Was it a stroke of luck?“You’re lucky.” It’s a phrase I’ve heard often since my stroke—lucky to have my sight, lucky to have avoided more severe deficits, and lucky to be here.
I don’t feel lucky about what happened. But I do feel grounded in gratitude for the path of healing I’m on, for the people walking beside me, and for the ways this experience continues to shape how I see myself and the world. This blog is where I make sense of that journey in real time—through story, reflection, and the quiet work of rebuilding. |
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Looking back, today it's been 8 month's since the stroke. I think about that morning often. I imagine it would have been disorienting to have help of any kind in the condition I was in, but Covid added an extra layer. Suddenly, men in what I remember to be gas masks came into the room where I was slumped on the floor. They came from behind me and I don’t remember how they identified themselves. One was in front of me and the other was to my right. I know they asked me questions. I don’t remember what they asked, but I think I was able to answer them. My arm was still moving on its own. The man in front told me to stop moving my arm. My arm did not listen to his orders.
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