Part 1: The Bleed - June 1990
From one moment to the next everything changed...
Before you read this post, please take a moment to notice all the automatic tasks your body can do with such little effort. Whether you’re able-bodied or not, there’s something you can find pleasure in right now, something that you might take for granted. Whatever it is that catches your attention - acknowledge and appreciate it.
Turning thirty ushered in a pivotal time. I vowed to myself that 1990 would bring much needed changes. I’d leave behind everything that held me back in my twenties, including self-doubt, and move forward into my prime years with clarity and confidence.
I had choices to make. My marriage to my college sweetheart, John, was cracking under the pressure of adult responsibilities and we were considering divorce.
I was working as a casting director in Seattle while pursuing my dream of being a playwright. One of the top theaters in town had shown interest in staging my latest project and I was both exhilarated and nervous. What if my play failed miserably? What if I never achieved my creative goals and was fooling myself.
It had been an angst-ridden time, so when my sister, Em, invited me to meet her in Los Angeles, where she was going for a job interview, I jumped at the chance to get away for a few days to the buzz and glitter of California.
My sister met me at LAX and we set off in our rental car to the bed and breakfast where we were staying. I took in the sun, the legendary palm trees, the endless rows of strip malls. It was a welcome change from the gray, chilly ambience of Seattle. I was energized, almost euphoric. I wondered what it would be like to live there and start a new life waking up every day to bright light and birds singing.
The night was just as intoxicating. Em and I went out on the town with family friends. I ditched my drab, baggy clothes and donned a body-hugging outfit I wouldn’t have worn anywhere else. My sister laughed when she saw my spandex miniskirt, but I didn’t care. I was deep in a mess of marital strife, but that night I was still in my prime, ready to take in all that Los Angeles had to offer.
I wish I’d worn a pair of outrageous stilettos instead of the ballet flats I chose. Strutting out in high heels would soon become impossible.
We spent the night celebrity spotting in trendy clubs. There was Tony Curtis, and there was Joel Grey who I loved in the movie “Cabaret”. Rebecca De Mornay was sipping a cocktail at a sleek, shiny bar. I felt vibrant and free as I moved with confidence into the nightlife. Jon Bon Jovi, at his shaggy-haired peak, smiled at me as I passed him on my way to the ladies room. I smiled back feeling glamorous. The troubles with my estranged husband receded for a shimmering moment. My hips swung easily. I tossed my hair away from my face with a quick flick of my left wrist. All the tiny, automatic movements and gestures were perfectly, effortlessly executed.
Back in our room, a little drunk and giddy, Em and I talked about the changes that were going on in our lives. Eventually, we found ourselves discussing Dr. Jack Kevorkian and the assisted suicide controversy that was in the news. We agreed that if we ever became terminally ill or suffered severe brain damage, we wouldn’t want heroic measures to prolong our lives.
“Promise you’ll put me out of my misery!” I insisted. Em nodded her head.
“You swear you’ll pull my plug too?” she countered. I laughed and assured her I would. By the time we finished the grim conversation it was very late. I shook off the uneasy feeling that had come over me and drifted off to sleep.
Morning. The showy California sun streamied in through the blinds. I was transfixed by the play of light and shadow on the walls. Em was already dressed. She urged me to hurry so we’d have time to eat before we left.
Apprehension rolled through me. My muscles tightened, resisting the main task of the day. I was supposed to drop off Em at her interview miles away from where we were staying, then drive myself back on the terrifying L.A. freeways. She was going to be gone most of the day and didn’t know the parking situation, so our plan was designed to make the stressful experience easier for her. I regretted agreeing to the arrangement. I wasn’t a relaxed driver even when I knew the territory. I’d soon have to face the reality of navigating notoriously aggressive traffic through that unfamiliar city.
The warm, pulsing spray of water couldn’t touch my tension as I showered. I got dressed and fumbled with my makeup, distracted and clumsy as images of frenetic cars and impatient drivers crowded my thoughts. A slight headache was making itself felt in the periphery of my consciousness. I popped some Advil to ward it off.
It was a little past nine when I sat down for breakfast. Em was reading the paper and finishing her toast. I took a bite of mango and picked up the warm coffee cup. After a sip, I put the cup back on the table.
That was the last action my left hand performed before it completely vanished from my awareness.
I looked down at the hand and saw it lying on the table as if it belonged to someone else. The sudden numbness was like nothing I’d ever experienced. It wasn’t the tingling pins and needles sensation of a limb that’s fallen asleep. It wasn’t the pulpy heaviness brought on by a shot of novocaine. It was unearthly, eerie, and complete. The essence of my hand had fled.
I rubbed my moribund fingers with my right hand. They didn’t respond. I shook my arm slowly at first then with increasing intensity. Nothing. The numbness crept up my arm. I was disappearing inch by inch. Somehow, I knew what was happening. A voice in my head announced it to me, but I couldn’t say the absurd words out loud. I was having a stroke.
“My hand’s gone numb,” I said. I was strangely calm. My sister glanced up at me and then looked back at the newspaper.
“You slept on it funny,” she replied. My behavior gave her no reason to be concerned. The deadness had now traveled up to my shoulder.
“No,” I said. “My left arm is gone. I need you to call an ambulance and get me to the hospital.” Em gave me a puzzled look.
“Did you bang it on something?” she asked, confused by my dramatic pronouncement and flat affect.
“No. My arm has gone completely numb. I can’t feel it at all. You have to call an ambulance right away. I’m not kidding.” I finally uttered the words: “I’m having a stroke.”
My head began to feel strange, as though something had gone wrong in there, some kind of short circuit. I stood up and moved to the couch, continuing to shake my arm to get the feeling back in it. Sensation had ceased. Motor control would soon follow.
Em hesitated. She looked at me intently trying to figure out if she should take me seriously. Then the numbness hit my face. I felt the absence and used my right hand to grab at the void where my left cheek once was.
My sister saw what I couldn’t. The left side of my face had gone slack, my mouth sagged and my eyelid drooped as all the muscles went dead.
“Oh my God!” Em cried out. I stood up again. I was being pursued by an invisible force. If I could just get away from it I’d be all right, but the inescapable danger was coming from inside my own skull.
As I took a step my left leg gave out. Em grabbed me as I slid to the floor. I l sprawled on my back looking up at her. The owner of the bed and breakfast, Mrs. Gaines, heard the commotion. She came running into the room and saw Em holding me in her arms.
“Help! You have to help us. My sister is...she’s....something’s wrong,” Em pleaded.
“What? Is she sick?” Mrs. Gaines asked. She looked faintly skeptical. Later, she told Em that she thought we might be pulling a scam.
“I don’t know. We’ve got to get her to the hospital!” Em insisted.
“All right. I’ll bring the car around...” Mrs. Gaines began.
“No,” I stopped her. “You have to call an ambulance. Now!” I knew I wouldn’t survive if they tried driving me to the hospital through traffic. My only hope was to get help as quickly as possible. I needed a siren wailing to clear the way. Mrs. Gaines hesitated for a second, then went to call the ambulance.
I was surprised that I felt no panic. It all seemed surreal. Was this it? Was this really going to be how my life ended? I realized with complete clarity that there was nothing, absolutely nothing that guaranteed I’d live.
My sister cradled my head in her lap. Her face floating above me was so pale it was almost luminescent. The terror in her eyes filled me with sadness. I wanted to reassure her that I’d be all right, but I knew it was a lie.
“Em,” I said, “I don’t know if I can stay here.”
“You’re going to be fine. You’ll be fine,” she insisted.
“I don’t know. I’m going to try and stay here, but I don’t know if I can.”
“You’ll be okay” she repeated. “The ambulance is coming. You’ll be okay.” I remembered the conversation we’d had the night before about death with dignity. No heroic measures.
“Remember what we talked about last night,” I said. Em knew right away what I meant. She shook her head.
“Don’t think about that,” she said. “You’re going to be all right.” Neither of us really believed it.
My organs began to react to the trauma of impending death. I vomited orange and green fluids that were impossibly bright.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. On the verge of oblivion I felt embarrassed by my lack of control over my body.
I was losing connection to the material world, dissolving into an oceanic current around me. I was becoming part of a cyclone of energy. A relentless, powerful force was moving through me and through everything else. The unrelenting flow filled the universe.
I hit the floor with my fists and kicked the walls. To stay alive, I had to connect with the solidity of my surroundings. “I’m alive, I’m material, I’m here.” I told myself with each blow. If I could concentrate my will on making the bleeding stop in my brain, I might survive. I never questioned how I knew my brain was bleeding, I just knew. Then, something told me to stop thrashing so the bleeding wouldn’t get worse. I lay still.
“Where’s the ambulance?” I asked. I knew it needed to arrive soon or it would be too late.
“It’s coming,” Em tried to soothe me. “Any minute.”
“Okay. Go get my insurance card,” I lisped. The numbness in my face was making it hard to talk. My sister was astonished.
“Your card?” she said. “Don’t worry about…”
“We’ll need it when we get to the hospital. It’s upstairs in my bag. Get my address book too. You’ll have to let people know what happened. I had plans for lunch.”
Grasping onto these mundane details was helping me stay connected to the life that was slipping away. Em ran upstairs to get my things. As she came back down, I could hear an ambulance siren getting closer to the house.
When the paramedics arrived, I was moving in and out of consciousness. Figures came and went in a mist. Voices drifted through the air in bits and pieces. One of the paramedics stood over me speaking with thinly veiled contempt.
“Have you taken any drugs?” he asked as he shined a tiny light in my eyes.
“No.”
“What are you on?”
“Nothing,” I said through a haze. Maybe he didn’t understand me. The light penetrated my eye like a laser.
“It will be better for you if you tell the truth,” he insisted. “What did you take?” I searched my melting mind for an answer he’d accept. He must have thought I overdosed on something, and it disgusted him.
“Ummmm...Advil?” I managed to say. Could that be it? The wrong pill and - poof - the end? It couldn’t be true.
“We can’t help you if you don’t tell the truth,” he growled, as the beam of light hit my eye again. I heard my sister somewhere in the distance.
“Please, just get her to the hospital!” she begged. The paramedic moved away from me and turned on her.
“Look, lady,” he snapped, “if she’s going to go this fast there’s nothing they can do for her anyway.”
Everything around me dissolved into confusion. I was aware of movement and sound, but I couldn’t process what was happening. The paramedic and his silent assistant loaded me onto a stretcher and put me in the ambulance. My sister sat up front trying to stay calm. The paramedic wouldn’t let her ride with me. Every time she turned to catch a glimpse of me, the driver snapped at her. He threatened to kick her out of the ambulance if she looked at me again.
We arrived at the hospital. I slid into a blur of noise and motion as the gurney was wheeled into the emergency room. Unfamiliar faces etched with concern floated into view and vanished. People gathered around me calling loudly to each other. I didn’t see them clearly, I felt them. I was stripped of my protective shell, connecting with people in a primal, non-verbal way that was ordinarily out of reach. Their fears, anxieties and empathy were pouring over me and into me like a substance.
I was hooked up to machines that monitored my vital signs. The rhythmic beep, beep, beep was familiar from countless films and television shows. I heard someone on the phone talking to the imaging lab.
“Well, hurry up!” the voice said. “We have a thirty-year-old woman here with a possible stroke.” Suddenly the rhythmic beeping stopped, and I heard a single ominous tone. Had I flatlined? Was I dead? I didn’t feel dead. More commotion followed as the emergency room team tried to figure out what was happening. I’d become unhooked from the monitor. In a moment the beeps resumed.
A young doctor with a beard approached me. He had a soothing presence. I reached up to stroke his beard with my right hand. I felt complete love for him.
“Can you move your left arm?” he asked. I tried to comply, but it was impossible.
“I don’t know where my left arm is,” I said. A sudden, visceral wave of sadness moved toward me from him. I wanted to smile at the doctor to comfort him, but I was too tired.
I didn’t think about my lost left side. I didn’t fear the possibility of impending brain surgery. I just wanted them to get on with it, open my skull and fix me. I’d always hated hospitals, but I was now comforted by being there. It was like returning to the womb, a big, bustling, echoing womb, but peaceful, nonetheless. I let go and allowed myself to drift away. Maybe I’d live.
Life is a cabaret -strange, wonderful, and full of surprises - Welcome!
So terrifying, evocative and powerful- so amazing you had such awareness and clarity about what was happening to your body
Amazing. Can’t wait to read more!