It's Been Awhile

I have written and deleted this entire post three different times.  I have struggled with what to write, how honest to be, and how it would be perceived.  On this fourth try, I hope that this post is accepted.  I will write more about my actual surgery and recovery experience later.

The last three and a half months have been nothing short of the wildest ride I have ever been on or could have imagined I would be on.  I have experienced every single emotion, took risks, and battled.  I came out of surgery better than I, my family, my friends, my surgeons, my nurses, my therapists--better than EVERYONE expected.

And I have many mixed feelings about that.  'Huh?,' you're asking.  'Why aren't you super excited?'

I am.  Trust me.  I am counting my blessings big time.  But what has happened to me the last two and a half years, and especially the last three and a half months, is hard for me to comprehend.  I was told by many that I was incredibly lucky after my first stroke.  As much as I hated the Iowa City surgeon, he was right in nearly everything he said to me.  "You were spared," he said.  Gosh, how I despised him for saying that to me.  My second stroke and my surgery really put in to perspective how massive my first stroke was.  And now, looking back, I think his comments came from my recovery directly contradicting his medical knowledge and experiences.  I somewhat understand that now.

As I was suffering the symptoms of my second stroke, I was convinced that I would be worse than I was after my first stroke.  But I wasn't.  I was hardly phased.  And surely, after a massive, risky surgery, I would be majorly affected. All the research I had done and the meetings with various neurosurgeons and neurologists led me to believe that I would be at square one after this surgery.  I was fully prepared for that and had come to peace with my decision to battle in the front line instead of hang back,

And then I woke up.  I didn't have the massive headache everyone guaranteed me that I would have, I could move and feel every body part, and I could see.  I saw two of everything, but I could see.  Other than the most stiff neck imaginable and an intense amount of nausea, I was me.  Every day we were in Arizona, I noticed BIG improvements in my balance, pain, and nausea.  I was able to go home after eleven days.

Then, I checked in to inpatient rehab where I continued to make large strides and ended up only staying there for three days.  On April 15th I was discharged from outpatient therapy.  Absolutely unbelievable.

Now, a lot of you commend me for and credit my recovery rate to my strength.  I will admit that it has taken a lot of mental and physical strength to recover from my deficits and I proudly own that.  BUT, I had absolutely NOTHING to do with the creation of those deficits, and only those deficits.  While I was suffering from my strokes or heavily sedated during surgery, I wasn't in control.  I was surviving, not fighting.  I should have numerous and significant deficits, not just from my surgery, but both of my strokes.  I would have NEVER thought I would be where I am now eight weeks after brainstem surgery.

Are you still confused?  I should be happy that I have been so lucky, right?

I am.  I promise you that I am elated.   I have a third chance at life.  Not to many other people can say that.

But when I was at Covenant for inpatient rehab, I really struggled.  There were many patients that had an insurmountable road of recovery ahead of them.  I would watch their therapy sessions and compare them to mine.  I would be balancing on a half moon foam roller turned upside down as a therapist threw or bounced a basketball at me and they would spend time in a mechanical lift just so they could get some time in standing position.  I would look around at many of the people there and think, "That should be me.  Why after two strokes and brainstem surgery 12 days ago is that not me?"  And then immediately after that think, "Thank God that isn't me."  I felt a lot guilt for being so lucky.  I felt heartbreak for them because I knew how mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and physically hard it all was.  Most of all though, I didn't understand why I was so lucky.  I mentioned this to my mom one day as we were waiting for my outpatient sessions and she responded, without missing a beat, "I understand that, but there are so many people that look at you and think the same thing--thank God that isn't me."  Good point, Mom.  Good point.

And then there is the tennis match that plays on repeat everyday in my head featuring Negative Nancy and Positive Polly.  All day long I go back and forth between being frustrated and negative about what has happened to being blissfully happy about how I turned out.  For example, I will get frustrated that I do not have enough depth perception to judge how far to put my toothbrush under the faucet and immediately follow it with, "thank God I can brush my own teeth."  Or, I will see people walk or run past the house and say, "I wish I could do that," and immediately follow it with, "thank God I can walk on my own."

And then there was April 11 where I found out my eye was too deviated towards my nose to get a prism at this time.  Wow, Negative Nancy won that match by a landslide that day.  It was the first time in two and a half years that I had experienced anger.  And let me tell you, I could best describe myself as Anger in the movie, 'Inside Out', when his head starts on fire.  I knew my eye was bad and I expected to need the highest strength prism, but I had not expected to leave without one.  About halfway home that day, I started to come back down to Earth and my anger turned on me.  I eventually became mad at myself for being mad.  My eye could eventually be fixed with surgery and my eye was my only deficit.  Really, Jamie?  Get over yourself and be grateful that you are home, you get to see your kids, and you are self sufficient.  It could all be so much worse.

Recently, I have been planning the golf outing and have been communicating with a few families that we are hoping to help.  I have also been reading scholarship essays.  Listening and reading about what others are going through has brought back a lot of the feelings that I experienced during therapy.  When they ask me how I am, I am almost ashamed to share with them.  How can I share my good fortune when they are suffering so?  I am at a loss for words when I talk to them because all I can think about is, why me?  Why was I given such a good chance?  What did I do to deserve it?  What is in store for me in the future--what will I be used for?  Am I strong enough or brave enough for whatever that is?  But, above everything else, am I worthy of it?

Yes, in the last year and a half I have done many things to help others.  But, if I am being honest, I have had selfish intentions.  I was in hard negotiations with God.  I hoped that if I did enough to help others here, God wouldn't want me up there with Him.  I was helping others, but I was also trying to save myself in the process.  Now that's not very Christian-like, is it?  Plus, I know better than to think that God actually works like that.

So, I am left with really only one explanation as to why I am okay.

YOU.  I am able to be nearly myself, be at home, be with Patrick, our girls, and the rest of our family and friends because of all of you.  I am able to live in the present and look forward to my future because of all of you.  My army.

It was my goal to have as many people as possible praying for me during my surgery.  I wanted the prayers to be so loud that God couldn't ignore them.  After my surgery, well I should say four days after my surgery....I remember a total of six things from the first four days.  Anyways, once I started to come to a bit more, Patrick told me about the day of the surgery and those after.  He told me about all the messages, texts, calls, and post shares.  It is impossible to adequately describe to you how I felt or the many thoughts that instantly filled my mind.  But, I can tell that I am convinced that you all saved me.  God heard you loud and clear.  It is the only possible explanation.

I would like to leave you with this.  Almost every single action movie has a scene where the good guy and the bad guy end up fighting on the side of a cliff or a high building.  After a long fight, the good guy usually sends the bad guy over the edge but not without putting himself in harms way first.  Just when you think that good guy is going to lose his grip and fall, one of the fellow good guys grabs his arm and pulls him to safety.

I feel like this is my story.  I threw my CM over the cliff, but I barely survived it all, and you were all there to grab my arm and pull me back to safety.  Your kindness, generosity, and prayers kept me focused on everything positive and beautiful in my life when I needed it the most.  It all helped me enter that operating room at peace.  It all gave me the strength I needed to recover.

And so I find myself in the exact spot I was in after my first stroke--how can I possibly say thank you?  My answer is the same it was then--I promise you that I will do everything I can to repay you for all of it.  I will be grateful for my blessings and I will strive to pay it all forward.

I will be the best example I possibly can be to do better and be better.

God Bless You All!