The following is from my written journal… as part of my occupational therapy, I’m supposed to try keyboarding. There may be typos, even using a full size keyboard.
On Sunday night May 11, 2025, I had a stroke.
Full stop.
I was lying on the couch, watching videos on my iPhone, holding it in my left hand. Around 9pm, my hand kept flopping over and I had to hold it up with both hands. It irritated me so I decided to go upstairs to go to bed.
Standing up, I was a little unsteady, and really had to dig deep to get up the stairs — I seemed heavier and it was harder to push up the stairs. (Ed. Note: I really had to haul on the railing with my left hand and ended up bending down and pushing on the stairs with my left hand).
Once in bed, I was restless and could not get comfortable. Lavelle was at the foot of the bed and I kept disturbing her. My left leg felt like it was tangled in bedclothes somehow and it was hard to move or turn over.
The first time I had to get up, my left knee “buckled, then unbuckled, then buckled again.”
Grabbing for support, I made it to the bathroom, muttering “this is RIDICulous,” and telling myself my leg must have gone to sleep.
I made it back to bed and spent a few restless hours, trying but not succeeding in tossing and turning.
My leg started to feel like it was cramping, and then I had to get up again… and then I realized I coouldn’t stand at all. Earlier, I’d been able to bend my knees to my chest, and thought I just had a cramp, but this time, no go.
David was up and I reluctantly told him something was wrong and I needed help to get to the bathroom. We looked at each other, neither of us believing what I’d just said.
After getting back, sitting braced against the bed, I was trying to decide what to do.
“Do you need to go to the ER?” he said.
Nobody wants to go to the ER, so I hesitated.
“Yes, I think I need to go,” I said.
David grabbed clothes and a duffel bag, I tried think of what I’d need and who I’d need to call later (this was about 3am).
I managed to get myself downstairs to the first level by scooting down on my butt, using my right arm and leg, mostly.
At the living room steps to the hall, I stopped (we have a bi-level main floor). It’s a wide open space with no handholds (and I thought about all the obstacles to get to the car.That was when David asked if I thought I needed an ambulance…
”I think you’d better call 911.”
And that was that.
Very soon, red and blue lights, and 4 strapping lads from the fire department.
Being lifted up into a transport wheelchair designed for narrow spaces.
Being wheeled to a large noisy idling diesel truck, and shifted o too a gurney.
Answering medical history questions while a large young EMT braced himself, swaying, while he got an IV going in the back of my hand.
Looking out the rear window, watching the red and blue lights blinking on darkened houses. They took the “back way” through the neighborhood, and then up M___ L_____ to the back of the hospital. I thought how many times I’ve ridden my bike that way to get to the forest preserve bike path.
Hauled out like cargo to the ER door. The EMTs chatted casually about how slow the door takes and whether someone would meet us. In the door, down a bright lit hall with acoustic tile ticking past overhead as I stared upward.
Suddenly, in an ER bay. Nurses. IV running in the port the EMT installed. Blood draw. Questions. Being asked to smile, blink, raise my eyebrows, waggle my tongue. Answering questions, trying to give accurate sequence of events.
After some time, an ER doctor came in, assessed me, and off I went for a CT scan. Was told for the first of many times that a neurologist would read it and determine next step.
The ER nurses were kind, and treated me well. I felt like they was serious but not critical, and all we could do was wait for a room to be available
To be continued… my left hand is buzzing like hell from trying to type.
So sorry to hear this. I hope you recover soon.