of this, or probably more correctly, I didn’t remember. They had cut back on some of my meds, but I was still on a lot of medication, and one of them was the antidepressants. This one both helped and hurt me. I had long since quit talking and began having thoughts that were not my own as soon as I started taking them. I became despondent over my time in the hospital. Again, even though I made more progress, I grew even quieter. I would go to the cafeteria only because I refused to eat in my room. I slept all the time I was not in therapy or had visitors; I fought all the time with my inner demons. My wife had said that I had turned into a zombie. I still went through the motions of my therapies, though, the only time I was alive was when I was either in therapy or someone came to visit me and I was still reserved and guarded. I didn’t want to talk with anyone on the phone or in person either. I just wanted someone to sit with me for company.

I still met with my three therapists; I had improved even more but I was still having problems. I did not feel that I was improving nearly fast enough though. I continued to think of what that guy said, “two months!”

My time was growing short to go home and I couldn’t wait. Even though I was using a walker in therapy, they still had me in a wheel chair in the hallway. I was just looking forward to going home.

Then I found out that I had been approved for one more week in the facility. Even though I needed it and felt it beneficial. I still went back to my room and cried.

Now don’t get me wrong. The staff was top notch and I had good quality help and care, but I was still on medication, home sick, and still having my feelings and thoughts that were not my own. But I also noticed that my emotions were greatly exaggerated. I would get emotional over the smallest things. My mom and my Aunt had long since left and the same went for my sister. They took up the time when my wife and daughter couldn’t be there. My mind was very troubled, but I refused to talk to anyone about it. I didn’t say anything to anyone about my inner demons, like I said. My wife would ask me what was going on and I would only say, “Nothing.” 

My occupational therapist had me dressing myself one armed but today she had me making a “lunch,” well a grilled cheese sandwich anyway. With margarine and preprocessed cheese, it smelled like a plastic processing plant. She wanted to make sure that I would not burn myself and function in the kitchen. It did feel good to have done something in a kitchen again. I love to cook and I came to a realization that I still had a lot of work to do. After all, I had developed my own Marinade sauce and Meat Rub.

I was now using a “stabilizer” cane and no longer a walker. I should be glad, right? Wrong, I was still battling my demons and wanting to go home. I was now walking the halls with a walker and a brace and using a cane during therapy. I would be going home with a cane and not a walker or a wheel chair. My wife did not know and would be surprised when she came in from work.  She was surprised and glad.

My time came for graduating and going home. I was going home. But I still had some things going on, didn’t I?  How was I going to be when I got home? Home was where I had the stroke. I had a new set of fears. How was I going to handle that?

My wife came and loaded up my possessions to go home. I had to wait to see the doctor before I went home. It took some time but he finally came after his rounds. He asked how I was doing all to which I said, “I’m fine.” He said goodbye and left the room. I was still battling my inner demons. I was still overly emotional and began crying on my way home. I was still overboard on my emotions.

We got home and I had some trouble climbing the stairs to go in the door. I held onto the hand rail as my wife held my “stick” as I went up the stairs. I got into the house and sat on the couch. I was tired and still apprehensive about returning home. I got up and went into our bedroom and came right back out again.

That night I had trouble falling asleep. I wasn’t sure why, but I was thankful to be home. My cat and my chickens were glad to see me as well. I could pet my cat but it would be a while before I could go out and be with my chickens. 

That was on a Friday, I was supposed to get a call from a therapist on Monday. But Monday came and went by and we didn’t hear from anybody, at least until the next week. I worked on what I had and waited.

It was a rough week.  I slept on the couch, not ready to sleep in our room yet. I had some disturbing dreams, interrupted sleep, and other issues. It was my wife’s plan to ween me off of the antidepressant medication slowly. It was the smart thing to do. But it would take some time.

In the meantime, I was still in zombie mode, and my demons wouldn’t leave me alone. My wife was slowly weening me off that medication. I was already off of the anxiety pills and this one was my last one. But I was still having thoughts that were not my own and I could still not tell anyone about them. I was scared to even think about telling anyone.

I could tell that my quietness was getting to my family. It was getting to me. My wife had cut my dose way back but it still affected me. I was still afraid to go near our bedroom for reasons of my thoughts. I still knew that I was going to die and I was still having thoughts that were not my own. I had never had a suicidal thought in my life and they were coming nonstop. I didn’t think I would do it but why risk it. And yes, this is what I mean by “Thoughts that were not my own.” I knew they were not mine and I fought them constantly.

I was looking forward to being active again in therapy, to be doing anything to keep my mind occupied.

I had to change my diet; I decided that I wasn’t going to have certain items any more in my diet, even though I loved them so much. Potato chips, Funions, and other junk food topped that list as well. I replaced those things with fruit and other healthy goodies.

My first week at home was spent in severe depression, I couldn’t go anywhere on my own, do anything on my own, I couldn’t even go out and see my chickens on my own. I felt worthless. My first week at home and not only could I not sleep or go into my own bedroom, I was afraid to go into my own office.  I collect antique weapons, swords and knives and both places had an abundance of both. I was a guy that went from going someplace every day, and accumulating 3,000 plus miles a month on my truck to nothing, from being totally self-sufficient to totally dependent upon others.

I was still using my stabilizer cane and at the time I was the Jr. Warden at my lodge. I was now tripping over the three extra feet on my cane and using it was a necessary evil. But my main concern was if I would be worthy enough and able to move up to Sr. Warden. Elections were coming up and I was concerned about that as well. 

But first, how was I going to get to the meetings? I had missed my first two meetings while in the hospital. I had not missed a meeting, ever. I had a lot to pontificate in the first week at home. I also watched a lot of TV also. We no longer have commercial TV, but have some good alternatives. I had gotten into binge watching certain shows until either they were caught up or they ended. But, that Friday, I got a call from the outside therapist for my leg.

On Monday, I had finally started my outside therapy, so I had that to look forward to though therapy on my arm had not started up as of yet. My leg therapy was going to be three times a week and scheduled around my wife’s work schedule. That worked out well. The first session was to evaluate just where I was at with my therapy.  I was asked how much I could take, how much pain I was in. I told them to stack it on, I wanted to get better. My first day, I was walking in a circle with my cane, balancing on one leg amongst other things. And, I was also timed when I made the walk.

The therapist worked me hard and tried different ways to work me. They tried to maximize the effectiveness of the workouts. The first week went well but it seemed awfully easy even though I was sweating profusely after each session.

I still couldn’t run and that is what I really wanted to do again! The weeks turned into a month and they kept adding things to my workout to make me work harder. I was coming out of my depression slowly, but not fast enough for my blood, and I wanted to get back to work! I was also the Jr Warden in my lodge and I was still worried if they would let me go any further in the chairs.

The 5th week came and I was still in therapy and still sleeping in the living room. How would I tell my wife that I was still afraid of my office and our bedroom! My office because of my collections and our bedroom because of my collections AND that is where the stroke happened! The thoughts of harming myself were lessening in content and I was doing more at home. I was starting to cook small dishes and looking at my custom Chevy S-10 through the window. There was so much that I still couldn’t do! My Harley was still lonely in the garage and the people I thought I could count on were not there but my lodge brothers were there for me as well as a couple of church members were there and a family member from up north came down often to help out since we never had a trash service and other things that city dwellers take for granted. Without him, we would have been in deep water.

I was still gimping around with a cane, and that was a pain. But the therapist was building up different challenges for me to work with. I was walking around with 40 pounds in a box, walking around an obstacle course, using the treadmill and bicycle, and they had me using a machine to strengthen my legs and another for pulling resistance as I stepped away from it, and they had me climbing stairs as well.

I was gradually feeling better and joking with the staff, and calling them torture experts and things like that. It still made my day to get out of the house and go to therapy.

It had been two months and my Lodge let me step up to Senior Warden and I was still using a cane, but I was using a cane that I didn’t mind using, even though I would rather not use one at all. I had been off of work a total of 4 and a half months and my therapists began with me using a weighted sled and it was hard at first, I was pushing around a 90-pound sled, and wondering if I would be able to go back to work! I still had issues with some things but not with others. My arm was still contracted, but not nearly as bad, my hand therapist was having me work out with her once every two weeks because of scheduling and I was surprising her at every turn. But I was still working with some stiffness. I was still being observed by IU in their program and enjoying beating my previous time on the timed walk, and then I had to walk with a walker. I didn’t want to go back to the recovery center that I was at for two months because, well, I didn’t want to run into that guy that told me that I would only be down for two months. I was still upset, but realized that (with some study) every stroke is different. I am fortunate to be alive. I thank the Lord every day and give thanks that I am making progress with His help! But I still had a long way to go!

I was now coming up on six months and I was wrapping up on my therapy with a final test and I still was making progress, though slow it may be. I was walking without my cane and getting help from my lodge and the family member up north. It’s funny how you realize who your real friends really are, and those who you thought had your back, those who called you brother, kept their distance in time of need. I found a deeper fondness and love for my Masonic Fraternity for the help they provided me with and I swore to help as soon as I could. We did things to try to show our appreciation to the family member that was always there when needed. I was driving again and with my eyesight I had to be extra careful. I had sold my stick shift custom truck and bought an automatic. I had to meet with my doctor and with the doctor of the “Leave Team,” both appointments went extremely well with an okay to go back to work, but there was a phone call from the head doctor of the “leave team.” I met with her and she said no, and that “maybe there was another job that I was better suited for. After all, you may drop a patient, and what if you have to take down a patient? I got sarcastic at this point and made a juggling motion and said, “Oops, I dropped one! Won’t happen because I work in a Behavior Pavilion and my patients are all ambulatory. We have a CRT team and I haven’t been trained so I don’t take anybody down! How can you say that “maybe your better suited?” This is what I was called to do, and I’m not giving it up! Especially when I have two doctors giving me the thumbs up!” well, I was given the okay to go back to work as sedentary status meaning that I couldn’t take any one down and I couldn’t “Juggle” any patients. Let me give you a loose definition of my job description. I talk to Patients, I feel where they are at mentally, I get their food to them, I perform safety checks every 15 minutes, I am an ear when they want to talk, I go through their belongings to assure that there is no strings, no hidden drugs, no knives, nothing where they might hurt themselves or anyone else, I assist with admissions, discharges, transfers, I run samples to the lab, I take blood when the nurse requests it, I make beds, I check rooms for contraband, I assist the patients with what they need, I give groups on how to handle daily problems, stress, feelings of suicide, and many other issues, and the list goes on. But we have a CRT team that handles problems along with a top-notch security team. And all of our patients are ambulatory. It is a psychiatric facility! If someone goes off, I just step back, press two buttons and the patient gets a shot! I don’t do anything in that! I love my patients and get to see them when they come in and then the improvements they make to be able to go home! I love my job, and I know my limitations. There are at least two techs, of which I am one and at least two nurses, so I am not alone! I do a lot but I don’t “Juggle” patients, and I am not allowed to “Take anyone down.”

Getting back to sedentary, I took it, and ran with it. I contacted my supervisor and told her what had transpired. She said, “You don’t do that anyway!” and put me back to work with the Leave Team doctors restrictions. I was a little slow getting restarted, but hey, the spirit is willing, but the body needed to get back into shape time wise.

The first week was very tiring but I was inspired with the support and all of my wonderful coworkers. My supervisor said that I could work up to eight hours if I felt I could, or work only four. I pushed it and worked eight hours at a time. I had never worked anywhere where I had the camaraderie and togetherness that there is there. As the weeks went on, I improved in movement and walking. Work was helping in a lot of ways; I was still struggling in some things, and not so much in others. My fingers had not regained their speed yet but I was still working on that. I promised my wife that I wouldn’t ride for the first year or so until I felt comfortable with riding, but that didn’t stop me from going out and sitting on my ride. My bass playing is the hardest and the most difficult thing for me to get back to. I used to play speed bass, now I was still struggling to just strum the strings! I went from being a professional bass player to starting over again, and before that even! I will overcome! Another thing that I struggled with was using the typewriter. I am a published author and I write and love my spoofs. But all my notes were hand written, and then typed. I am fully ambidextrous, and began using my left hand for speed and doing a lot of things left-handed because it was easier and faster. I think if I was not ambidextrous, I would have been better off!

My weeks turned into months and I am still making improvements. I am working more hours for bonus and staff asks me how I’m feeling. I still haven’t gone back to the “Leave Team” Dr. to reevaluate me because I know what I will say, and she WILL hold it against me. I speak my mind, always have, and always will. I am NOT politically correct. I say that I am like the proverbial bull, with a real bad temper and very clumsy, in a china shop, and there isn’t enough room to move without breaking something so I just plow through! Yep, that’s me! So, I refuse to see her, I don’t want the possibility of being fired for something, or making an observational comment.

In my Lodge, I went from being Senior Warden and was elected to Worshipful Master. Yes, now it has been a year and three months, I am still making progress. My phrase when someone asks me how I’m doing, I simply say “I’m hanging in there!” or, “I’m getting a little better every day!” I am still working on some areas that we take for granted. Walking, picking my foot up when I am tired, and being cognizant of when my mouth begins to droop a little, again when I get really tired. Forcing myself to use my right arm when I catch myself only using my left because of whatever! And I still think back of what that guy came into my hospital room and told me, “Oh! You’ll only be down for two months!” and how I learned that no stroke is the same, and that every person is different. I use my stroke in my group talks once in a while to make a point, and it works. Yes, I am still affected just over a year and a half later, but I am still making progress!

I still have to be extra careful when I drive because people just don’t drive well. Proof and point, I had had my car exactly one year when I was driving and another vehicle pulled out! We collided and I ended up on my roof! Fortunately, I did not hit my head! I became a firm believer in the safety of my vehicle and replaced it with a new one!

I am back in my own bedroom and office and doing some of my hobbies. My shooting is a little off, but that is improving. My bass playing is the slowest thing that I have coming back! I have a cooking page that I started years ago that I have been adding recipes to and it has really taken off. I refuse to even consider using a knife left-handed as I have always used a knife in my right hand and it is getting better with use. My fears have gone and my feelings have returned to normal. I had to have an MRI and it was no problem for me once again. Though I still have some movement challenges, I’m working through them, and probably will for life.

So why am I telling you all of this? Why am I telling you about my trials and tribulations instead of telling you the gloom and doom story? Or why aren’t I telling you that everything will be alright and everything will be coming up roses? Because, as I said earlier. I call it like it is. I understand now that every case, every stroke, is different. You make the difference! You make the choice! It has been right at two years since my stroke and things have definitely changed in my life. I get tired easier. I am still working on my mobility. I still have small bouts of depression, but they are getting fewer and less often. I get frustrated sometimes when I can’t do something like I used to! Every once in a while, I wonder, “Will I wake up?” I see each day as a gift and try to enjoy every day. I am writing this as proof that every stroke is different and that you can return from a stroke with work and determination. Some people will return with 100 percent, some not so much, but can be functional once again, in varying degrees! I ask you this, did you have a stroke? I have read of accounts that one person can’t move at all, other accounts where the person can’t even speak! So, I ask again, are you alive? The one that couldn’t even speak wrote a book! Are you breathing? Can you ambulate? Do you have a good support group of encouragement? I am encouraging you! I am challenging you! When you think that you can do no more, push it for three more. Don’t ever give up! I am not a quitter and will never give up until God calls me home. I shared my experiences in hopes to help people! Good luck!