two-stroke

I had a stroke. 

Yeah, y'all know all that. 

But no, no. I had aNOTHer one.  That makes two. Two-stroke. Isn't that a motorcycle engine of some kind? Seems I won the neuro-lottery. Yay?

2022, April, Spring break. Our plans were thus: head down to Ft. Stewart, GA. See Grace and the boys. Do stuff with Grace and the boys. Have fun with Grace and the boys. Come home after a wonderful week of fun with Grace and the boys. Get the idea? 

 

                                                  

13Come now, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit”— 14yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. 15Instead you ought to say, “If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that.” -James 4:13-15

I don't know how God looks at our lives and makes decisions and plans things; I'm sure, as He is Deity and I'm not, it's not remotely how it works in our brains. He's already got it all mapped out, from what I gather. Our job is to tune into Him as best as we can, sometimes hanging on for dear life, always knowing He's got it. And our plans don't always match His. His are quite often the complete opposite of ours, as a matter of fact. We've got to remember that. We've got to, as the verse above says, acknowledge the "mistness" of our lives, and give great credence to the fact that our existence and our goals are completely in His hands, and absolutely but a very temporary vapor in the grand scheme of things. If we would really think about what exactly mist, puff, wisp, vapor are, we might grasp a fraction of the brevity of ourselves and what we think is important to us. Truly. 

It appeared as though God and I were on the same page for the initial phase of our journey. Made it to GA safely, dinner and sharing space with sissy G, Bodo, those sweet babies, even managed a trip to a children's museum and a fantastic burger lunch. Perfect weather, outstanding company, slobbery baby kisses, a tiny person nestled in the ergo on Grom's chest. Helicopter thumps delivering an important government person to the base, kiddie pool shivers, and uncle nephew giggles with jumps on a bean bag. Moments were lovely, and plans were made to go to the aquarium the next day. 

The airbnb where we were staying was incredible. It was owned by 14 and 16 year old daughters of a real estate agent in Hinesville; they had purchased the house with saved child support money, and were operatinig the airbnb as their little side gig- theirs is such a smart mama, in my opinion. What a cool idea. So, Wednesday morning, as I'm traveling up the stairs after a lovely coffee, my left leg and arm weren't cooperating- it was like they were supposed to be going up the stairs with me, but they both didn't seem to want to. They were heavy, like they had been tranquilized somehow, and felt tingly and asleep. I thought that was weird, and it was really annoying. I got to the upstairs, sat on the bed, and it hit me, and I even remember saying out loud "no no no no..." Aaron asked me what happened,  I told him I couldn't feel my left arm and leg, and he immediately called his mom (nurse of 45 years). She told us "do not pass go..." that whole thing.  I've had a stroke, but the stroke I had bypassed all the "pay attention to's" so I wanted to do this the right way, since I was conscious this time. 

My arm and my leg were obviously attached; I could see them, I could feel them, certainly. But they didn't feel like they belonged to me. It was like in "The Princess Bride" when Wesley lost feeling in part of his body. I couldn't pick them up - my brain was moving them, I could feel their weight and their thickness, but they weren't doing what my brain was picturing them doing. If that even makes sense.  They felt asleep, they felt like they were mine, but detached, too, in a way. Really difficult to try to explain. 

I kept thinking maybe I slept funny. Perhaps the mattress unfamiliar, lumped in wrong places, pushing on an old body, made arms and legs sleep. Maybe I pinched some sort of a nerve. Maybe the Ergo hung funny when Taddy was close to the grom in soft chest-carried snuggles. I had all sorts of reasons why I was feeling like I was, but all those were rationalizations; the knowing was strong, the urge was real and true to get to a hospital. Was it fear? Was it Satan? Was it God pushing me? Those are the questions I struggle with all the time.. how can God and Satan tell me the same things? They don't, I do know that, but sometimes I just don't know who's saying what. 

So, the hospital. 

Aaron asked the airbnb host, and she directed us away from Hinesville medical facilities to Savannah, to a hospital called Memorial Health. We were worried; it was an hour away, and we both know that with a stroke, time is the most important factor that determines the type of outcome. I kept thinking "maybe it's nothing," and "I don't have insurance for this," but also "if I don't do something I might die." 

We did something. 

We drove. 

ER in Savannah, whisked immediately through triage, tele-doc on a screen to a neurologist in Charlotte, watching the clock. Symptoms had started at 8:45, administered clotbuster by 10:40. 

Why? Why does it matter? With a stroke - to be cliche -  "time is of the essence." Symptoms indicate the presence of a potential problem, perhaps a buildup of crud, making the body go wonky in some way. There's a medicine that has been created- with the marriage of God and science- called tPA- it's a thrombolytic "or a 'clot buster' drug. This clot buster is used to break-up the clot that is causing a blockage or disruption in the flow of blood to the brain and helps restore the blood flow to the area of the brain. It is given by intravenous (IV), not by mouth" (Thunder Bay Regional Health Sciences, 2022). Incidentally, tPA is what I was admimistered in 2018; I didn't know it at the time. Wednesday, one of tPA's cousins was blasted into my brain, something called TNK. According to the American Stroke Association, (site here: difference bw tPA and tNK,) "...tNK is cheaper than tPA in many locales. tNK requires a bolus injection over five to 10 seconds rather than the infusion required to administer tPA. And clinical trials show similar results in thrombolysis" (American Heart Association, 2022). In reading some, I've learned that tNK is growing in popularity due to its cost and its ease of administration, in addition to its efficacy; I can personally report that I've had both tPA and tNK, and my life has been saved in both cases. Interestingly, I discovered in my reading today that the FDA has only approved tNK for myocardial infarction, and not yet for acute ischemic stroke, which is mildly fascinating in a way. It's still in the trial phases for treatment of stroke, and yet, here I am, having miraculously recovered, yet again. 

Good ol' two-stroke. That's me. 

I spent hours in the ER, nurses going through the tNK/ tPA protocol checklist with me. Feeble attempts at lifting arm and leg, answering the same questions over and over, watching lives being saved, listening to families being given the worst news, praying for the busy of that place. Peeing while being watched wasn't new- I was used to that. Scans, tests, labs, dignity lost to some degree, but somehow calm and full of peace, gratitude, simultaneoulsy. Wishing I could leave, but knowing it could be worse. It's been worse. I didn't get to experience this part before, so that was - well - cool? Wanting my body to cooperate, but feeling so guilty that I was taking up space that could have been given to someone who needed it more than I did. They moved me to ICU, which deepened my guilt; the other patients up there were wee raisins of people, souls and hearts on the insides, stuffed into a body that cooperated not at all. I was taking up a room for someone who needed the medical care more than I did, in my opinion; I was joking and talking with the nurses. I was answering questions. I could move my body to help them get to the places to which they had to attach stuff. When they would take me out for tests or scans, my wheelchair or stretcher passed by the other rooms where I could see the shriveled people-shells; they were like little MRIs, machine beeps and tiny chest puffs, pulling my heart toward them, strong magnetic tugs, tough to resist. Why am I in the ICU? I'm fine. Why do I keep having strokes? No clue. It was the paradoxical existence of gratitude and guilt, glad and aching for the others. All the questions. So many questions.                                                  

Also, of interesting note: being in the ICU is like a museum exhibit. Not visiting one, BEING one. We were all these mannequins of differing age and ailment, hooked to various and sundry machines, posed by an assortment of narcotics contributing to hunched, seated, lying, crumpled- teetering between conscious and semi. Behind the glass, for viewing, observing. Toileting on display, if one were ambulatory. Sleeping in a tank, resting under watchful eyes, gown flashing the rear end, grippy socks on pencil thin ankles, and feet that won't ever touch the floor again. Twice a day, museum visitors would come to marvel at the displays, peering through the glass, clicking on their computers, the hospital charge docent offering the daily report: "and here we have Alma, born in..., came to us from..., does anyone have any questions? Let's keep moving, folks, moving on, moving on, let's get to our next exhibit, this is Jennifer... she's... why is she here? She looks...hmmm...must be a mistake...stroke? ... mumble mumble... I'll have to get to the bottom of this... need these beds...nothing to see here, folks, let's move on to Charles here in Bay 2613..." Nurses curating those who convelesce in their wards, tending their fragile pieces, in the trenches, doing the hard work.                                             

Dr comes in Thursday, tells me meds did their job (hooray for those trial drugs, I don't care what you say), MRI is clean. They got it in time- thank you Aaron, Aaron's mom, and GOD GOD GOD, and there doesn't appear to be any damage. 

What?

No damage. 

They sent me home with a "follow up with your GP, you're gonna be fine"... 

To us, it's miraculous, but I keep wondering "why do I get these miracles and those little raisin shell mannequins are obliviously crumpled and on medical exhibit in ICUs across the world?" 

It makes me jump for joy and fall flat in grief in the same breath.

I also keep thinking, what if they were wrong? What if it wasn't a stroke and it was just some fluke thing and whatever it was coincidentally went away when they gave me the stroke meds? The MRI showed nothing, the CT scans were clear, but they said that the meds had worked and that we had gotten to the hospital in time; I'm not a doctor, so I don't know. All I have to go on is what happened to my body, what they told me, the meds and the almost instant results, and what I'm experiencing now- which is almost nothing. I'm exhausted, I'm worried, my head hurts, and I don't know what to do or what NOT to do, if I'm honest. 

I do know this: the takeaways from this one (funny, I can say "this one"... like, there has been more than one... so weird): 1. I'm on a statin now; 2. no more stuff that's bad for my body (major diet changes here); and 3. limit stressors (to which I laugh a little). 

I don't know exactly what those are going to look like, necessarily- I mean, I'll take my meds, that's pretty easy. Stuff that's bad for me, that's fairly easy, too- eat better, get more exercise. But #3- limit stressors. Hm. That's going to be tough. They told me "listen to your body, learn how to say no, rest, take care of yourself" ... those are going to be the not-so-clear ones. Work, family, life... how does one "limit" those things, eliminate the stress of those biggies? I'll let you know when I figure it out. 

I'm scared. I'm so scared. I don't want it to happen again. I thought I was ok, I thought I was fine. But on the other hand, relatively speaking, I'm floored and overcome with shock and thanks. I'm also beyond sad for the people and families who don't get the miracles... I can't stop thinking about that. Why me, why not them, what am I supposed to do with this?

Physically, apparently, I'm ok. My brain is not damaged (anymore than it was), that we can tell. I've got the feeling and mobility back in my left side. 

What I'm learning, though, this time, is that the fear is so much greater. The uncertainty, the always-in-my-mind of it. And, over the past day, though my brain and my Jesus-in-my-heart tell me otherwise, the terror is growing in me. I can feel myself retreating into a place of dark and alone, and not wanting to go anywhere or do anything. When I take steps, my thoughts default to "is your leg going to hold you up this time?" and when I made coffee this morning, holding my mug was a triumph, and I kept expecting to drop it. My left arm was resting funny on the couch arm earlier, and it fell asleep; panic shot through me, and then relief when I shook my arm out and it was ok.

How do I know the difference between rest and laziness/depression? How do I know when I'm supposed to take it easy and when I'm taking advantage or using my "stroke card?" What is the right thing?

If you've made it this far, thank you. Also, prayers for me, but y'all- pray for health care workers and for ICU patients and their families. I'm a hippie at heart, of course, but also, prayers of gratitude for miraculous science and its people and their discoveries. Twice now, God and His science have brought me home, intact. 

Additionally, if you've got comments, questions, or words of support and upliftedness, those would be lovely. Hug on and pray for my kids & my hubby- this has been strange for them, and rekindled some fear fires in them, too, though I'm not sure they'd articulate that. 

I'm not going back to work until I can get in with my GP, hopefully this week. I feel like I could go back right now, physically, but again- caution. I just want to check in with my local person, the dude who knows me, just one more check on the "you're ok" list, I guess. I've got a lot going on at school, so I feel guilty about that, too, so I'm hoping to get back to the kiddos this week- soon- and get back to the normal. 

It's so true- we do not know what tomorrow will bring. And right now, I'm fearful of that, which I know isn't really ok. It's a tactic of the devil to instill that uncertainty and that fear into us, and I am not a fan of that. This "being human" thing is hard, and Satan is a sneaky somebody. I've been through worse; I know God is using this somehow, though, and on the other side of this is one more chapter in that "Look What He's Done" story I've been writing for quite some time.

                                          

References (I may not need them for a blog, but I'm not taking any chances, haha):

American Heart Association/American Stroke Association. Stroke News. (2022). Retrieved April 22, 2022, from https://stroke-365.ascendeventmedia.com/2019/ehighlights-2019/zivin-lecture-debate-rages-on-tpa-vs-tnk-for-acute-stroke/

Thunder Bay Regional Health Sciences. (2022). Stroke "clot buster" drug (TPA). tbrhsc.net. Retrieved April 22, 2022, from https://tbrhsc.net/regional-partners/northwestern-ontario-regional-stroke-network/stroke-tpa/