19 years. So Much to Catch You Up On.

• She didn't know it yet her last year as a "child" was going to be her hardest year yet. 
• She didn't know if the person she saw in the mirror on April 6, 2006, would ever return.
• She didn't know it yet, but this year was the last year she would play piano at an IHSA Division 1 level.
• She didn't know it yet, but she will lean on her family so much in the years ahead. 
• She didn't know it yet, but soon she will question everything she does. From the tiny things in life, to the enormous things.
• She didn't know it yet, but in just 5 hours her doctor had eliminated every goal she had for herself, or so she thought.
• She didn't know it yet, but the next 5 years would test her strength in every sense. 
• She still has no idea exactly how sick she is, because being sick has become so normal to her.
• In the days to come, she realizes she is in for the fight of her life, and no matter how much she doesn't want to, no one will be able to fight this battle for her.
• She knew what a stroke was, but she had no idea it could make it to where you were literally locked inside your own body.
• She had a stroke. She cannot speak or walk. But to give you a spoiler, she doesn't let this keep her down for long. 
• She has no concept of the word grief in this instance, she has no idea what she should grieve, or how she should grieve. She is almost afraid to grieve, because to her grieving means it will never come back. And that scares her more than you will ever know.
• In some ways, I have learned to embrace the grief of the past 19 years by focusing on the good parts. I'm now looking at it with a completely new set of eyes. But this was something that took a loooong time to cultivate.
• She learned to embrace the hospital, because if she was there, there's nothing she can do about it. 
• She was told she should recover just fine, but a year and a half later, she was told the stark opposite. But she just took it in stride, because what else are you supposed to do.
• She made it through. And is now working her dream job, when so many important people in her life, told her she would never even graduate undergrad.

If I could go back, I would wrap my arms around that broken little girl and tell her she still had a beautiful life ahead. At the time I felt like my life was over, though. What I've learned over the past 19 years, is that life comes in ebs and flows. It's never one thing. The heartbreak, the healing, the sorrow, and the joy. They all somehow coexist. Since that hard April 7, 2006, I've had my setbacks, more surgeries, more infections, lost my one cheerleader I never could have fathomed losing. But in that same stretch of time, I've loved so hard, I've lived so hard. I've welcomed new friends and a new career. Somehow the hardest years have also held the most profound beauty. And I've learned that it's ok to carry both. You can hold grief and gratitude together. put them both in a backpack, and shake it up. And somehow you are living in the meantime. 

So if you are in a season of heartbreak, I hope you remember this: Life is beautiful, even when it doesn't feel that way yet. The light always finds a way back in. None of your plans are etched in stone. It's ok for one plan to become completely derailed. Maybe that was supposed to happen.

So how am I doing now? Better than ever. I'm working at Chicago Headache Center, as a Clinical Research Coordinator. I guess things do come full circle. And I have my guardian angel to thank for that.   I'm overseeing Chronic and Episodic migraine drug studies. Some may say, I made the best out of my situation. I say I won. For the first time in my life, I'm looking forward to next year, to see where I am then, and I can't wait to be able to tell you about it! 

I love you all. Thank you for accompanying me on this journey called life. 

I can't believe it 18 years.

I can honestly tell you I've been waiting for this day since April 7, 2006. But I can't really tell you why. And now that it's here, it feels a little anticlimactic. I don't know what I thought would happen today, honestly. I don't know whether I thought everything was going to be better, or if something big would happen or what.  I think what I was hoping would happen, was that I would forget about the way life was before I had the stroke and how effortless doing certain things seemed. Because after all, today, I've had my weakness, and brain fog longer than I haven't. I was 17 when it happened; now it's been 18 years. But do I really want that to happen? I don't think so. I say I do, but I think if we were actually gifted the power of having things happen or not happen, I think I would regret it. I appreciate it now because I remember how effortless and easy it was. I remember going to bed every night crying, wishing this would all be a dream. But I don't do that anymore. I would hate to see how much of a different person I would have turned into had this not happened. 

But at the same time, there is a profound ache in slipping back into the kingdom of chronic illness after you've been away from it for as long as I have, even if you're praying and hoping every time during that heightened headache that it's temporary. It almost feels like every time I get sick, it's as if it's sitting there, tempting me, like this could turn out going this way, or it could just be a normal cold that everyone gets, but I'm not going to tell you.  And however scary, there is something about your sick world, that makes you hold onto it like a metaphorical security blanket. It's as if there is a baby cold pool and a huge warm one. And the metaphorical illness is just watching you in the big pool, waiting until you least expect it to grab you and throw you into that familiar but still jarring, painful, but ever so world you hold so close, metaphorical cold pool. Maybe it's because you've had to make that world go from cold and unfamiliar to warm and inviting. Because that's the only way you will survive. But getting sick again is a possibility I live with every day. It's such a strange paradox that I could be paralyzingly sick one second from now. Just one second. I don't think about it often. But it's something that has been creeping into my mind more as I continue my life, almost flirting with that invisible line between healthy and sick. 

But now, I've been living with hemiparesis longer than I haven't. So, the huge question that has been on my mind really since it happened is, do I not notice my deficits now since I've had them longer than I haven't had them. Not gonna lie, I was hoping my answer today would be no. But that's not always true. Everyone always thinks that entering back into the healthy world however temporary it could be would always be a joyous occasion. And it is, but what if I told you I guarded that happiness just a little. Because it feels like if I relish in it too much, it will be snatched away from me. Thinking back on the past 18 years, so many transformative things have happened to me. Like normal transformative things. Family members have died, and family members have been born. Friends have come, friends have gone. Friends who were my friends then have proven that they are there to stay, and that means so much to me. My favorite chronic twin ever has left this life and gone on to the next. The one we are all down here working towards. 

Honestly, I've been saying this a lot as I've gotten older, and almost incessantly since I turned 30. It feels as though the last 18 years have gone by so quickly, but in other ways, it has moved at a snail's pace. I don't think anyone who hasn't gone through the trauma of so many surgeries and/or a life-changing health event can ever truly understand that. And ironically, I don't mean that as a negative. I remember right after it happened, it felt like everything I did, just reminded me of what happened, and it was like a punch in the gut the entire time.  That is the one thing that time has softened the blow of. 

But maybe this is telling me that it's ok to go forward? Maybe it's giving me permission to keep going. Move on but never forget. When health does grace us, each day is like a blank canvas. Ripe with potential for a joyous occasion, but also not that joyous. On this day, our body feels like it's an ally, capable and resilient, the receptacle for your soul, carrying you throughout this world, so effortlessly. But it feels as though you're constantly looking over your shoulder almost trying to expect the unexpected. Trying to outsmart your own illness. To stay one step ahead. Because you know, to lose this, whether suddenly, or gradually, however temporary, is akin to having a door close in your face, but at a snail's pace. This transition to or back to sickness often comes with second thoughts of what ifs; almost as a sense of betrayal. The body, once a trusted vessel, becomes a source of frustration, and mystery. 

You find yourself constantly asking why. Your mind stays the same, even though your body is changing sometimes at lightning speed. There is a loneliness that pervades this life, a disconnect not just from health, but from those who still reside within your life. Conversations change; the horizon of your world shifts, sometimes narrowing to the confines of your room, your bed, and your own fluctuating sensations. The shared language of the well feels foreign, a reminder of the divide sickness carves between experiences. Yet, even within this realm, there are moments of grace—small victories, deeper connections with those who understand, & an acute appreciation for the nuances of life & health that were previously overlooked. Slipping back into sickness is a journey of resilience & reflection, a painful reminder of fragility, but also a testament to the strength & adaptability of the human spirit. You wonder is this all worth it? This type of mental anguish, letting yourself obsess about every little thing that happens to you. 

But then you realize: It's supposed to be hard. You're supposed to have moments of doubt. You're supposed to have days you just don't want to do it. You're supposed to make sacrifices. You're supposed to challenge yourself and push your limits. That's the price that has to be paid, to separate yourself from the pack. Stop being average and do anything worth doing. Stop trying to avoid it. Learn to fall in love with the challenge, the sacrifices, and the discomfort, and use it to your advantage. Just go out and live. Because you don't know when your metaphorical bubble will break, and you're thrust into that life again. No matter how much you try to distance yourself from that life, it has become part of who you are. It has etched its way upon your personality and no matter how hard you fight it, no matter how many nights you cry yourself to sleep, begging it to stop "ruining your life". Maybe this is how it's supposed to be, because one day maybe 18 years from now, you will look into the mirror and see someone you do recognize. Someone you've fought to become, and you will remember those tear-stained eyes that looked back at you for, you only know how long. Sometimes change is good. Sometimes change is what you need to grow. So at this very moment, I'm not saying I'm happy it happened, but I'm saying, I don't know who I would be if it didn't, and I don't think that's such a bad thing anymore. 

So, what has life handed me? I've had my share of hospital visits, but every year, it's becoming less and less. So win! I've experienced the heartbreaking loss of my doctor, something I always knew in the back of my head would happen someday, but I never thought in a million years, it would happen this soon, and this quickly. I've had disappointments, triumphs, everything a young adult is supposed to have. I've just celebrated them a little differently. I've loved and lost, celebrated and mourned. I can ask the next 18 years to be kinder, but I think we all know by now, that life is unpredictable, but I am ready for it. 

17 years out. 17 years in

Where do I even begin? Well, the good news is that most of you know the story already. So, anyone new reading this, sorry but you're going to get the abridged version. So, I had the surgery 4/6/2006. and you would think that after a couple days lying flat, I would be all good to go home. But unfortunately, that's not how it worked out. About 15 hours after they put the new shunt in my spine, the one in my spinal canal, that they just freshly put in. Toast. The one in my skull? See ya later, both of them had malfunctioned. Sending me into a major pain crisis. Vents huge, projectile vomiting, screaming, you know how it goes. Dr. C comes in and says, this is it. This is what I've been waiting for. Remember when I told you if her vents become huge accidentally, I wanted to try the third ventriculostomy? Well, this is my chance. He even tilted the head of my bed backwards, so my ventricles would get even bigger faster. He said, she's not going to have a life unless we do something now. Meaning unless he decided the 3VC and only the 3VC, I wasn't going to make it in his eyes. So, what was my mom supposed to do? He gave her an ultimatum. Except the consequence was going to be far greater, if she didn't say yes. And the last thing he said was this is probably going to be a 10-hour surgery, so get comfortable (which idk why he said that I've looked it up it takes 1-2 hours max). When he was telling my mom this, it was around midnight. So, when she saw him coming through those doors at 6am, she knew something was wrong. He proceeded to tell my mom, that I had a hemorrhagic stroke during the surgery, and they were unable to finish. He said we were able to make the bypass in the 3rd ventricle, but they weren't able to make it was big as they wanted, so I did still need a shunt, which if anyone is unfamiliar with third vetriculostomies, they are a treatment that will hopefully be able to let you avoid the shunt. Which most doctors want to do these days, if you are a candidate, because shunts obviously have their own problems. Then he said, I'm not sure if she can speak or not, when she was waking up, I tried talking to her, but she didn't answer me. Her speech is most likely affected, her right side is affected, fine motor skills will be greatly affected, but she has her age on her side, she's so young, she will be able to gain everything back in a year tops (spoiler alert, didn't happen)

I have been imagining this day since the stroke first happened. And I can't believe the day is actually here. That sounds weird, if you just read it with an upbeat connotation like I do, so let me explain. In years past, I would think to myself, am I ever going to get to a day, where I don't notice that my fingers don't really work anymore? Will I ever wake up and not notice that my hand is in a tight fist? And to be honest, I still think that from time to time. April, and the days and weeks after it have literally silenced me. Thinking back over the past 17 years, it has not gone as planned. And anyone who knows me knows that I can't do anything without a plan. But in reality, does anything go as planned? My life was forever changed on April 7, 2006. And I don't want that to be automatically construed as a negative statement, but I also don't want it to be automatically interpreted as a positive statement. It's more of an in-the-middle statement. Not exactly knowing which way to lean. Knowing I can't truthfully lean completely in one direction or the other. So, in a way that's good right? But the question remains. Do I feel as though my body is still foreign to me? Or have I gotten used to it? Something I promised myself would NEVER happen. I remember who I was, and I miss her. If I think hard enough, I can be back there, but then when I just try to grasp that feeling, right when it becomes tangible, it's like it's blown just out of my reach. Every time. But I will say, I LOVE the adult that being sick has turned me into. It's a strange paradox. It's like you're straddling a line with fire on one side, and terrifying angry tigers on the other. 

If I were only able to think of one word to describe this time in my life, I think it would be continue. Because that is literally the only thing, I could do by myself. I couldn't walk unaided, I couldn't speak. It was as though I was locked in a prison. I could absorb everything, but I couldn't verbally react unless you count crying. I was the only person who could make the decision to continue. I never really considered myself to be a extremely independent person, but in this recovery process, I had to be. No one could make me better but myself. I was the only person who could decide to do the therapy, I was the only person who could decide to decide to speak; to take another lap around comer CICU, with the walker. 

So, 17 years later. Where am I? Keep reading and you will find out! I always say when it comes to my being sick, if I had to do it again, just to keep everything I've learned and the outlook I gained, the wonderful friends I've made etc. that I would without a doubt. But I've recently had a revelation:  you know how it's going to end (and not to mention that could never happen🙄). If you were to do it again, you know everything that's going to happen. I know every horrible step, but I also know that every horrible thing that happens is going to have a happy ending. So, I think I will change my answer for the first time in 17 years, just a little. Yes, I would go through it all again. BUT if and only if I were able to see what my life would eventually look like. I just finished a post baccalaureate program at my alma mater, Dominican University. I brought my GPA up literally a point and a half. I'm applying for jobs at University of Chicago. Once a patient, then a volunteer/intern, maybe an employee in the future. So happy that 17 years ago I made the decision to continue, and as my dad says Never Give Up. Next 17 years, I hope you're a little kinder to me, but whatever you have in store, I'm ready for ya.

. 

April 11, 2006

This is something I never really elaborated on. I just always included it as a little blurb after my April 7th post as maybe the last paragraph. But 4 days after I had the stroke, I was in PCICU, my mom was literally sleeping in a chair because in PCICU there aren’t even rooms really, but I remember just staring at the ceiling. It was dark, and I was just staring into this never-ending abyss of black. Wondering, where do I go from here, will I ever be the same again, but at the same time, realizing that I wasn’t saying any of this. I was just thinking it. I think it was in that moment that I completely grasped the enormity of what it was to be unable to communicate. And as I lay there trying to wrap my head around the fact that I can hear myself, but literally no one else can, I realize that actual sound is coming out of my mouth. At first, I was so excited because I thought omg maybe they were wrong I’m going to be fine, I’ll show them etc. But then I realized that everything that I was “trying to say”, was NOT coming out correctly. I like to compare it to the way a 6-month-old baby babbles. But no matter how much I tried I couldn’t say these words in the way I wanted to. Suddenly, then I see my mom. Standing above me, and I look into her eyes with this feverish omg HELP ME look. She knew something was going on, and she needed the Dr. K ASAP. The long and the short of it was the doctor, after being interrupted in her social conversation multiple times, came over to me and looked at me for approximately 2 seconds. Then she turned white as a ghost, and yelled something to the on-call nurse, and she got me down to CT scan I think the fastest I've ever gotten down to CT scan. It was absolutely crazy. 

Then as they're doing the CT scan, I feel as though I'm about to get sick, but as I'm watching the film spin around and around, I keep telling myself, "don't worry, you will be out of this, in a mere 20 seconds. Just keep breathing slowly, and you will be fine. But I couldn't do that. All of a sudden, the CT tech, Dr, K, and my mom see projectile vomit coming out of the CT scanner. Everyone runs in, and all I hear is, "Sit her up, sit her up," I remember trying to help them, but then realizing I had absolutely zero trunk control. I couldn't sit up on my own, I couldn't really lift my head on my own, I couldn't do anything. Then when they felt they got me stable enough to move, we went back up to the PCICU, Dr. K told my nurse who was in charge of me and another patient that night, that she had assigned another nurse for her other patient, and that I "needed a lot of attention". She also asked her to go to the supply closet to grab her some chucks and a few other things, that she wanted to do a bedside LP. She was suspicious that the blood that was in my brain, was causing some if not all of my issues. Sure enough, she did the LP, and the first drop of CSF, came out pink. 

Dr. K was finally able to put all of the pieces together. She also realized through doing this LP, that my pressure was a lot higher than it should have been, that the blood got itself clogged in the shunt, and broke my shunt. So neurosurg was called, and emergency surgery was done that night actually. So that took going to RIC downtown, in 2 days off the table. But as I was able to recover more from that surgery, it became clearer and clearer to me that I didn't feel like the same person who walked into Comer Children's hospital, just 2 weeks ago. When I looked in the mirror, I just saw a shell of myself. I didn't know how to get me back; I wasn't even sure if I cared enough to get me back. At this point, I was in my own little world, that I had created for myself. It's like that peaceful, drama free bubble everyone talks about wanting to be in. Well, I created as close to the real thing as is humanly possible. I wasn't talking to anybody. Not even the speech therapists, and they knew I understood them.  They told my mom that this was all completely normal, but nothing about your 17-year-old having a stroke, and literally having to start again at literally square 1, is normal. 

I remember when the speech therapists would come to my "area." They would bring communication boards, and flashcards, and everything possible to get me to start talking again. I remember, one of them asking me how I felt that day, and I just looked into her eyes for seemingly forever, and then I stared at the many communication boards that were sitting before me. I finally found a word that described what I was feeling. But I didn't want to point to it, because I thought I would get in trouble. The word was afraid. I was so afraid of anyone reading my chart, any doctor or nurse coming into my room, because I equated them with bad news. And as if getting your life taken just out of your reach, wasn't scary enough, I didn't want any more bad news, which was the only thing on my mind at that point. I felt like if I was expecting bad news, it wouldn't be such a blow if I got bad news because I was emotionally prepared for it. 

About 3 days later, a physical therapist walked in. With a walker, and one of those PT belts. And she said, in the most high-pitched annoying voice you can ever imagine, "Hi Kimi! We are going to try walking today! My face? Imagine the best resting bitch face you can. She tied the band around my waist, and put the walker at my bed. I remember feeling so worn out just after literally sitting up. I finally had the courage to stand up. My legs literally felt like jello. Not walking on them for 10+ days and a stroke will do that to you. my right leg felt so heavy. Like it had a weight on it. She said, "Ok we are going to try and walk half way around the floor. But your mom is behind me with the wheelchair if you get tired. I wasn't talking at all. To this day, I'm not really sure if I couldn't talk, or just didn't want to. But I made it to the halfway point! And then she asked me if I wanted to get in the wheelchair, or walk back to my bed. I just started walking. Apparently anything to avoid talking. 

Today? If I know you, I will talk your ear off if there's something I really want to tell you. If I don't know you as well, and/or you don't have a clue about my medical history, I may appear a little standoffish. But once you have gained my trust, it's like we've been besties forever.  But here’s a warning, if you ever do anything bad enough to break that trust, good luck at getting it back. It rarely happens. I love hard, and try even harder. I don't know what tomorrow will bring, but whatever it is I'm ready for it. 

If I Could Go Back and give myself a Roadmap for the next 16 years

OMG! It's that time of year again! As I get older these things come around more and more quickly. I can see that doe eyed "little" girl lying in that bed. Sleeping Sleeping all the time, just to escape the pain. When she is awake, she is just staring at what had become her world now trying to decipher how she could have let this happen, or was this all her fault?  How could it come to this? How could he let this happen? OMG I can't speak or move my right side, is this what a stroke is!? What is happening!? I know all of your questions. I wanted to give you a roadmap of sorts.

For those of you who don't know, which I don't think there aren't many of you at this point, but I had a hemorrhagic stroke on April 7, 2006, as a result of a failed 3rd Ventriculostomy (3VC, ETV, idk there are a lot of names for it). That stroke took away my ability to talk, walk, and pretty much do anything with my right arm and hand. The first few days were pretty rough, as I'm sure you can imagine. Not being able to communicate at all, really is annoying. No matter how much I ever say, "Oh I hate people, or oh I hate working in groups or talking with people, I will never hate it enough to go back to that (If it were even possible)

A lot of people ask me what I would say to that 17-year-old little girl. It would be this. I want you to know, sweet one, that any emotions you feel are okay and valid. There are no such thing as good and bad emotions. There are just emotions. Emotions come and go just like passing clouds. They don't need to be judged. You just need to compassionately gently take care of yourself while the emotional storm hits. You deserve to find the best way possible for you to cope in this moment. There's no right and no wrong. This is new territory for everyone. So, you write your own rules for this. Whatever feels right. It’s completely normal to think you had an awesome day in therapy, think you rocked it and then to come back to it the next day feeling you made absolutely no progress at all, and feeling absolutely defeated.

Lean on those around you. This is too much to have to handle by yourself. I know you have always done things on your own, but bearing this huge burden all by yourself, is so much for you to take on with trying to recover and trying to do schoolwork. Feeling overwhelmed, frightened, doubt, and despair are all normal. Don't fret, they won’t last; they're like passing rain clouds, they come, stay for a little while, unfortunately make your life a little more difficult, and then they're gone. Then you move onto the next hurdle. Trust me. Nothing comes with no reward; it will take you a while to see it, but once you realize it’s there, you will never let it go.

You will have doubts, everyone does. You will wonder is this all worth it, you will wonder where “yourself” is, you will wonder if she will ever come back. But your eyes stay fixed on the one person who has remained constant through this entire thing. The man that “did this to you”. The same man who brought your story to all the neurosurg conferences in the country. The same man who said, I was supposed to be in Texas a month ago, but I couldn’t leave until I knew you were with someone I trusted. If you’re reading this Dr. C, just know this, you never had to prove anything to me. The phrase actions speak louder than words, exemplifies your dedication to my complicated case.

Kimi, I know every year, on one hand you can’t believe another year has gone by but at the same time, it has taken forever, you’ve almost been “disabled” as long as you were not. You can say you’re used to it, but I know that no part of you is. I know every fear you have, and every fear you will have. And I can tell you every single one of them is justified.

So what am I up to now? I’m just finishing up the second semester of my post bacc program. Hopefully working this summer in an unnamed (by choice) research facility as an intern, and then going into my last semester. What am I going to do with this degree? Get a job in research and organizing clinical trials. I’ve made it my mission to not let any child go through what I have. 

My scars are many. I used to be so embarrassed by them. I remember when I had a long, red scar on my neck, and I had to go to a formal dinner, a month after surgery, I told my mom I wasn't going unless I could find a necklace that would cover my scar. But now I get it. My scars tell a story all by themselves. They tell a story that I would never be brave enough to tell on my own; A story that says I survived.

 

What My Stroke Forced Me to Do, and Why I’m not the Slightest Bit Sorry

Hi folks, it's that time of year again! Wow! In some ways I can't believe it, and in other ways it feels as though the past couple of years have just been scraping by for different reasons of course. But I had mentioned right after quarantine started, that it wasn't a huge deal for me, the safety measures that were being taken, quarantine etc, and at the time it was 110 % true. But I will admit as the days have gone on and Corona has clearly shown us that it isn't going anywhere, it has gotten to be a little much. When Corona first started, and everyone was going crazy, buying toilet paper (really guys) and stock piling foods, I didn't take it seriously. it wasn't until I got Corona and had to really go into quarantine, in my own apartment, (literally couldn't leave my room) that I realized why everyone was so afraid of this virus. but anyway, that's not what this post is about; well it sort of is...…

I can't believe it's been so long. I've been writing about for an eternity it feels like(wow the past 5 years, that's meant to be a facetious comment haha). Last year I did 14 things I've learned for 14 years. And no lie I was amazed that I came up with all 14. As I look back on these past 15 years, a flood of emotions hit me like a tidal wave on Lake Michigan. Cold, and unexpected.(well sort of) In very recent years it's not sadness the feeling that automatically came with this date for so long. So many people in the medical community said it would be a miracle if I ever did X, whether that was graduating from high school, going to a four year university, and graduating that university. I felt like their inability to see what I saw that I was capable of sort of pushed me forward in a way.

I was on the youngish side when I got sick. And so quite honestly I didn’t really know how to “give up” especially on myself, it just never really crossed my mind. I think that giving up is very much a learned quality that is built on many years of hardship that unfortunately, we all have to go through at some point in our lives. But as kids, young teenagers I didn’t really want to give in and with all the professionals all around me telling me that it was possible to get back to where I was pre-stroke just made me try even harder. I didn’t want to say ok you win. I couldn’t; not if I was going to achieve my dream of graduating with my class. Giving up, or giving in was something I had never done before, and for that reason I’m so glad that I got sick/had the stroke when I did. I wouldn’t say no to my physical therapist when she asked me to do a complete set of bicep curls, or shoulder squeezes, all I knew was what I was constantly being told. That if I did the therapy religiously I would be better, in a year, so I think you can understand how crushed I was when it didn’t turn out that way. Honestly I didn’t know what I was thinking. You’re not suddenly 100% a year later no matter how much therapy you do(especially if you have as many complications as I had).

A majority of the people who have strokes in their lives, are up there in age. That's no secret. But what if I told you that behind that tear stained face there was a silver lining? I can't imagine the person I would be today if the past 15 years didn't happen the way they did. But I don't always want that to be a 100% positive statement either. Yes I have a good attitude about this now, but yes there are also certain things that I wish didn't happen, or happened differently. 

I literally feel cliché saying this, but having a stroke changed my life. Clearly; waking up and not being able to communicate and/or use the entire right side of your body will change your life in more ways than one, but you decide if that change is going to be positive or negative. Having the stroke when I did, made me step back and almost look at my life with a birds eye view. It was literally almost like I was  watching myself do everything. You would be surprised what happens when you step back and are able to visualize your own life. I wouldn't exactly say I recommend it, but sometimes you have to do it, for your own sake. For me it only happened after that tragic event, so in that way I don't recommend. I saw the new way I had to do things, and almost gave myself permission to do it in that way. And it was so incredibly freeing, but that doesn't mean I wasn't bending over backwards to get myself to where I was on April 6 2006. But by giving myself "permission" to change the way I did basically everything, was so much more liberating than I thought it would be. 

Having a stroke and having so many things taken away from you that once you were able to do seemingly effortlessly, definitely humbles you. I used to do pretty much everything by myself, and suddenly l couldn't even go to the bathroom by myself. I could barely say a sentence without practicing it in my head for 5 minutes; and then it still would come out only half right. It wasn't until this point in my life that I had a real "life challenge". And suddenly I was literally locked in. I could talk; yes, but I was so afraid because I didn't even know what a stroke was really. I didn't realize that it could disrupt your life this much, and take this much of your world away from you. But it was during this time, that I was able to discern what was really important in my life. It unknowingly forced me to slow down and enjoy my life and the things I could still do. After I learned that people die from strokes, are never able to walk or talk again, or are left permanently disabled, made me so unbelievably humbled and grateful. In those two weeks I was in the hospital after I had the stroke and another shunt revision, I learned how to walk again, and regulate my breathing enough that I could speak; and I was so close to being able to open my hand unassisted. For anyone who doesn't know, I'm in physical therapy right now for an injury that my PT thinks stemmed from the stroke and thus my poor posture. When I walked in there for the first time I felt a flood of emotions. I told myself, I was never going to see the inside of a PT studio again, and yet here I was. But hopefully I won't be there too much longer fingers crossed.

So today I challenge you, to notice the beautiful simplicities of life. How your hand just falls at your side, after you scratch an itch on your face, how you can have a conversation and your words just flow freely without even thinking about them, or even how you can walk across a room without even comprehending what muscles in your body just enabled it to do. The stroke forced me to live life this way, and notice all of these things, especially when I couldn't do them anymore; and I'm so happy I did. Try it. You won't regret it. I'm so happy to say I can finally look at the date April 7  and not think oh but what if, things were supposed to be different. I just think about the wonderful things I'm going to discover today. 

14 Things For 14 Years I Can’t Believe It

Wow! It's that time of year again. It's funny how I used to think that time went to slow, and now it feels like it  flies by. Maybe I'm just getting old haha. Not that I ever meant for the significance of today to have this sort of connotation, but I felt like whenever I talked about this day it was always negative. So that's why I thought I would write 14 things that I've experienced in the past 14 years, that have either taught me something about myself, or 14 things I have discovered about myself etc. BUT first I would like to start out with a quote that I think fits perfectly. 

I hope no matter what darkness you're dragged through, you never loose sight of your brilliance. Because even if you don't see your light, it's there. Even if you don't feel your heartbeat, it's drumming in your chest. Even if you don't think you can push through, you can one step one breath at a time. 

The reason I put this particular quote down, was because that is the number one thing I've struggled with for the past 14 years. That light went dim for many years, but now, I'm trying to light up the world with the things I've learned. So let's get started. And by the way, this list is just a summary, I can't even begin to imagine what I will learn in years to come. For probably the first time in 14 years, I'm excited for what the future holds. 

14 Things I have Learned Through having a stroke at age 17 and being a chronically ill teen.

1.NEVER EVER EVER EVER take your health for granted. From a person who's never going to have complete health back in her life anytime soon, just please don't.
2. Just because you feel like the old you is gone, doesn't mean you can't try to create a new you.
3. Life doesn't always go as planned and that’s OK! Sometimes it’s more than ok!!

4. Life is literally and figuratively like a bowl in a china shop. Oh yeah with 30 toddlers running around. They can break. And yes they can sometimes be put back together but you will constantly have that “scar on the bowl to tell you something happened to me...
5. Forgiveness is more healing than you will EVER be able to comprehend, for both the giver and receiver.
6. There is no definition of the word perfect- you as a person (in how you act towards others and how you present yourself) define perfect for yourself-that's what makes you unique.
7. Instead of letting your illness define you, let yourself define your illness. Don't become just a stereotypical "chronic person," after all you do have a reputation to uphold.
8 .My ability to accept things that can go wrong, both openly and graciously, defies all human understanding (Or so I’m told...).
9. Sometimes admitting you're sad is the most freeing thing you will ever do for yourself, and you'll thank yourself for it later, even though it feels like defeat at that moment.
10. I've become inspired to be something I didn't have. I want to be a light in someone's darkness.
11. That there is a huge difference between being conceited and actually practicing self love, and it's time that more people know the difference.
12. Creating a second "version" of yourself, isn't failure. It's creativity at it's finest.
13.DO NOT under ANY CIRCUMSTANCES USE WebMD. Just don't do it. You'll thank me later.
14. JUST BE THANKFUL EVERYDAY. Just be thankful for your life, be thankful that your muscles can do what you want them to do, just don't waste a day.

To be honest, I could write probably for the next two days about different things I've noticed and learned throughout the past 14 years, but that would take forever. So I will end with this. No matter what you go through in life there's always another side that everybody is envious of. Everything in life comes from perspective. This experience has definitely changed my perspective. I may say I hate what the past 16 years have done to my body, but I love the adult I have turned into and would never give that up! And in terms of Corona(that I've managed to not talk about for this entire blog post even though the entire world has been immersed in the quick sand of COVID-19, don't fret friends. Everything has a beginning and an end. This too will end and we will be stronger when it does!