5 Star

So I went out with my friends on Saturday, February 19, and let me tell you, it’s hard to go out and have a good time.  You constantly worry about how you look, not tripping in your shoes and what you’re doing at that exact moment.  It’s a lot to think about.  Having a couple of drinks helps ease that tension and lets you take that stuff for granted, but because of the Coumadin, my alcohol intake is limited to two drinks per week.  Since I had already had one drink Friday night that meant that Saturday I could only have one.  That sucked big time.  I wish I had not had a drink Friday so I could have two on Saturday.  I used to be able to drink.  A lot.  I got drunk really fast, off of 2-3 drinks, but I could hold a lot.  I could easily have 4 manhattans or 6 beers over the course of a night and be fine.  Not to drive, but fine enough to still be functional, not fall and really enjoy myself.  Beer and bourbon were my drinks of choice, but I could do shots of almost anything.

So being limited to one drink really sucks.  I don’t know if it’s more of a tease than anything, but I savor what little is available to me like it’s the last thing on earth.  The one drink I had last Saturday was supposed to be a manhattan, but I got straight Maker’s from the bartender.  Awesome.  It was like the best thing ever.  I also cheated and had a kamikaze shot; mostly because I wanted it, but also because it had already been purchased and I don’t leave fallen soldiers on the field.  And yes, kamikazes are still gross; I prefer plain drinks.  I wish I could have had something else, something better.

I was out with Lydia and some other friends.  We ended up at 5 Star, which is an ‘alternative lifestyle’ bar, but more importantly, has some of the best dancing in Reno.  It’s a gay bar, and is notorious to some.  Lydia and I love going there because it is one of the few places we can go to and dance and people actually leave us alone, so we don’t have to worry about douchebags hitting on us.  They play cheesy music that everyone knows and pretends to hate but secretly loves.  They have poles and a cage for dancing, and a stage.  The DJ looks crazy and the bar is always packed; you get the idea.  It’s a great place to go later in the evening, when you’re well into the night, and you just want to let loose and have a good time.

I had a ton of fun at 5 Star, really, but I’m still trying to learn to dance like I used to.  I wore heels that night, chunky and short (3” to me is short), and like I said, I was used to wearing stilettos before I got sick, so I still found myself off balance at times.  Really I’m still trying to learn to be myself again.  It’s hard, harder than I thought it would be.  Because I spent so much energy thinking about everything, I ended up getting tired earlier than I expected and ended up going home a couple hours before I really wanted to.

Maybe it was a good thing that I went home before everyone else.  I heard the group split up and the night ended badly for some folks.  It happens to everyone; I have certainly had nights I’d like to forget.

Every time I go out, even though I do go home earlier than everyone else, I feel a little bit better than I did the last time.  So even though I ended up going home that night earlier than I wanted to, I still was out later than the time before that.  RRF had an unofficial pub crawl in late January and I went out with them.  I went home around 9:30pm.  My goal is to eventually be able to go out without even thinking about stuff like that.  I am learning to walk in heels again, which is a big part of how people identify me, and I am getting better at going out.  So I think after a while, things will be where I want them to be.

I want everything to be the same or better than what it used to be.  I’m pretty sure the Coumadin is temporary, so I won’t be restricted anymore.  Side note: before you go thinking that alcohol is my life, even though I love good beers and bourbon is my liquor of choice, I should tell you that being on Coumadin restricts me from a lot of things including foods with vitamin K (spinach, avocado and a lot of healthy foods) and activities where I’m likely to bleed, such as sports where I can fall or using a razor.  Once I’m off the meds, I can start drinking again, but my tolerance will be very low, and not what it used to be.  I will have to work on bringing it back up, just like everything else.  But unlike everything else, working on that will actually be lots of fun, and I know tons of people who will line up to help me.

 That night, my friends were all so understanding that having a good time with them was one less thing I had to worry about.  They have supported me so well that I want to be able to go out again without any of them worrying.  I want them to see that I’m ok despite almost getting taken out.  Yes, I gave everyone a scare, but I’m still here, and everything is ok.  Everything is good.

The worst is over, so now we can just let the good times roll.

Personal Training

While I was in the hospital, the rehab doctor said it would be a really good idea to hire a personal trainer after I completed physical therapy.  I had a personal trainer once back in NYC and I know how they are great at not only recommending physical activities, but most of them know the importance of motivation too, so I was definitely in agreement.  I had to tackle a lot first, but I knew eventually I wanted to hire one.

When PT started winding down for me I decided it was time to find a trainer.  How I found my personal trainer is a story in itself.

I went to get my hair cut in late January.  I had been to Melissa only once, before I got sick, but immediately she knew something happened.  I explained the whole story to her, and she was awed.  When I got to the part about needing a personal trainer, she reminded me that her fiancé is one.  I know Melissa is a bodybuilder and her fiancé is a trainer, but I never put two and two together.

Anyway, thanks to her, I was able to get in touch with Anthony.  Turns out the gym they work at, Push Your Limits, is a private gym, so there’s no monthly membership; you just pay for sessions with a trainer.  They have classes too.  Their clients range from professional athletes all the way to everyday people, so someone like me, an athlete who is recovering from an injury, fits right in.  Also, Anthony has been in the business for a very long time, so rehab work is not new to him.

In our first meeting, he asked me what are my goals.  My goal is plain and simple: although I was not a spectacular athlete, I was still an athlete, and I was pretty awesome (and humble as you can tell) before the stroke, so I wanted to be as close to what I used to be as possible.  If I come out of this better, then hey, I love exceeding my goals, so I will welcome it.

Anthony and I got to work immediately in early February.  I prioritized balance and coordination first, stamina second, and overall strength as a byproduct of the first three.  It seems to be working out that way.  I have had eight sessions with him and am already seeing results.  My overall strength has gone up exponentially, and so has my balance and coordination.  Most importantly, my stamina has increased.  When I started working with Anthony, I could barely run on the treadmill for two minutes on a 3% incline at 3.8 miles per hour.  Now, I can run at a 5% incline at 4.7 miles per hour.  It’s that increase in stamina that helped me complete 1.5 miles outside in under 18 minutes.

I meet with him three times a week.  The first session we work on arms, then for the second we work on legs, and core during the third.  He is a firm believer that a strong core helps everything else, so really my core gets worked during all three sessions.  Also, I worked in a pool with a friend of mine and she pointed out weakness in my right shoulder, so Anthony likes to target that as well.  A typical session is made up of alternating between an exercise and 2-3 minutes on the treadmill.  I hardly get any rest.

If you ask me, the sessions are hard.  Plus they’re in the early morning, so waking up at the ass crack of dawn sucks.  As the one who has to do the exercises, it is easy for me to complain and I don’t want the sessions to get harder.  That’s where Anthony comes in.  He knows to push me, because he knows I need it, and even though deep down I know I need it too, I’m not going to do it myself.

As a result, he has been changing the exercises, giving me new surfaces to work on and throw off my balance and higher weights to handle.

One new exercise he has is so awesome.  I love it.  In case you can’t tell, that’s sarcasm at its finest, ladies and gentlemen.  I know in the long run it will help me, but it sucks, really.

The exercise is meant for my abs, but works on my balance.  I have to do side planks.  I’m sure a lot of you have done side planks.  Big deal, you say?  I have to do side planks with my feet off the ground in gymnastics rings.  So there.

Rings = Bullshit.

It’s a good thing that this training is paying off, because it really sucks doing it.  Hiring Anthony has worked wonders, so hopefully I’ll continue to see results. I hope I do, and I think I will.  It better help me get better, otherwise both Anthony and I are in big trouble.

Learning to Walk

One of the biggest challenges I faced was learning to walk again.  The few days after the stroke, I had trouble walking and needed a lot of help.  Also during my hospital stay I was mostly bed-ridden.  In the inpatient rehab hospital, my physical therapist helped me learn how to walk again.  When I was discharged from inpatient rehab, I could walk on my own, but you could tell something happened to me.  I shuffled, had a limp, and had a very hard time walking a straight line.  Also, my right arm wasn’t coordinated with my walking and didn’t swing with my leg movements.  When I got tired, I looked like I was drunk.  I had no coordination, lost my balance a lot, and could barely function.  The therapy I received in inpatient rehab laid a great foundation, but I knew I had a load of work ahead of me to get back to where I was before.

When I started outpatient rehab, I was prescribed physical therapy.  I started with three sessions per week, and they were an hour each.  In those sessions, I did a lot, such as leg strengthening, balance exercises and walking on the treadmill.  I found those exercises to be extremely difficult and my body weak.  They made things easier by having my right ankle taped to prevent it from rolling and my knee from turning in.  That did help, and it did teach me to walk straighter, but overall strength was an issue and until that was up I couldn’t walk fast.

I practiced and practiced, and my dad sent me a Wii to help.  As silly as it sounds, a Wii does help with strength, balance and coordination. Before I knew it, I could walk fast and straight.  People told me they had a hard time seeing anything different about my walk.  I still had the problem with looking drunk when I was tired, but I knew that would go away with time, as I got stronger.

At my therapy sessions, I could do everything they threw at me, so we moved on to more challenging things: jumping and running.

My balance had gotten better, so during one session, my therapist handed me a jumping rope.  I sucked at jumping rope before, but just being able to do it now was enough of a challenge for me.  I surprised myself by getting more than 20 jumps in a row!  I learned that even though things seem impossibly hard, I should still try them; I might surprise myself.

From there, my therapist helped me start running again.  She had me start on a treadmill and helped me get the feeling again.  She helped coordinate my arms with some strengthening and coordination exercises and helped my legs by using the elliptical and a Bosu ball.  I started off really slowly, and running felt unnatural, but I knew given time and practice, she had paved the road for me, and I know now I’ll be ready for the Chicago marathon in October.

I don’t really go to PT anymore; I have one session left on March 2, and I don’t know if more will be scheduled.  I can walk fine now and I can run slowly.  I think the therapist really did her job, but she said she wishes more of her patients were like me: determined to get better, so she will tell you it was mostly me.  To pick up where she left off, I am seeing a personal trainer three times a week and am doing things at home to progress.

I used to wear heels almost every day.  I work in IT; it’s a male-dominated field, and in addition to being a woman, I have a baby-face.  I’m 27 but I look 21.  I still get carded.  So I’ve learned that the more professional I look, the more seriously I’m taken.  I know heels aren’t for everyone, but for me, they help me look and feel more polished.  And as the years have gone by, I’ve come to love wearing them.  I’m a shoe-whore, self-admitted.

I own about 50 pairs of shoes, and a lot of them are stilettos.  I own very few flats, and most of them are super casual (read: sneakers), so I am very limited with what I can wear to work.  That combined with the fact that I am determined to get better from this stroke has motivated me learn to walk in heels again.

One of my closest friends, Larcker, is getting married this October (congratulations!!!!).  She asked me to be a bridesmaid and I gladly said yes.  Though I am extremely happy for her, that’s not really the point of this story.  The point is, for her wedding, I bought 4” heels.  Some call me crazy, and I know some of those people would think I’d be crazy for wearing them whether or not I had a stroke.  I can’t help that.  But for the ones who think I’m crazy for buying them because my stroke caused problems with my movement, I assure you I bought them for that very reason.  They gave me motivation to not have any problems, and to be able to walk, jump and dance like I used to.

So having gone back to work and knowing the wedding is in October, I have slowly gotten back into wearing heels.  I started with shorter, chunky ones, practicing at home.  I tried walking in them, and moved on to more complex movements, like dancing.  Then I tried wearing them outside.  I have worn shorter, sturdier heels both out to bars and to work.  All has gone well, so the next step is doing the same with my higher, more unstable heels.  I also have to be able to wear the shoes I bought for the wedding. 

Like everything else, I’m sure it will be a tough challenge, but hey, if I survived a stroke that would have killed most people, then this will be cake for me.

My Belated Birthday Gift

I received many gifts while I was hospitalized.  They were all much appreciated, but one really sticks out in my mind.  It was an “everything” gift – belated birthday, Christmas, New Years, and Get Well Soon.

I was sitting in my room at the Rehab Hospital, receiving visitors.  Mom and Dad were there, and so were Brian and Erica.  Plus Lydia was there, and everyone was having a great time.  The receptionist came in to tell us that I had another visitor, and that making room would be a good idea.  We were a bit confused, but she refused to say more.  When she walked out, a guy in a gorilla suit walked in.  Immediately I knew what it was and who it was from.

It was a singing telegram.  Most people don’t know about them, or think they only exist in stories, but I can tell you they’re real.  Very real; I experienced one firsthand.  The guy in the gorilla suit really hit it off with my mom, exchanging dirty jokes and whatnot.  He then proceeded to come around the bed to be next to me, gave me a party hat and a horn, and then sang a song about me.  I forget exactly what it was about, but he seemed to know a lot about me: where I work, what happened to me, what I like to do.  And very few people know that much about me who weren’t in that room and also have the balls to send something like a singing telegram.  In fact, only one person really fits that description; my friend (and boss) Brad has the type of personality to do something like send me a singing telegram.  And what do you know, when the singing gorilla was done with his song, he gave me a card with Brad’s name.  I wasn’t surprised but thoroughly embarrassed.  But embarrassed in a good way, if there is such a thing.  I think there’s video of the whole event but I refuse to let it surface.

I hate to brag; I try to avoid pointing out good things in my personality but I really do like my ability to laugh at myself.  I don’t mind getting embarrassed as long as no one gets hurt (especially me) and it results in people laughing or having a good time.  I guess you had to be there to really appreciate my singing telegram in a gorilla suit, but just know that singing telegrams do exist, they make a great gift and work best if there are other people there to experience it as well.

Also that shows how great of a support system I had; when people couldn’t be there, they made sure they sent their love and support.  But keep in mind that no matter how good your support system, or how much love they send, it’s up to you to use them and to absorb the love to help you move on.  Without your strength, their actions mean nothing.

Family

My mom and dad have supported me every step of the way.  There aren’t words to express how much I love them and how amazing they’ve been not just through this, but for my whole life.  It’s because of them that I’m the way I am today.

My recovery is possible in part because of them.  Even though I was the one who chose this path and I am the one in control and doing it, much of who I am is because of them.  I am really different from them; I live without fear to a fault, almost too extreme, and I choose to be far away from family because I feel it makes me stronger.  But they were the ones who taught me to follow my dreams; so even though I ended up being way different from them and maybe not quite what they expected, that’s me; that’s my true personality, so in a way, I did what they taught me to do.  I know I’m not a great daughter all the time, and I know I don’t get along with them 100% every time I see them or talk to them (what child does?), but I hope they know that I love them even though I don’t say it nearly enough.

They got on the first flight available from NYC to RNO.  They traveled hours and hours to come be by my side.  Ever since I moved out, I have been super independent, so at first I didn’t want them to come.  When I found out how serious it was, I knew they’d kill me if I didn’t call.

Much of what I know about the first few days was told to me by my mom.  I have no idea how she does it; there she is, trying to comfort her daughter yet maintaining enough sense to make good decisions for herself and me.  If you ask her, she will tell you she’s not strong, but many including me will disagree.

My dad, one would think, is so laid back and super passive.  He is, unless his child is concerned.  Then he steps it up and is full of surprises.  I know leaving for him was hard, but he needs to know he got me through the worst, and I’ll see him soon.

I have a million cousins.  I come from a typical Puerto Rican family that is huge.  All of them were pulling for me, even the ones I barely speak to.  But the ones who were by my side were Brian and Erica.  It’s because of them that my parents were able to be there for me while I was hospitalized, and through them I know my whole family was pulling for me.  Brian is my cousin, and he and Erica got married in 2006.  Since then, Erica, and her mother and sister, have become practically family.

I owe them so much.  Brian came out with my parents as soon as they heard the news, and Erica joined us a week or so later.  They were constantly around, and provided much needed relief to both me and my parents.  They took care of hotels and food, and all of the logistics so no one else had to worry.  They left when I was no longer in danger, but before then they got to see Lake Tahoe and much of the landscape I love so much.

I like to think we were close before, but I definitely want to continue staying close to them.  They ran the NYC marathon the first year I did, in 2009, and have signed up for Chicago this year.  So I do want to see them beforehand and I think I will (that’s the current plan), but at the very worst, they’ll be with me come October.  I do plan on heading back east for a visit, but of course, they’re welcome here anytime.

My poor brother was stuck in NYC when all this went down.  Since he was home, my parents asked him to take care of my pet parrot, Tooti. 

I know he was going crazy not knowing what was going on.  It’s hard for me to reach out to people to let them know I’m ok.  Partly because I want to focus on getting better and partly because I’m shy that way.  I am not shy in general or when it comes to meeting other people, but having to depend on others and taking initiative to reach out is hard for me.  So yea, I’m shy that way.  So I wanted him to know I was ok, but it is not in my personality to reach out and say that.  My dad practically had to force me to send Albee a video.

So it’s a really good thing that he came to visit from January 31^st to February 5^th.  For one, my mom got to go home with him on 2/5, but more importantly, Albee got to see that I’m really ok.  I chose not to be a victim, so the only thing left to do is be a survivor and get on with it, and he saw that.

Albee is almost my opposite.  I’m definitely not tied to the city, but I think he is.  Although after visiting Reno, he might have changed his mind, haha.  Whereas I’m the uptight overachiever who sticks to social norms, he tends to go against the grain, and has taught me so much about letting loose.  And he’s super funny; I think what makes him so funny is that he’s a great storyteller and knows how to keep a straight face.  I laugh hardest at his jokes.  But we’re also very similar: we love to dance, we’re both loud and outgoing, we’re both smart, we both love sports, and are both awed by physical prowess, be it human or not.  I think we complement each other very well.

I have many aunts and uncles, as you can probably tell from my million cousins.  I have family along the east coast, mostly in NYC, but also in CT, PA and FL.  I am not lying or exaggerating when I say every single one of them prayed for me.  I know I’m kind of on the peripheral and I barely speak to some of them, but I am a true De Jesus at heart: even though we’re thousands of miles apart, my family means the world to me, and what they did for me I would do in a heartbeat for them.

There’s Titi Lydia and Uncle Bruce (Brian’s parents).  There’s also Titi Lori and Titi Deb.  There’s Uncle Carlos, and Diana, Karin and her children, Sherene, Jason and Ayanna.  There’s Angelique and Pito, Julie, Candy and Areli, and that’s just naming a few!  There’s so many more; I want to name them all, but that’s just off the top of my head now and I remember the most active on Facebook (oops).  Please know that I send my love to everyone, and I am sending love and prayers to Kelly.

 I consider my closest friends part of my family.  They are very instrumental in my recovery.  They kept in touch with Brian and my parents, and most of them know my immediate family personally now.  My closest friends know who they are; some of them are here, some are in NYC and Philly, and also Chicago and Miami.  They have been there whenever possible, and when not possible, they have kept in touch via text and email (oh and Facebook too).  I want them to know that I love them; it’s because of their generosity that I know there’s a lot of good in this world, and that’s what helped me make the choice to put everything behind me and keep going.

I hate sounding cheesy, so I will simply say that I had to make the decision to just keep swimming so the strength and will to do so is completely mine, but it’s because of the amazing people around me that I know it’s all worth it.

Why I’m here and Why I’m Blogging

You may read this and think I was able to get better this quickly because I had everything available to me – doctors, a great family, good friends, etc.   Yes, I did have all this, I won’t lie, but what I had that I think is more important is the will to take advantage of what I have available to me and to get better as fast as possible.  We all go through life with a feeling of invulnerability; that nothing bad can happen to us.   We end up taking everything for granted, including what is most important to us.  But anything can happen, and things do happen.  I’m not the only example; a lot of people know what I’m talking about.  The only thing we can do about it is make the decision to recover from such a thing.  Yes it helps to have all the pieces in place to assist you, but they mean nothing without the will and determination to use them.  If you find yourself in a situation where things seem like they won’t get any better, please do not give up.  You can make them better, and I hope my story serves as an example.

It isn't what, it's how...

Courtesy of a good friend of mine:

“I believe the single most significant decision I can make on a day-to-day basis is my choice of attitude. It is more important than my past, my education, my bankroll, my successes or failures, fame or pain, what other people think of me or say about me, my circumstances, or my position. Attitude keeps me going or cripples my progress. It alone fuels my fire or assaults my hope. When my attitudes are right, there is no barrier too high, no valley too deep, no dream too extreme, no challenge too great for me.”

-Charles R. Swindoll

Starting on the Road to Recovery

I went back into the office on January 21^st.  I went in from 3-5pm, and made sure my first time back was on a Friday.  I was more nervous about what people would think than anything.  I was nervous that people would not expect me back because the most common perception of a stroke survivor is someone who cannot function normally.  I was also nervous that even though I can do anything and function perfectly, I still sound funny and if you pay attention enough, you can still see that I’m uncoordinated.  I found that I was nervous for no reason.  Everyone was happy to have me back; and though some admitted that they were scared and prayed for me, all of the people at the office treat me the same as they used to treat me.  I started part-time, and switched to full-time on February 14^th.

Work now is pretty much like old times.  I can still sense when some people treat me with kid gloves, but it’s easily acceptable.  It’s more out of concern, and I have learned to accept that, whereas before I got sick, I refused anyone’s help.  It’s the same as at home; I’d prefer to do things by myself, but accepting help has become much easier, which I learned from my stroke.

Also, apparently I was missed.  I now take my absence as an opportunity to step up and be more of a mentor to those who need it.  Five years is not a long time in terms of a career, but it’s a lot for a consultant.  I’ve learned a lot from my experiences, and also from my superiors.  Now my intention is to pass that knowledge down.  I’d also like to pass down my perspective on life; although not everyone has experienced what I have, or have had something similar, but I do think that everyone can benefit from an optimistic outlook on life.

I won’t lie; I do have days where I hit rock-bottom.  I do sometimes feel shitty or ask “why me?” or feel angry about what happened.  My speech therapist says those are normal, that they are part of the grieving process, and that I do have to grieve for the woman I used to be but lost.  Thankfully those days are getting fewer and further between.  I’m not happy-go-lucky all the time.  I’m just a normal person who has bad days, and tries to make the others worth living.  I have to take everything one day at a time; if I try to look at everything as a whole, I get overwhelmed and break down.  Taking one day at a time, though cliché sounding, helps me keep going.

In order to make a recovery like mine, you have to want it badly.  Since I am home now, and even though I am surrounded by people who love me, everything is really up to me.  Getting sick has taught me a lot, but some important lessons I have learned are that anything is possible if you want it badly enough and that people who love you or have your best interests in mind will follow your lead.

Wanting to recover fully has led people to help me along the way.  Because I want it, doctors have told me I can have it as long as I work for it.  I’ve gotten encouragement from everyone, including family, friends, coworkers and even people I barely speak to or who don’t even know me at all!  And because I want it so badly and have gotten the encouragement I need, I truly believe that I will recover fully from my stroke.

My brother came to visit from 1/31-2/5.  Having him here was amazing.  My big brother has always been so important to me; I was always the overachiever, but he has taught me a lot about being down to earth.  I have always felt like a black sheep; I’m really different from him and the rest of my family, but he knows how to bridge that gap.  I don’t even think he knows that.  He got to see Reno, and although my brother and I are so different, he gets me and now understands why I want to live here.  He met mostly everyone who is important to me out here.  Most importantly, he got to see that I’m ok and I got to see that even though he can’t be here all the time, I and my recovery are always at the forefront of his mind.

I can run now.  I look like an idiot doing it, but hey, I’m lucky to be doing it at all.  I run a lot slower than I used to.  I used to average a 9 minute mile, with my marathon pace a 9:40-10:00.  Now my pace is a mile in 15 minutes, but I get tired way faster than I used to.  Baby steps, I keep telling myself.  I go every Tuesday now, as long as weather allows and I feel ok, and starting February 26^th I plan to add in Saturdays as well.  The 10k group starts February 22^nd and my races are in May, June and October.  I can definitely do it; I just have to work my way up again.  It’s like starting to run all over again.  If anything, this is my chance to learn again the right way, and not do things the hard way.

My mom and brother went home together on February 5^th.  I have been alone since.  Even though I am alone in my apartment, I’m not truly alone.  I have the most amazing friends here, and I see at least one of them almost every day.  I have started working full time, have finished OT and am just about done with PT.  I am still going to speech therapy twice a week and I’ll start going to the speech pathology center at the University of Nevada-Reno in March.  I hired a personal trainer and see him three times a week.  I have had follow ups with all my doctors, and see them periodically.  I’m still on Coumadin until further notice.  All the pieces are in place; it’s now up to me to pave the way to a full recovery.

Going Home

When I got home on January 5th, everything changed.  I had finally busted out of the hospital and was in charge of my own recovery.  I was glad to finally take matters into my own hands.

My dad stuck around until January 8^th while mom decided to stay.  Brian and Erica had gone home while I was still in Rehab on 12/30, because I was in such good hands.  Saying goodbye sucked, big time, but in the big picture, it meant independence.  I lived alone before, and I was determined to live alone again.  Not because I’m a loner; I’m actually the opposite and I love being around others.  But I like living alone because it means I don’t depend on anybody for help.  The stroke has taught me how to accept help and also appreciate it, but first I want to try doing things on my own.

Until I was ready to really be alone, we planned on having my mom live with me until the end of March or beginning of April.  She left February 5.  I hope she knows I am saying this with all the love in my heart, but I’m glad she’s gone and that she went back to NYC earlier than both of us had predicted.  The fact that I can depend on myself for everyday things proves that the rehab I got over the holidays was just right and that going home was the best thing for me.  It also proves that I am fully capable, which is what I wanted.

I had dinner the night I came home with Michelle, Tod, Lydia, Mike and my parents.  They provided much needed laughs and company; and really helped me realize how important friends are.  They also relieved some of the stress my parents were feeling.  A week later, Gabe, Andrew and Dennis came over and did the same.  Brad has been there through it all, and Robert has made sure that work is not a worry for me.  I can’t stress enough how important friends are; I can’t name everyone who has touched my life, doing so would be impossible, so I’ll only talk about the core group here, but seriously I wouldn’t have made it this far without friends, and I wouldn’t be able to head towards a full recovery either.  I know I’m incredibly fortunate.

One of the first things I did when I got home was I signed up for RRF’s 10k training program. 

http://www.renorunningandfitness.com/

I had to run again; it’s what I love doing the most.  What better way to start again, than rejoin the group that had welcomed me with open arms and had been with me through my darkest times?  Well, the only thing I can think of is signing up for races that will force me to train:

http://baytobreakers.com/

http://www.renotahoeodyssey.com/

http://www.chicagomarathon.com/cms400min/chicago_marathon/

Yup, I signed up for the Chicago Marathon.  Yes I know I’m crazy, but a whole bunch of my friends and family are doing it too.  To me though, there’s no better way to mark my comeback.

I did go meet RRF on January 18^th.  RRF meets for a short run on Tuesdays, and a longer one on Saturdays.  After the run on Tuesdays, a group of us like to go to the nearby bar for a beer.  This tradition has become known as Beer Tuesday. I couldn’t yet run, and because of the Coumadin, my alcohol intake is limited, so I just met the group for company and water.  I went again on the 25^th, and started walking with them on February 1^st.

I started outpatient therapy after being discharged from the rehab hospital.  In PT, I learned how to walk straight and fast.  It’s amazing what you take for granted until you can no longer do it.  In addition to walking, I learned to run, jump, stand on one leg and balance in general.

In OT, I learned how to survive, to say the least.  We went over and practiced my fine motor skills, which helped me shower, dress, cook, and most importantly, drive.

I can drive now.  To me, that’s incredible.  It gives me freedom to go anywhere my car will take me.  It’s just as important to me as walking.  The two of them together mean freedom, and that’s most important to me and my recovery.

I’m done with OT on the condition that work goes smoothly.  Though my therapist was great, the way work and everything else have been going, I don’t think I’ll be going back.

In ST, I work on how I sound.  I don’t quite sound like what I used to sound like, but at least now I can have a conversation without the other person constantly asking me to repeat myself. My voice is a work in progress.  Right now, I’m still conscious of it, so I’m a bit more quiet than I usually am in public.  I know a whole bunch of people will be in uproar over that comment, but I know.  Trust me I know; I sound way better than I used to, and I sound amazing considering what happened.  But I am impatient, and I am a perfectionist.  Getting sentences out now and getting the sounds right is still difficult and tiring.  Talking is still a chore for me.  I won’t be happy with my voice until I don’t have trouble speaking anymore.  I won’t be happy until it comes out naturally, like it does for everyone else.

I know I have a long way to go, but I think I’m on my way there.

NYC vs Here

One of the most common questions I get is why I didn’t go home to NYC and chose to stay in Reno.  It’s hard to understand unless you are not related to me, you know me really well and you’re like me.  Even though I grew up in NYC, one of the busiest cities ever, I always felt like a black sheep.  Don’t get me wrong, I fit in well, and if you see me in my native environment you’d never guess that I didn’t want to be there.  I think what kept me in NYC as long as I stayed was my family.  Most of them are there, so it’s easy to depend on the cushion they provide.  My parents are there, and so is my brother.  It certainly didn’t hurt that I had friends there.  Not only friends from high school, but a lot of my good college friends moved to NYC after school.  So it made sense for me to move back after school.

However, I always felt like something was missing.  I wanted to move.  Badly.  I knew there was more beyond what I had seen so far.  A combination of things and a series of events landed me in Reno in May 2010.  And for once, I fell deeply in love with where I lived.

Reno is perfect if you like the outdoors.  The landscape is utterly breathtaking.  Also if you like animals and wildlife.  The summers here are dry, warm and sunny; perfect for all water sports, running, hiking, camping, etc.  On the other side, the winters are mild, but cold enough for snow.  We’re right by Lake Tahoe and the Sierra Nevada’s, so skiing is huge here. 

I had just taken up snowboarding and realized that Reno is great for year-round sports, not just in the summer.  If you like animals, they are certainly abundant here.  Here you can see rabbits, deer, quail, coyotes, snakes and even bears and mountain lions.  If you’re from a place where wildlife is common, you may say “so what?” but I’m from NYC.  Where I come from we mostly see pigeons and rats, which are essentially the same.  You consider yourself lucky if you see something else, like a dog.  Reno is different.  Owning horses is really common here, so that caters to my likes, and everyone has a pet.

Because I loved the city and felt at home immediately, my social butterfly self made friends in no time.  Within a matter of months, I had countless friends, mostly from RRF.  I got really close to some of them, and really cherish their friendship now.  Those people should know who they are, but I think you’ll be able to figure it out from this blog.  Soon, I had the same or more friends as I did back home.  But the friendships I made were young, and they would soon be put to the ultimate test.

Most people in Reno are not from Reno.  Since there are so many transplants, everyone tends to have things in common.  We all moved here for different reasons, but have ended up staying for the same reason: The landscape is amazing and Reno is what you make of it, if you like the outdoors.

I’m sure the doctors in NYC are better than they are in Reno.  At the very least, there’s more variety.  But I figured the worst was already over; what I needed the most medical attention for has already passed.  Being in Reno helps me feel more like myself.  I like it here better, plain and simple.

I may not stay in Reno, but I know for sure I want to stay out west.  Who knows what will happen; I will decide when the time comes.

Inpatient Rehab

Being transferred Renown Inpatient Rehabilitation was at first a curse but quickly turned to a blessing.  I definitely needed rehabilitation; I could barely walk and talk at the time.  However, I don’t think they were ready for me.  Their population is made up of primarily older people who need rehab for broken hips or various operations.  While the nurses and doctors there have dealt with younger patients, I don’t think they’ve ever had a 27 year old athlete who was determined to be an athlete once again.

At the rehab hospital, I could tell the nurses didn’t know how to approach me.  Most of the time I was babied, and though that would work for some, I needed tougher love.  I knew I could recover and get better, and I felt like some there were holding me back.  Part of the time, I had a roommate who required round the clock attention.  They had a shower schedule of every other day, which was ridiculous, and the food was terrible (really bad; my family brought me food from outside when I couldn’t eat the hospital food). 

Most of the aides let me get away with breaking the rules because they knew I was still acting responsibly, and one really pushed for me to be in a private room.  So I owe them huge thanks.  But it was because of those cons that I wanted to get out and go home as soon as possible.

But I needed rehab, really badly.  The therapists there were really good at gauging what I could and couldn’t do.  They were a huge pro of the rehab hospital.  I was prescribed Occupational Therapy (OT), which helps with independence, Physical Therapy (PT), which helps with overall strength and balance, and Speech Therapy (ST) 3 hours a day, 5 days a week.  Also, while I was in the rehab hospital, I was weaned off of Decadron and Percocet, and instead placed on aspirin to thin my blood.

Anyway, while I was there, a transformation occurred.  I went from victim to survivor.  With the help of my therapists, I went from not being able to walk on my own and barely being able to talk to walking with a walker and having mostly intelligible conversations.  It was there and because of my therapists that I knew even though I had a long road ahead of me, I could never give up.  I just had to keep going.  Just keep swimming.

I worked on overall strength, coordination and speech.  In the rehab hospital, I learned how to function again.  My mental capacity was intact, but I had to relearn everything.  Walking was at the top of my list.  My physical therapist was amazing, and knew exactly what I needed.  Physical therapy was challenging and tiring enough without being impossible.  It laid the foundation for my recovery.

Occupational therapy helped my motor skills so I can do things that most people take for granted, including me before I got sick.  Things like throwing, showering, counting change, writing and driving were all challenging.  OT helped me be independent.

After my stroke I was barely intelligible.  Like I said, mentally I was intact, so everything sounded perfect inside my head, but speech therapy helped me express what I wanted to.  I had to relearn words and sounds.  These are things you typically learn when you are very little, and you forget the learning process, so not many realize how hard this really is.  Can I tell you how frustrating it is to be completely fine mentally, but not be able to express yourself?  I can hear the sound in my mind, but getting it out is another story.  Speech therapy in the inpatient Rehab Hospital helped me at least be able to get the words out; ongoing outpatient therapy will help me sound like I used to.

The attending physician and the Nurse Practitioner were awesome.  They recognized that I wanted to get better as soon as possible, but had a long way to go.  They recognized what I couldn’t: that I needed lots of rehab if I wanted to get back to my normal life.  So they kept me in until I was independent enough to go home.

I also received a ton of support and had a huge following.  Brian had created a facebook page that many of my friends joined and followed, and while I was hospitalized.  I was visited by a ton of people.  I saw friends from college, RRF, and work.  I received packages and presents from people I didn’t even expect to receive help from.  I got texts and phone calls from everyone who wanted to be there but couldn’t.  The outpouring of support was incredible and overwhelming.  Thank you all so much.

My closest friends visited me here.  If I described each visit, I’d be going on forever.  There was Tod, Michelle, Lydia, Brad, Gabe, Andrew, Dennis, Larcker, and so many people from RRF, just to name a few.  I can’t describe how valuable and how much I cherished that time; just know that I love those people so much and it’s because of everyone who was there in body and spirit that I am still here.  I love you and I cannot thank you enough, from the bottom of my heart. 

I spent the holidays in the hospital.  I was in rehab for both Christmas and New Years.  My family busted me out whenever they could on passes, so I did get to go home and shower.  I also went out to eat.  Those of you who live here know that Reno is not known for restaurants, so the food wasn’t stellar, but let me tell you compared to the hospital food, it was amazing.  I got to see the city, and I spent time in my car.  I love driving.  I haven’t been driving long; having grown up in NYC I never needed a car, but you need one out here and I love it.  During my four hour windows of time that I was out of the hospital, I decided I needed to drive again.  I love driving.  Did I already say that?  I don’t know what else to say.  I love road trips and don’t mind sitting behind the wheel.  I drive without problem now, so if road trips are your thing too, let me know.

I got out of rehab on January 5^th.  There was some confusion over my insurance, but everyone felt I was ready to take on the world.  I felt ready to take on the world, and that was most important.  I was put on Coumadin, a blood thinner, until April and was told to follow up with multiple doctors after my discharge.

I could talk, and though I sound a lot different now (other people will tell you I sound a lot better), people can generally understand me.  I could walk, faster with the assistance of a walker, but I could shuffle along on my own when I wanted to.  I could shower with assistance and dress myself.  I did not yet trust myself around stuff that could potentially hurt me or others, like hot food, sharp objects and cars.  But I could go home, and at that time, that’s all I wanted.

What I Lost

Riding horses was just a hobby for me, but I had become quite good at riding huntseat (the most common English saddle, to those who won’t know).  I trained at Reno-Tahoe Equestrian Center, where I rode every Sunday and was instructed by McKenna Hollingsworth.  I loved it; and it quickly became part of my weekly routine.

I tried to be an all around athlete: I had a blue belt in taekwondo, played ultimate Frisbee, and had just started snowboarding.  However, my true passion lies in running.  I have completed 2 NYC marathons in under 4 ½ hours, 7 half marathons and countless other races.  Running is my drug, to the point where my friend, Lynn, jokes that if we didn’t run we’d smoke crack.   I am determined to keep running; mostly because I’d rather not have to turn to hard drugs.

When I moved out west, I needed a new running group.  Back in NYC I belonged to New York Road Runners Club (NYRRC), but here I was alone.  Back in the beginning of summer 2010, I googled for a new club and found Reno Running and Fitness (RRF).  They helped me train for my second marathon, and I did numerous races with them along the way.  RRF treated me as one of their own from the beginning and I owe so much to the founders, Michael and Lynn.  You guys are so generous; I wish every runner had people like you in their corner.

More importantly, within RRF, I found some of the best people.  I have become friends with all of them, and especially close with a few of them, which I have already mentioned.  They’ll be mentioned a number of times so you’ll get the special opportunity to know them too.

I work at a startup IT consulting firm. There are 7 of us, including me.  I’m the only girl, but I love the other six guys like my brothers.  There’s Robert and Brad, the boss men, David, who lives in St. Louis but still manages to be the life of the party, steadfast Dennis, who I can depend on for anything, and the recent grads, Gabe and Andrew.  I went from a large firm to working with them, and it was probably the one of the smartest decisions I’ve made.

When I first had the stroke, I was unable to walk and could barely talk, let alone do the things I loved.  I’m determined to get them back, and that’s what this blog is all about.  I want to show everyone, especially other stroke survivors, that living after a stroke is possible.

Naming this blog

Gabe wanted me to name this blog Mortal Kombat: I Beat my Stroke to Death.  Yea, not so much.  Thanks, though.

I love saying “shit happens” to describe what happened to me, so I think “stroke happens” fits.  Also, I wanted to convey that if a stroke does happen to you or a loved one, it’s not the end of a productive life.  I’m really writing this blog to tell other victims not to give up.  What happened to me sucks.  It was really bad, and the road to recovery is long and hard.  But I’m doing it, and I am recovering.  Others who experienced what I did should too.  If you have a good prognosis, there is no reason at all to not get back to a normal life.

I don’t think I’m at peace; a lot of people ask me, and no I’m not.  I am at peace with what happened, because there’s nothing I can do to change it. Stroke happens. But I won’t be really happy until I’m back to doing what I used to do, and I have what I used to have.  People, including doctors, tell me how amazing my recovery has been, and I know it’s partly because of how quickly I am recovering.  But I know the rest is because other people my age who experience a stroke are more likely to give up.  I urge you not to.  You know the saying “when life gives you lemons, make lemonade?”  I hate that saying; it’s so cliché.  Life is hard enough without things like strokes.  Well life gave me quite a lemon.  I don’t think I’m making lemonade, but I’m trying so hard not to give up. 

Everyone is amazed at me, and I don’t really understand why.  I hear what they say and I know they think as such because I kept moving despite what happened.  But I don’t know what else to do, really.  What am I going to do? Just stay inside?  Not go back to work? Not do what I love to do? I just have to keep swimming, like Dory said.

A girl I met said my quick recovery is mostly mental; I have two choices: sit at home and mope, or just move on.  I have to agree with her.  I urge everyone to learn from what happens to them, take the appropriate lessons, and move on.  You can’t change the past, but your future is up to you; you can make anything happen.

In The Hospital

I started out in the ER at St. Mary’s hospital.  From there I was admitted to the ICU on December 16^th.  I was there from December 16^th until December 20^th.  I was asleep for most of the time, but while I was awake, I remember all of the nurses and the aides being very nice.  I was on Decadron, which was a steroid to reduce swelling, and more importantly, Percocet.  Let me tell you, Percocet is amazing.  Even though I was in a ton of pain, I didn’t feel anything; in fact I felt like nothing could hurt me.  I knew I had to get off of it as soon as possible.

While in ICU, I got scans every morning to monitor my brain, and no rest.  Doctors were in every few hours to make sure I still had feeling and basic motor skills; basically they wanted to know that my brain was getting better, not worse.  When they did their exam, they were interested in how I controlled my legs, so they lifted the blankets I used to stay warm to reveal the shark slippers.  Without fail, every doctor loved and commented on them.  Probably the best $30 I’ve ever spent.

Nurses were in often to feed me and take my vitals.  I wasn’t yet on solid food and I couldn’t walk, so I had a catheter.  I had tons blood draws and an IV, and terrible veins (I don’t think I can be an IV drug user even if I wanted to be one) so both arms got bruised from all the sticks.  Doctors eventually got fed up with trying to find a good vein, so they ordered a PICC line, which goes directly into my brachial artery.  With everything going on, sleeping was tough, and when I did manage to fall asleep, it wasn’t very restful.

I did get lots of visitors.  I know all of my friends came; so many that the nurses had to say no to some.  Even when the nurses didn’t let them in, I was told that they sat in the waiting room until they saw someone from my family.  My coworkers came, though I was half asleep (but I still remember!).  And my family.  My family, what can I say?  My parents never left my side; and it was only possible because my cousin, Brian, took care of everything.  It was because of him that no one had to worry.  The hotels, flights, meals, etc. were all taken care of by him.  My parents and I will be forever grateful.

When I was no longer in danger, I was moved to General Population in St. Mary’s and was there until the 23^rd.  Brian’s wife, Erica, joined the party and provided much needed company.  I was visited there by Genevieve, Meaghan and Ian, three running friends to whom I became close with over the months.  Again, the nurses there and the doctors continued to exceed my expectations.  I was now allowed to eat solid food, and could walk to the bathroom with (lots of) help.  This meant showering!  You have no idea how good showers feel unless you can’t take one.  Oh man, washing my hair was amazing.  I couldn’t wait to go home and shower, though I knew at this point it would be a while.

From there I was transferred to Renown Inpatient Rehabilitation on December 23^rd.  At this point, doctors were no longer worried about me.  I was still on Decadron and Percocet but would be weaned off soon.  I was out of the woods and on my way to a full recovery.  I was told I’d recover by summertime and should be completely back to normal within 3 years but most likely sooner.  That’s an incredible prognosis; one I am incredibly grateful for.

My Stroke

The night of December 15^th, 2010, I started feeling sick. Around 9pm, I was watching a DVR recording of Top Chef, and as Padma introduced the Quickfire, I went to lie down on my couch.  Immediately I got dizzy, and it didn’t wear off.  I had eaten half a pot cookie, and originally I thought it could be due to that, but I had done it before and knew what it felt like.  What I was feeling felt way different.  I tried then to sleep it off, because frankly, 27 is way too young for anything serious to happen to my health, so I was in denial even though something felt seriously wrong.

It’s hard to remember the exact time, but I want to say around 3am my speech started slurring and I started throwing up.  It was dark in my room because I had tried to go to sleep, but I think at this point my vision split and I started seeing doubles of everything.  When my left side went completely numb I called 911.  I considered calling friends because I knew they would take me to the hospital and get me the help I needed, but I knew I needed attention right away and I felt the paramedics could get me to the hospital faster while administering some help.  So I called them.  It is the realization that I needed help that some say I lived to tell my story.  Some say it’s my age, and others say it’s the fitness level I had.  Whatever it is, I’m just happy things worked out the way they did; it could’ve been a lot worse.

When the paramedics arrived, I could barely speak or move, but still because I’m so young they didn’t think “stroke”.  Before we left for the ER, they insisted on putting my slippers on me because even though I was dressed, my feet were bare and it was cold outside.  My slippers are sharks that go on your feet.  I bought them a year ago thinking they were funny.  Little did I know what a hit they would become.  The paramedics diagnosed me with an anxiety attack and took me to St. Mary’s ER because it was closer to my apartment.  This was maybe 4am, December 16^th, two days after my 27^th birthday on December 14^th.

Around 6am, the hospital staff still had no clue what was wrong with me, and I knew my closest friend and coworker, Brad, would be worried, so I asked one of the nurses to call him.  He came in as soon as possible and stayed by my side whenever allowable.  He called my other friend, Lydia, and she called Tod and Michelle.  All of them came in to see me whenever possible.  I told Brad not to call my parents unless I was admitted; I knew they’d fly out on the next plane and I didn’t want them to do that unless there was a good reason.

I was in the ER for hours, attended by many different physicians.  I slept most of the time, so most of what I know was told to me because I barely remember anything.  I was tested for everything from drug interactions to meningitis, but stroke was overlooked; partly because of my young age and mostly because it didn’t show on my initial scans.

Despite their best efforts and after several scans and tests, I was not diagnosed until the evening of the 16^th, which is when I was finally admitted and I made the decision to have my parents called.  I was diagnosed with a bilateral dissection of the vertebral artery. 

http://emedicine.medscape.com/article/761451-overview

Basically the vertebral artery feeds your cerebellum and splits into two.  Both of my branches tore, resulting in a deprivation of oxygen to my cerebellum.  The cerebellum controls most motor functions, including breathing, walking and speech.  Though I don’t remember most of it, I am told I almost didn’t make it, and that surviving what I had was a miracle.  Even when I pulled through, there was a big chance of surgery, which would have removed my cerebellum completely.  Though I could live without my cerebellum, a chance at regaining the quality of life I wanted would be gone.

I woke up in the ICU the day after: December 17^th.  I made it through the initial stroke but things were still up in the air and I was still touch and go.  Brad, Lydia, Michelle and Tod kept a vigil by my side.  Brad had to leave, but my parents arrived shortly thereafter, along with my cousin, Brian.  I don’t remember much, but I know that somehow I lived through what at the time was a nightmare.

They don’t know what caused the stroke.  I had a migraine on December 9^th and I went snowboarding on December 11^th (I didn’t hit my head, I swear!).  The former can be, though often is not, a warning sign, and the latter can be a cause.  But because I didn’t have the stroke until December 15^th/16^th, there isn’t a real indicator of how or why.  Now my current neurologist sees an abnormal clotting factor, which is genetic and may be the cause, but I don’t think I’ll ever know for sure.