I had a stroke...

Part 2

“I think I’m having a stroke,” I told the ER receptionist.

Within one minute I was in a room surrounded by people. My blood pressure was 220 over 120. They put in an IV. They took blood. They asked me to smile. Stick out my tongue. Squeeze their fingers. Flex my feet. I got a CT scan. I got another CT scan. They didn’t see a stroke but they scheduled an MRI for just after midnight. When I was sent to the bathroom for a urine sample I fell and could barely get up. Maya and Lucia were with me and the doctors asked if I wanted to be resuscitated.

“Yes. I’m only 61,” I said. I was admitted and my kids went home.

The next morning before the doctor arrived to tell me the results of the MRI I Googled what other things I might have if it wasn’t a stroke. For 30 minutes I thought I might have ALS. A slow painful death flashed before my eyes. So when the doctor arrived and said they did see a stroke on the MRI I cried and said “Oh thank God.” I cried a lot and the poor Indian doctor patted my shoulder and handed me a tissue.

“It’s ok. It’s normal to cry.” I cried because my right hand, my book signing hand, was curled up into a dead claw. My right leg and foot could barely move. I needed a walker and assistance to go to the bathroom. And I cried because I was supposed to start my book tour for my new book in three days. I realized I wasn’t going to be able to go.

“You should make a full recovery,” the doctor said. But not in three days. Maya and I spent the next two days cancelling events, hotels, and letting all the people know. For 4 days I got all sorts of tests and was surrounded by the constant sound of beeps — unsynchopated beeps—as my world shrunk to a tiny dot of my new reality.

I realized I didn’t care about the women of Iran (sorry). The Ukraine war (sorry). The earthquake (sorry). The climate crisis (sorry). My world had gotten very, very small.

“That’s how I feel on an expedition,” said Eve, my daughter who was heading off on a ski trip. She had spent months on an Alaskan glacier.

This was a different kind of expedition.

I was heartend by all the love and prayers sent my way via social media and texts. I felt loved and appreciated by many. The messages bouyed my spirit.

But the launch date of Love Nature Magic came and went. Maya sent an email to all my friends to share my book on social media. Many of them did. There was a brief lift on the Amazon rankings and then it sank like a stone — my heart, and hopes, along with it.

I had plenty of time in bed to ask myself what it all meant and why. I mean, what the fuck?! What the actual fuck.

I was afraid to go home because I live alone. My daughters all have busy lives of their own. Thankfully I was sent to acute rehab where I learned how to walk without assistance, how to put all my pills in a pill box and how to shower. For seven days the “ARC” at St. Lukes Hospital became my whole world. My window looked out to the Star of Bethlehem, which brought me hope.

Then I got sent home and here I am. It’s been almost 4 weeks. I can walk and do steps, but I have to think about it and hold on to the railing. I can cook (no salt). I can shower and bathe, although brushing my teeth is still hard. I go to outpatient rehab and do my exercises every day. When people see me they say I look great, as if nothing happened. But inside I’m still shell shocked, easily tired and trying to figure out what it all means.

Who am I now?

That has been the question I have asked throughout my whole life. I’m still a mother, although my youngest now has a drivers license. I’m still a writer, although my once beautiful handwriting now sucks and typing is slower. I am still an author whose most recent book, which I poured my heart and soul into, is sitting quietly and without promotion in the depths of Amazon. (If you see it, please buy it. If you read it and like it, please review it on Amazon.) I wrote it because I wanted to help change how we all think about nature. I wrote it to help change the conversation because we are still talking about the wrong things. I wrote it because nature asked me to speak for it, so I did. Oh, well. I’m also now one of those people who has a day of the week, AM/PM pill box.

But now I’m just glad to be alive. Spring will come (I can see the snow drops and pussy willows from my window). Even though today is cold, dreary and rainy, Spring will come. I am starting on a new expedition, although I have no idea where I am headed. I am just putting one foot in front of the other, making sure to lift my right foot, and hope I get somewhere good.