There’s no funny way to say this, unless I put on clown shoes, so here it goes: I had a moderate stroke two weeks ago.
Sorry, the clown shoes didn’t actually make it funny either. But clown shoes are how my feet feel right now.
Saturday morning, I started experiencing some stroke-like symptoms: My left arm and leg were numb, but I was not experiencing any facial sag or a terrible headache, but it was enough to make me think something was up. This wasn't the good kind of numbness; It felt like when your arm falls asleep and is all numb and tingly, and when you smack it on something, the tingling really hurts.
So my wife checked my blood pressure, saw that it was alarmingly high, and declared that we were going to the hospital. She said it in a way that I have learned not to argue with, especially when it comes to my own health.
A quick check at my local ER determined thatI’d actually had a stroke, but my wife was cool enough not to say, "I told you so."
I was moved quickly to the ICU, hooked up to more wires than an Internet server, dressed in a hospital gown that left nothing to the imagination, and was told to relax and go to sleep.
It's hard to sleep when you've been told you nearly died, let alone when your butt is hanging out of a hospital gown.
But it proved to be even more difficult as nurses came in every few hours to check my blood pressure, test my blood sugar, and point and to laugh at my butt hanging out of my gown. Their primary job seemed to be to make sure I had not fallen asleep because with every visit, they wanted to know my name and birthdate, which I thought was silly since they had it written down on a chart somewhere. They said this was to ensure that I did not have any cognitive difficulties. They seemed to be satisfied with my answers, so they let me sleep otherwise.
Or at least I could have, except an alarm sounded every hour to alert me that I had fallen asleep. It was an annoying double beep that I still hear in my mind whenever I start to nod off. It's not really there; it is just burned into my memory.
Actually, it was an oxygen sensor reporting that I was not getting enough oxygen, because it turns out I have sleep apnea. My wife could have told them that, since ever since I have known her, I have snored like a water buffalo.
"That should go away with weight loss," they kept saying, rather hurtfully. Way to kick a guy when he’s down.
Of course, weight loss would have prevented most of my problems, so you’re not breaking any new ground there, Dr. House.
It turns out, I have high blood pressure, which was the actual culprit, combined with the extra weight thing, no doubt. I mean, I could've told them that, and I’m not medically trained; I even faint during medical dramas.
But the worst thing about them asking my birthdate every hour is that I just wanted to write it on a piece of paper for them and be done with it. They can all chip in and buy me a gift card later. I just wanted to sleep so I would see my next birthday. (this was a mental acuity test to make sure that my brain wasn't completely broken. And I am happy to say I got the answer right every time.)
After spending several days in the ICU, I was allowed to go home, five days and countless birthday questions later, where I was able to take a much-needed shower.
They sent me off with a walker I call JJ. And a reminder to lose some weight, in case I had forgotten, and I was released on my own recognizance.
My goal is to eventually return to teaching, but we started a GoFundMe to help with some expenses and to help cover my therapy.
Since I have been home, I have gone for several walks around the neighborhood, assembled children's puzzles with my left hand to increase my fine motor skills, and because they make me feel smart. I also visited my doctor and learned about further exercises I can do, the kinds of foods I should avoid, and how I can ensure that this never happens again.
Now I walk with a limp, and I have trouble maneuvering with my left hand. Even now, I am writing this column with one and a half hands. (Credit to my wife for that joke)
Now that I am on the mend, this was a real wake-up call, and I consider myself fortunate to still be here. I am beyond grateful to the medical staff who helped me, and most of all, to my wife and family, who have supported me every minute. But if there is one shocking lesson I learned through all of this, it is this: Turns out, no one ever wanted to see my butt in the first place
My new humor novel, Mackinac Island Nation, is finished and available from 4 Horsemen Publications. You can get the ebook and print versions here.