As I reach for my cereal, I pinch a few flakes between my fingers, focusing intently. “Now, bring it to your mouth, Jamie,” I remind myself. Not my ear, my mouth. Victory! I repeat the process, though to an onlooker, I may just appear a tad slow and frail. Inside, however, my mind is racing through a checklist of steps to achieve this simple task. This is my new reality, and frankly, I’m not a fan of it.
A Typical Sunday Gone Wrong
I had a productive Sunday mapped out. A quick trip to the office, followed by some rock climbing with my friends and then off to the airport for a whirlwind business trip to LA. At 9 AM, I was in my car, just half a mile from home when dizziness struck. Something felt off, so I pulled over and called my husband, Mark, to let him know my location. By then, my hands and arms felt uncontrollable.
With sheer determination, I managed to dial 911, but as I spoke, the operator couldn’t understand me. Why? I was clearly communicating! Mark and the paramedics arrived simultaneously, taking my vitals. Everything seemed fine, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. The EMTs suggested I could go to the hospital, but I thought it might just be an expensive cab ride.
Mark helped me into his truck. It was becoming clear that something serious was happening; I couldn’t see straight, my right side was completely numb, and walking was impossible.
Once at the ER, everything became a blur. An old family friend, who was my doctor, called in the stroke team. They performed an MRI while asking me basic questions like the date and my location. Those questions felt torturous. Finally, I was diagnosed with a severe migraine—better than a stroke, right? Just as I was about to be discharged, a neurologist reviewed my MRI and discovered a blood clot. I wasn’t leaving yet.
The clot was located in my basilar artery, and I was administered tPA. The situation was terrifying. I was moved to the ICU for close monitoring with the possibility of bleeding out. Despite the chaos, I felt mentally alert. Why was everyone so panicked? I was here, and soon this would just be a blip. Plus, I was starving. Can someone get me enchiladas? The looks I received were questionable. Mark suggested I wait until the morning for food and to call my best friend, Chloe. Seriously?
If I was facing death, I wanted enchiladas and my best friend by my side. Luckily, I didn’t die. Four days later, I emerged from that hospital with crucial lessons learned.
Take Serious Matters Seriously
My phone buzzed incessantly with messages from friends and acquaintances, each more anxious than the last. My Facebook post about my stroke gained traction. Clearly, this was a significant event.
During my hospital stay, “Baby Doctor,” the neuro resident, excitedly told me about the stroke in my cerebellum, which he described as his favorite part of the brain. He highlighted my MRI images, revealing the clot and explaining all my symptoms. I even thought about sharing the images on Facebook—“Look at my beautiful brain!” I chuckled, realizing that it resembled a worm. Thankfully, the tPA had stopped it from growing.
But I wasn’t okay. I had suffered a stroke at a young age with no known risk factors. Friends and even doctors were alarmed, and I knew logically this was serious. I avoided Googling it—yet.
A Wake-Up Call
Having been immersed in the startup world, I learned to just roll with the punches. I brushed off headaches and money worries. But now, I realized I needed to heed the alarms around me. Ignoring serious issues can lead to severe consequences; my health was a priority I could no longer overlook.
I wasn’t going to stop pushing forward, but I had to start listening to my body—something I couldn’t ignore even if I wanted to. Serious issues demand attention, and ignoring them only leads to painful wake-up calls.
Letting Go and Trusting the Process
The first night in the hospital, I hesitated to sleep, confessing to Mark that I feared I wouldn’t wake up. I had already sent a message detailing my wishes for my startup, Iris, to someone I trusted.
I knew my daughters would be okay if the worst happened, but the worry consumed me. I wasn’t ready to leave my girls behind. I shared this with Mark, and he said something that shocked me more than the stroke itself: “Have faith you’ll wake up tomorrow. Have faith everything will work out.”
I had always relied on my own strength, believing that my determination would see me through. Now, I had to let go and trust that things would unfold as they should. This was a new experience.
Embracing Joy
When my mom asked if I wanted chocolate in the hospital, I usually would’ve said no to moderation. But this time? “Bring it on!” I wanted the good stuff—gourmet chocolate, please. I devoured it all. I’m not planning to become a glutton, but life is too short for moderation.
One of my favorite yoga teachers often says, “We’re here for a good time, not a long time.” It was time for me to start living that way. No more waiting for the good things; I was going joy hunting.
Being Present
While waiting for my third MRI, Mark reminded me that my daughters might be waiting for me when I returned. It hit me hard—I hadn’t allowed myself to truly think about my kids during this ordeal.
I became aware of just how perceptive my daughters are. I was missing so much by always being focused on what comes next. Life is fleeting, and I had to appreciate every moment.
I am deeply grateful for the support from friends and family. Their love and encouragement made a world of difference. I’m especially thankful to Mark, who patiently allowed me to transition into this new reality, inspiring me to let go, have faith, and be present.
It took significant effort to share my story, but I’m ready to move forward. Stay tuned for my journey of recovery and resilience.
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