Where to begin…

Last year, on June 7th, 2020, I had a headache. It was not an alarming headache. My Husband (Sord) and I had fun over the weekend with “covid pod” friends, so I thought it was safe to assume I had a well-earned hangover that morning. As the day progressed, I noticed my exhaustion level was extremely high too. Again, I attributed it to all the fun that we had with friends. It was not until I was trying to go to bed that night that I wondered if maybe this “hangover” wasn’t a hangover. It was different. I tossed and turned with head pain for several hours before going downstairs to get ibuprofen. Once the ibuprofen hit, I was able to sleep.

The morning came. My headache was still there, but the ibuprofen made it manageable enough to get up and get ready for a big day back at work (restaurants were just given the green light to reopen subject to Covid-19 Michigan restrictions).

Before taking a shower, I started to feel nauseous, so I took a bath instead. After the bath, I started to experience flu-like symptoms (dizzy, migraine, body aches, nausea, you name it) and I needed to get my bearings. I laid down for a bit, but my headache worsened, and my stomach took a turn to the point where I needed to puke. Once I got out of bed to try to puke, my headache worsened EVEN MORE, and my left arm and leg had a numbness/tingling sensation. This is when I finally got extremely nervous and concerned. I paced around as my American Red Cross training started to flood back to me: Am I having a stroke?!

I vividly remember shaking my numb arm and stomping my tingly/numb leg while yelling out loud “NO, NO, NO! I am not having a stroke!”, and then it hit.

Some people that experience a ruptured brain aneurysm describe it as a rubber band snapping in their head. I did not personally experience that, but all I knew was that something happened. Something happened in my head, and I needed an ambulance.

 
For the next hour I must have been in shock because I was cool, calm, and collected w/ the 911 operator, the firefighters, and the paramedics. So much so that they thought I was experiencing a bad migraine. I remember saying to the paramedics before they shut the ambulance doors that “if this is what a bad migraine is like, I am a wuss and I don’t want it!” … I hate to say it, but the joke was on them.

 

After the ambulance doors closed, I blacked out. I may have been conscious and may have even had words with the paramedics, but I do not remember anything. In fact, I do not have a first memory after waking up from my clipped aneurysm surgery. For the first week or two after my surgery, I had lucid dreams that I thought were reality, and very foggy blips of actual memories. In time, though, I started to grasp a little bit of actual reality and I cannot say enough about my wonderful team in the Neurocritical Care Unit at Bronson Hospital. I get teared up thinking about them. They were my supporters and my cheerleaders when I could not have any visitors due to Covid. They were my best friends, my family, and the wipers of my butt when I accidentally shit the bed.

Little did I know when this was going on at Bronson, my support system was spreading throughout the community like a never-ending conga line (Ughhh I’m not crying, you’re crying as I type this!).

Because of you, because of your support, whether it was through social media, CaringBridge, GoFundMe, texts, cards, letters, prayers, YOUR ENERGY: Thank you. Just thank you.

 
Because of you, I am where I am today.  You helped me get through Bronson Hospital. You helped me get through Mary Free Bed Rehabilitation Hospital. You helped me get through Bronson Outpatient Rehabilitation. You helped me get back to work!

I have so much that I want to say to you right now, but the biggest lesson I have learned this past year (and am still learning) is that it TAKES TIME. The good news? I AM STILL ME! I am cognitively and emotionally back up and running to where I used to be before my aneurysm ruptured! The not-so-great news is that it will take me more time to verbally translate that to you. So please, keep being patient with me.

Over the past year, I have fought extremely hard to get better, faster, and stronger to cheat my recovery time. I have wished it away. I have cried about it. I just want to be ME on the outside! But *sigh*, the doctors were right (who knew?!). Time may change me, but I can’t change/trace/race time. God Bless David Bowie and my stubborn recovering butt.

In short, thank you, Thank You, THANK YOU! Be happy, be grateful, BE KIND, and most importantly, BE FRICKING PATIENT. Please also know that I genuinely, sincerely, and deeply love you. Yes, YOU.

Now let’s dance:)