I just had a stroke. Wait. What??
I visited a corner of Hell on Earth two days ago. I don’t know why I went there, I don’t know how I escaped unscathed, and I don’t know how to stay free when Hell comes for me again.
The Event
Until 9am, it was an unusually pleasant Thursday morning. I woke up in the dark around 5am, got my cycling gear ready, made some toast, and felt an intense electrical pain shoot down my left arm. I’ve never felt anything like that, so I paused to see what would happen, before reacting. It faded, leaving me a bit worried but otherwise fine. I finished getting ready to ride, and headed out in the dark. Maybe that part of this story mattered… maybe it didn’t.
I met friends for the usual Thursday morning group bike ride. We had a reasonably fast 90 minute, 30-mile tour of the quiet roads and low hills around Concord, followed by a latte in town. A few spots of pretty hard work on the hills, but nothing unusually intense, tons of fun. Arriving home, I felt great, ready for the usual onslaught of meetings.
Around 9, I very happily discovered I had time blocked for a focus period. I started typing up a few notes… and couldn’t type coherently. My fingers kept hitting the wrong keys. If I tried to type “coherent”, “cwiojwef” came out. I’m an accurate, fast typist. I sometimes make typos, but nothing like that. When I slowed down to type c-o-h-e-r-e, I only got c-x-s-t-f-w. Moving very slowly, I finally got “coherent”. And then the next word was a similar disaster.
Weird.
I decided I hadn’t had enough coffee after the ride, and therefore needed to fit in a fast trip to the local cafe another latte before my 10am meeting. Like I said, it was an unusually pleasant Thursday morning.
At 10, I had a video conference with a few other leaders of the Nexus project. I was introduced to someone who had just joined our team. When I said “Great to meet you, welcome on board, we’re really glad you’re here!”, my mouth said “helll..ooo”.
What on earth? I sounded like an idiot. Not a way to leave a great first impression.
The team started talking about our AI roadmap. They had questions. I had answers. The direction seemed obvious; we shouldn’t get too excited about AI at this point as we have other priorities in this project. We should just plan to leverage what Epic will have by the time we go live, which will be immensely different than what they have now, so we should pay attention during the interim. I said that. Except what I said was “we … should …. Wait”. I sounded like I was on a delayed audio track.
I started to realize things were not ok. I tried to say something a few more times as an experiment. It was not my imagination. My brain was moving accurately and precisely at 100mph. My mouth was moving at 5mph and hitting potholes.
I started to panic. I had a 100 simultaneous thoughts. “My head seems okay. Maybe I’m wrong. Is it screwed up too?” “These are stroke symptoms but I feel fine.” “Can the others tell?” “I would ask them, but I don’t think I can form the words.” “Wow. My job depends on me being able to communicate clearly. I am completely screwed.” “I could use the chat log for the meeting. But I can’t type. WAIT, I can’t type!?” “Do I wait for this to pass?”
I started to feel unsteady in my chair, which clinched it. I said, “Hey folks, sorry about this, but I’m not feeling right. I need to head out and get this checked out. Please continue without me, and I’ll follow up after.”
What came out was “Sorrrrrrryy….. I … have… to … go.”
Somehow I made it downstairs to where my wife was on a Zoom meeting in her office. I yelled for help. She looked at me, she got worried, I said something, and that’s all it took. We were off to the Emergency Room.
As she drove, I tried to tell her what happened. I developed a strategy of simplifying words and sentences into very short phrases. Those mostly got out, with a delay and a slur. I started to wonder if I would be like this for the rest of my life. And how long was that life going to be? Minutes? Hours? Years like this?
Trapped in your head, unable to reliably communicate? A hell I would never choose for anyone. There I was.
I’ve escaped a life-altering medical condition at least once before, was this one going to get me?
We got to the emergency room, and hospital mode kicked in. Six hours of crazy ER, many tests, an overnight in the hospital under observation, many consults and I’m back home. I appear 100% healthy. I can talk. I can type. I can walk, run, and ride. I have no symptoms. I have no obvious risk factors. I’m on blood-thinning medication and a heart monitor and I have followups with cardiologists and neurologists in the next few weeks. They want me to slow down, take it easy, and stay under observation. Sure. Of course.
I had a stroke. They don’t know why. It apparently caused no damage. They don’t know why. We don’t know if it will happen again. We don’t really know what I can do to reduce the odds of it happening.
If it happens again, if it’s even worse, if it sticks… Hell.
Medical Details
Initial assessment:
- I had slow speech when we checked in the ER. It cleared up over the following 2 hours.
- They regularly tested me for bilateral dissymmetry and a collection of motor and balance issues. Those were fine. We never tested typing. No idea how soon that cleared up.
- CT scans while in the ER: normal
- Radiology of chest and lungs: normal
- Labs:
- Blood pressure in normal range, despite annoying roommates
- Resting heart rate: 45 - regularly freaked out the nurses
- High LDL (164.9) - the only risk factor consistent with a stroke.
- Normal A1C (5.1) - no diabetes, normal blood sugar
- BMI Healthy
- No indication of AFib or other heart abnormalities
The above led to an initial diagnosis of a Transient Ischemic Attack.
They kept me overnight for observation and to try to get more data on my heart, looking for irregularities. For full diagnosis of the TIA I needed an MRI to confirm the lack of damage.
- Echocardiogram: normal
- MRI indicated I’d had a non-damaging stroke. It confirmed a right MCA territory frontal infarct.
The clinicians were really surprised at the MRI results. All the indicators were for a TIA, not a stroke. (I’m not entirely sure what the difference is between a non-damaging stroke and a TIA… in essence, it sounds like the stroke left a record behind without hurting anything, whereas the TIA would not have had detectable impact. But, in practice, this feels very similar…)
The theories for what caused the clotting are:
- Possibly cholesterol from the LDL. All the clinicians involved thought that was unlikely.
- Undetected Afib or other heart abnormalities that would cause very small clotting. No sign of these yet.
- That’s it.
- Except I’m suggesting Covid, which I had about 4 weeks ago. There are articles in the medical press suggesting that lasting effects from Covid may include a higher incidence of blood clotting. No one in the hospital took this seriously; we’ll see if it comes up with my follow up visits. (And this is what caused it, it’s not clear what do to differently, except be worried about future clotting.)
For treatment:
- Plavix, Aspirin, and Lipitor (for the LDL), for the next 3-4 weeks. Aspirin for life, ‘cause.
- Heart rate monitor, a Zio, for 4 weeks, to try to detect abnormal behavior. It’s very annoying.
- No restrictions on exercise, diet, or other activities (e.g. driving)
- Go see a cardiologist to handle the heart side of this, and a neurologist to check in on the brain side of this.
- Go very easy for the next week, cut back on stressful activities, pay close attention to how things are going,.
- Freak out a little.
Maybe that’ll work. Who knows?
A Few Random Observations
- It’s two days later. I’m out of the 48-hour immediate post-stroke danger period. I’m in the rest-of-my-life manage the implications of this period…. I don’t understand this period yet.
- Other than the jet lag of spending a sleepless night in the hospital, I feel fine. It’s like it didn’t happen… It happened.
- It’s really interesting that my head seemed to be working fine and forming clear thoughts, but that they were mangled in two different ways before those thoughts made it out of my mouth. It’s like the concept for what I wanted to say started in my brain in some language-neutral mode, and then it got translated into English by some function… and that function converted the concepts into second-grade level words. Then, some other function related to moving my mouth misfired, slowing and slurring the words as they came out, making that second grader sound drunk. (Yes, I was thinking about that while it was happening, and I tried some experiments. But I was a little too busy freaking out to design good experiments or take good notes.)
- This was my first time as a patient in a hospital since I’ve started working for a hospital. They look a little different when you have some idea of what’s happening behind the scenes.
- Hospital stays are all-consuming and exhausting.
- Turns out that there’s a drug that can help reduce the impact of a stroke if administered in the first 3 hours of the attack. So, if you have a stroke, you want to get to the hospital as fast as possible and get the course of assessment and treatment going as fast as possible. Many nurses told me, “Don’t wait. Don’t drive yourself. Call 911. They’ll call ahead to get the tests set up”.
- … but does that mean that I have to be within 3 hours of a hospital for the rest of my life?
The Emotional Journey Thus Far
Since I realized during that meeting that I Was Not Ok, I’ve been on an emotional roller coaster. I think the phases may be best characterized by the predominant question in my head at the time.
All of these emotions were colored by previous medical experiences. I’ve had potentially life-changing accidents. I’ve fought extreme back pain for a year and faced the prospect of life in a wheelchair. I’ve had severe work-induced stress and made career decisions based on that situation. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about life quality balance. Deja vu, with a twist.
Phase 1: What the Hell is Going on?
In the initial hours of this incident, I was a little scared. Clearly, bad things were happening. What was happening? Was it going to get worse? Was it temporary? Was I going to die?
Phase 2: Oh No Not Again
I knew that I had just crossed from “everything is medically ok” into “we have a medical situation”. I’ve been in these transitions myself and with relatives. I was really enjoying being healthy. I really did not want to shift back into the mode where health is a major factor and limiter in nearly everything in life. My overwhelming emotion here was a sense of trepidation … of “I am not ready for this”.
Phase 3: How is Life Going to Change?
While waiting in the ER bed for the initial tests, I was unable to speak clearly. With a growing sense of anxiety, I realized it seemed entirely plausible that there would be greater impact on me or that these symptoms would last indefinitely.
If I was trapped in a mode where my thoughts worked fine, but I was unable to communicate coherently, what was life going to be like? How would we make it work? What was going to happen?
Phase 4: What Does Treatment Look Like?
After the initial symptoms subsided, it seemed we had passed an early danger point and could relax a bit. The initial diagnosis of a TIA implied things might be mostly ok. We needed the MRI to confirm the diagnosis, but the resolution of the symptoms and lack of clear cause made it all seem relatively ok.
Outside of being on a few medications, it seemed possible that I might have escaped Hell… the life might go back to basically normal.
When the MRI came back confirming it was a stroke, not a TIA, that raised as many questions as it answered.
- Why did the stroke happen?
- Am I going to have another? It seems like a higher probability of recurrence with it being a stroke.
- How do we treat this?
- If we don’t know why it happened, and I don’t have major risk factors, will treatment reduce the likelihood of recurrence?
For those, we are somewhat on hold for the next several weeks while we get more data from my heart and wait for the views of the specialists.
I’m torn between being relieved it’s not worse, being resigned to the situation, and frustrated with our lack of understanding.
Phase 5: Do I Look at Life Differently Now?
Now that I’ve had a night to sleep on this whole thing, I’m struggling with how to think about it all. Beyond the basic medical treatment, do I do something seriously different with life?
I have a metaphorical gun pointed at my head. It’s fired once, and it grazed me.
- It might shoot again, later today. It might hit something more serious.
- It might shoot again, a year from now. Or five. Or ten.
- It might never shoot again.
This is the question of mortality that all of us face. I know far too many people who have gone through this on their own accident or disease journey. But it’s not just them (us). How much time do any of us have? Car accidents can happen to everyone.
If you knew you’d die in an accident in a month, how would you live the next month differently? If you knew you might die in an accident in a month, how would you live the next month differently? (By the way, it turns out that you might die in a car accident in a month…)
I’ve faced the reality of mortality before. I made changes in my life to prioritize family and health over work. Do I re-evaluate those changes, now that this happened? Do I move farther along that spectrum?
This is the current puzzle.
Phase 6: Wow. What Might Have Happened?
While struggling with that puzzle, I have a growing sense of gratitude.
Even if there’s another stroke in my future, I’m fortunate to escape this incident with no lasting effects.
I’m grateful to the team at Emerson Hospital. We’re lucky to have a wonderful, caring, competent community hospital within minutes of the house.
I’m thankful that since my spine fusion, I’ve prioritized time with family, spent time pursuing things important to me, made deliberate choices about where to put my energy in alignment with my values and priorities. This situation just reinforces that I need to keep doing that.