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florida80 · 06-13-2019

Recovering from a Stroke Is Hard—Here’s How I’m Making the Most of Rehab

Recovery is possible  for most anyone, if you have  enough determination.

Recovering From a Stroke Is Hard—Here's How I'm Making the Most of Rehab
Andrea De Santis for Reader's Digest

I stood in the bathroom doorway of our Vancouver Island home watching my wife, Pat, prepare to go out to lunch with friends. As I leaned against the doorjamb and took in an  eyeful of the woman I have loved for close to half a century,  I felt a bit odd. Not nauseated or faint, simply odd. Perhaps  a bit weak. Nothing that a brief lie-down wouldn’t cure.

I bid my wife au revoir and drifted to sleep. When I awoke, two hours had passed. I made my way to my study, sat down at my computer, and noticed my right hand was sluggish.

This was definitely strange. I had developed the habit of searching the Web for the peculiar things happening to my body as I got older, so I typed stroke into Google. I can’t say why I typed stroke and not flu or Lyme disease or heart attack.

I found the common symptoms: sudden numbness or confusion, trouble seeing or walking, dizziness or severe headache. I also found several tests: Can you raise your arms? Can you smile?

I lifted my arms above my head. I smiled. So I told myself, You’re not having a stroke.

The light started to disappear. “I’m dying,” I said. I was terrified.

Still feeling tired, I went back to bed. I had the flu, that was it, although the image of my uncooperative hand still nagged at the back of my mind. And I still felt odd … perhaps a little light-headed or dizzy.

At about 4 p.m., Pat came home. “You’re still in bed!” she remarked.

“Yes,” I admitted.

Another hour passed, and I still felt odd. Finally Pat insisted we head for the hospital. At last, I thought as we were shown into an exam room, we can put an end to this nonsense.
The doctor asked for a detailed account of what had been happening. Then he performed a number of tests. He asked me to touch my nose and then follow his finger with my eyes. He told me to count backward by sevens. He had me squeeze his two fingers with each hand. He tested my reflexes.

I passed every test, so I thought what I’d been experiencing was just a temporary malfunction of the wiring.

“I’d like to keep you in for observation,” the doctor said.

My jaw dropped. “Didn’t I just pass your tests?”

“You might be having what we call a stuttering stroke,” he explained. “It happens over several hours, perhaps even several days. You’ve likely had a number of ministrokes since this morning. If that’s the case, the likelihood of being struck by a larger stroke is very high.”

Recovering From a Stroke Is Hard—Here's How I'm Making the Most of Rehab
Andrea De Santis for Reader's Digest

He told us someone would be along as soon as there was a free bed. Pat sat beside me working on a crossword puzzle while I squirmed in my seat. I remember trying to find a comfortable way to sit, something I suddenly found extremely hard to do.

Then the light started to disappear. Close in on itself. Into a tunnel.

Soon there would be no light. There would be an absence. Of everything. Of everyone. Of Pat. “I’m dying,” I said. I was terrified.

06-13-2019	#1518
florida80 R11 Độc Cô Cầu Bại Join Date: Aug 2007 Posts: 113,793 Thanks: 7,446 Thanked 47,174 Times in 13,137 Posts Mentioned: 1 Post(s) Tagged: 0 Thread(s) Quoted: 511 Post(s) Rep Power: 162	Recovering from a Stroke Is Hard—Here’s How I’m Making the Most of Rehab Recovery is possible  for most anyone, if you have  enough determination. Recovering From a Stroke Is Hard—Here's How I'm Making the Most of Rehab Andrea De Santis for Reader's Digest I stood in the bathroom doorway of our Vancouver Island home watching my wife, Pat, prepare to go out to lunch with friends. As I leaned against the doorjamb and took in an  eyeful of the woman I have loved for close to half a century,  I felt a bit odd. Not nauseated or faint, simply odd. Perhaps  a bit weak. Nothing that a brief lie-down wouldn’t cure. I bid my wife au revoir and drifted to sleep. When I awoke, two hours had passed. I made my way to my study, sat down at my computer, and noticed my right hand was sluggish. This was definitely strange. I had developed the habit of searching the Web for the peculiar things happening to my body as I got older, so I typed stroke into Google. I can’t say why I typed stroke and not flu or Lyme disease or heart attack. I found the common symptoms: sudden numbness or confusion, trouble seeing or walking, dizziness or severe headache. I also found several tests: Can you raise your arms? Can you smile? I lifted my arms above my head. I smiled. So I told myself, You’re not having a stroke. The light started to disappear. “I’m dying,” I said. I was terrified. Still feeling tired, I went back to bed. I had the flu, that was it, although the image of my uncooperative hand still nagged at the back of my mind. And I still felt odd … perhaps a little light-headed or dizzy. At about 4 p.m., Pat came home. “You’re still in bed!” she remarked. “Yes,” I admitted. Another hour passed, and I still felt odd. Finally Pat insisted we head for the hospital. At last, I thought as we were shown into an exam room, we can put an end to this nonsense. The doctor asked for a detailed account of what had been happening. Then he performed a number of tests. He asked me to touch my nose and then follow his finger with my eyes. He told me to count backward by sevens. He had me squeeze his two fingers with each hand. He tested my reflexes. I passed every test, so I thought what I’d been experiencing was just a temporary malfunction of the wiring. “I’d like to keep you in for observation,” the doctor said. My jaw dropped. “Didn’t I just pass your tests?” “You might be having what we call a stuttering stroke,” he explained. “It happens over several hours, perhaps even several days. You’ve likely had a number of ministrokes since this morning. If that’s the case, the likelihood of being struck by a larger stroke is very high.” Recovering From a Stroke Is Hard—Here's How I'm Making the Most of Rehab Andrea De Santis for Reader's Digest He told us someone would be along as soon as there was a free bed. Pat sat beside me working on a crossword puzzle while I squirmed in my seat. I remember trying to find a comfortable way to sit, something I suddenly found extremely hard to do. Then the light started to disappear. Close in on itself. Into a tunnel. Soon there would be no light. There would be an absence. Of everything. Of everyone. Of Pat. “I’m dying,” I said. I was terrified.