I am going to talk more about weapons. Yesterday, I spent a huge chunk of the post talking about my stroke. There was a reason for it, and I’m going to talk a little more about it today. I was saying how since I recovered so well from my medical crisis, I sometimes forget that it actually happen. It’s because I didn’t really have to do much of anything to recover other than rest (and Taiji once I was able to do it).
I did not have to do any rehab. At all. On the second or third day that I was awake in the hospital, one of the physical therapist (PTs) who was testing my abilities told me that it took a year or two to return to what could be considered normal. Even in my drugged up state, I could tell that she was carefully picking her words and that she didn’t believe what she was saying. I didn’t say anything because as I mentioned, I was drugged to the gills. I could talk, yes, but not well nor did I want to.
Fun fact: I had something called tickertape synesthesia in the first few days I woke up. That meant that when I was talking to someone (or rather when they were talking to me), I could see a bubble over their head that had what they were saying in fonts that related to a name my brain gave them. So, for example, there was one nurse named Leif something or the other. My brain decided his name was Forest and gave his words a leafy font. Plus, trees. And green and brown colors.
It was a really interesting experience, but I was not sad when it faded away. I did not need to be in the middle of a cartoon, and I wanted my brain to be as clear as possible.
A few months after my medical crisis, I felt nearly 100%. Physically, anyway. By that time, my parents were back in Taiwan, and I was on my own again. I considered myself fully recovered and went about my merry way.
Except.
I could not get the experience out of my mind. I’m not knocking myself for it, mind. I mean, it was literally a life-changing event. Except it wwasn’t, really. What I mean is that, ye,s in the literal sense, it changed my world. But, because I recovered so well, I didn’t feel as if something had actually happened to me. Yes, I was exteremely tired all the time, but when wasn’t I? Sleep and I have not gotten along ever. In fact, the time I slept the best was after my medical crisis. In part beacuse I was so drugged up, I slept a lot. Oh, also because I died. Twice. I always separate died and twice. I have no idea why, but I’m going to keep doing it, so sue me.
I mean.
When I first got out of the hospital, I thought about it every day. It was hard not to think about it, obviously. It wasn’t an every day experience, and it was so weird. I lost my memory a few days before I went into the hospital except for two specific incidents. And, obviously, I do not remember dying itself.
Actually, I don’t remmeber anything about that night. I have to rely on what others have told me about it, which is a really strange feeling. Such an important seismatic event, and I have no memory of it. At all. The hospital chaplain told me that I would have to make my peace with the fact that I may never remember what happened to me. It was a meaningful conversation. Did it actually happen? No idea. I realized much later that I fabricated maybe 90% of the conversations/interactions I had while I awake in the hospital.
That was only a week, by the way. I woke up on a Friday (which was nearly a week after I arrived, unconscious, to the hospital, and I walked out on my own powers a week later. Maybe the Tuesday or Wednesday before I left, a nurse talked to me about my options after leaving the hospital. They said I might need to spend time in a rehab center, maybe for months.
This was before I tried to walk, by the way, and during the time I was getting tested by the PTs to see how much of my abilities I had recovered. I think I surprised the hell out of them all that I passed every test. Some with flying colors and some just passed. But I passed them all.
As for walking, it was surprisingly easy for me to remember how to do it. I could only go down one hallway and up two stairs before having to rest for five minutes, but still. This was five days after I woke up, which was a big deal. The next day, the PT had me do it again, and after we got back to my room, she said that she had nothing left to teach me. Oh, she had a walker both days, but wanted me to try not to use it unless absolutely necessary. I did not need to touch it, and by the second day, I considered it a matter of pride to keep my hands at my side.
Every time I actually think of what I went through or talk about it with someone, it just doesn’t seem real. I keep trying to write about it, but it’s frustrating. Why? Because no one can relate to it. I’m a research god. When I got home from the hospital, I tried to find someone who had gone through something similiar for two reasons. One, just because I wanted to not be alone in my experience. Two, to finda support group.
I could not find anyone or any group. None. I’m not talking about finding a few or less than a hundred. I’m talking none. I did find stories of people surpviving one sudden cardiac arrest, of course. Roughly 10% of people survive (a stat my medical team told my brother several times, which he then passed on to me). That can go up to 30% under certain circumstances, but that’s still roughly a 2 out of 3 chance of dying.
My medical team called me a miracle almost every time they talked to me. When they weren’t specifically calling me a miracle, they were saying things that implied that I should not be alive. I’m fine with that, by the way. It’s just that it really hit me how lucky I was and how I should not have woken up from dying. Twice.
I did not find any groups for people who had cardiac arrests. At all. It took me a hot minute to figure out why–because they were dead. I don’t mean to be so blunt, but it’s true. And having two of them one after the other? Yeah, no.
As for people having strokes. I found support groups for people who were caring for people with strokes, but none for the people with strokes themselves. In this case, it was because the damage from a stroke did not lend itself for participating in a support group. I am incredibly lucky to have gotten through the experience mostly unscathed.
More tomorrow.