I’m a Young Stroke Survivor: Lessons from My Journey

I fumble through a bowl of cereal, my left hand grasping at the flakes. Up to my mouth, Jamie. Not the ear! Success! To an observer, I might seem a bit clumsy. But inside my head, I’m navigating a complex series of steps just to get that cereal in my mouth.

This is my new reality. Ugh, this new reality.

A Regular Sunday

I had a pretty normal Sunday mapped out. A quick stop at the office, then off to the climbing gym with friends, followed by a 24-hour business trip to LA. At 9:00 AM, I hopped into my car, ready to fill up on gas, pick up a prescription, then hit the office. Just half a mile from home, I suddenly felt dizzy. Something wasn’t right, so I pulled over and called my partner, Mark, to let him know where I was. By this point, I felt really “off,” and my limbs seemed to have a mind of their own.

Through sheer determination, I dialed 911. That’s when it hit me: something was seriously wrong. The operator couldn’t make sense of my words. What the heck? I was speaking clearly! Why was she asking me to repeat myself?

Mark and the paramedics arrived simultaneously (I think). They checked my vitals. Perfect! I must just be having a panic attack or something. But I couldn’t feel the right side of my body. I’ve experienced panic attacks before, but this felt different. The EMTs suggested I could go to the hospital, but that it would be like a really expensive taxi ride.

Mark helped me into his truck and we set off. I was now certain that something was terribly wrong. My vision was blurry; the right side of my body was completely numb. I could barely walk.

Once we arrived at the ER, everything was a whirlwind. They got me in quickly, and an old family friend who worked there became my doctor. He summoned the stroke team, I underwent an MRI, and they kept firing questions at me—what’s the date, where are you, who’s the president? Honestly, that was the toughest part.

Eventually, they diagnosed me with a severe migraine. Phew! That sounded better than a stroke, right? But then a neurologist, a stroke specialist, took another look at my MRI and discovered a blood clot. So much for being discharged.

The clot was lodged in the basilar artery. I was given tPA, which was terrifying. Next stop: ICU for constant monitoring. Apparently, I might even bleed from my eyes.

Through all of this, I still felt sharp mentally. Why is everyone freaking out? I’m fine! This is just a hiccup. And, wow, I’m starving. Can someone get me enchiladas? The medical staff exchanged awkward glances. But if I’m dying, I want enchiladas as my last meal and my best friend nearby! But I didn’t die. I walked out of that hospital four days later, with some newfound wisdom.

Take Serious Matters Seriously

My phone buzzed nonstop. Friends, acquaintances, even people I barely knew were checking in. My Facebook post about my stroke was blowing up. Apparently, this is a big deal.

A neuro resident named Ben, who we nicknamed “Baby Doc,” came in with excitement. My latest MRI showed the stroke had occurred in the cerebellum, his favorite part of the brain. He enthusiastically explained how it accounted for my symptoms. Oh, and I had a “beautiful brain.”

I thought to myself, maybe I should post a picture of my MRI on Facebook like a baby ultrasound: “Look at my stunning brain! There’s a cute little stroke!” But I knew I wasn’t okay. I was a young person who had suffered a stroke with no known risk factors. Friends and family were losing their minds over this. Doctors at a top neurological institute were getting a little too enthusiastic. Logically, I understood this was serious. I hadn’t started Googling yet.

Wake-Up Call

Being in the tech startup world had taught me to roll with the punches. Four weeks of cash? No biggie. A headache for five days? Pop some Advil and move on. But this experience was a wake-up call to truly listen to those around me who were sounding alarms. I realized I was terrible at recognizing when something was a “big deal.”

The universe was telling me to pay attention to my health. Would I stop pushing forward? Absolutely not. But I can’t disregard my body anymore. Ignoring serious issues only leads to a rude awakening, and believe me, it smacked me hard.

Let Go and Trust

That first night in the hospital, everyone was urging me to sleep. I confessed to Mark, my non-religious husband, that I was scared to sleep because I feared I wouldn’t wake up. I had already sent a “make sure Iris succeeds” message to someone I trusted.

I knew my kids would be okay if the worst happened, but I was terrified. I had more mountains to climb. Something deep within me was screaming that this was serious.

Mark then said something that shook me more than my stroke: “Have faith you’ll wake up tomorrow. Have faith everything will turn out as it should.”

What? I usually only have faith in myself. Many think it took a leap of faith to start my venture, Iris, but it was really about believing in the opportunity and myself.

Now, I had to let go and believe things would work out without me trying to control everything. This was a whole new experience.

I don’t have data yet on how this lesson will pan out, but it feels easier than fighting against the current. I’m no superwoman anymore. Let’s see what happens when I allow myself to fall.

Embrace Joy

When my mom asked if I wanted chocolate in the hospital, my usual reply would have been a polite “sure” while practicing moderation. But now? Forget moderation! Yes, bring me all the chocolate! Not the cheap stuff—give me gourmet sea salt chocolate, and lots of it!

I devoured all that chocolate. No, I won’t become a glutton, but I’m going to embrace life like I did that chocolate. One of my favorite yoga instructors always says, “We’re here for a good time, not a long time.” Time to start living that mantra. I’m off to hunt for joy!

Be Present

While I was waiting for my third MRI, Mark mentioned, “The girls might be here when you get back.” Whoa, I have daughters! My beautiful brain hadn’t fully processed that yet. Sure, I was aware of my kids, but I hadn’t let myself acknowledge how close I came to not seeing them again.

Now, I’m hyper-aware of them. Lola is incredibly perceptive; she doesn’t miss a thing. Sophie? She’s a comedic performer.

Being in the moment instead of worrying about what’s next has opened my eyes to so much I’ve been missing. I’d be a total jerk if I didn’t express gratitude for all the wonderful people who supported my family during this tough time—playdates, flowers, food, and even jokes about strokes. We are lucky and so grateful. Letting go is easier when you’ve got amazing friends to lean on.

I’m especially thankful for Mark, who has allowed me to adjust to this new normal in my own way, kicking and screaming. He inspires me to let go, trust, and be present. He’s shown me such patience.

That’s it. It took a lot of effort to write this. And I’m over it—all of it! Stay tuned for my superhero recovery!

Summary

In this heartfelt narrative, Jamie Collins shares her experience as a young stroke survivor. From the initial signs of something being amiss to the bewildering hospital experience, Jamie reflects on the importance of recognizing serious health issues and listening to those who care about us. She emphasizes embracing joy, being present in the moment, and the power of trust and faith in oneself and the universe. This journey has taught Jamie invaluable lessons about health, relationships, and the importance of community support.