Chapter 1

I was up early one Sunday morning on February 2, 2020. The sun was out, and I just finished a killer workout and walked my dog, Riggs, in my Kelowna, BC, neighbourhood. While relaxing and enjoying my tea on the couch, I thought about how I spent the night before with a friend, who was also my neighbour and boss's wife. We had dinner and a couple of drinks—nothing too crazy—and then went home early. I was happy for the early night and the chance to start my day off right. Big Rigg sat beside me on the couch when I suddenly began to feel nauseous and lightheaded. I thought, wow, what the hell is going on?

 

Everything happened so fast that, to this day, I find pieces I blocked out. At about 10:30 in the morning, I remember looking at my phone because I was supposed to meet my girlfriend for lunch. I decided to lie down because I felt terrible, but Riggs started jumping and barking at me; I ignored him because I felt so sick. Riggs jumped onto the bed as I lay curled up, and I started getting irritated. He kept barking at me and nibbling at my fingers. And then, to my surprise, he bit me, so I sat up and yelled at him, and it scared me into motion. He looked at me with such concern, and I started to shake and feel numb on the left side. Suddenly, I thought to myself, oh, SHIT, I am having a heart attack or stroke! No, there is no way I am having a stroke. I am only 31 years old! I am healthy and young!

 

Riggs started barking again, and he was standing near my keys this time. I began to pace around my home, thinking, okay, if I can't stop shaking or that numbness doesn't stop, I'll go to the hospital. Then I realized I couldn't feel my right side at all. I was petrified as I tried calling my neighbour and discovered that the phone lines were down. So, I decided to drive. For some people, the first thought in an emergency is to call 911. However, mine was to get to the hospital. I looked at Riggs, and he looked back at me with fear in his eyes. I grabbed my purse, looked at him and said, Mom loves you. I'll be right back. I didn't know it at the time, but I wouldn't see Riggs until almost a month later.

 

Adrenaline coursed through my body as I raced to the hospital. I was focused on my destination yet, at one point, I remember thinking, please God, save me and my eyebrows. It seems laughable now, but the nurses said it was all I asked for, and my friends confirmed it later. The whole time I was driving, the one thing that concerned me was my eyebrows and my face being droopy on one side. I am not sure how I didn't crash my car in my death-defying race to the hospital.

 

A block away from my destination, I managed to call 911 and tell someone my name and that I was pretty sure I was having a heart attack or stroke. He told me to pull over and wait, not knowing what most people know about me: I am a strong-minded and very stubborn woman. I said, well, I am almost there, and hung up and kept driving. Surprisingly, I managed to park my car and walk in unassisted. I thought I was steady but was later told that I came in limping and said, I'm having a stroke, and then passed out.

 

After an unknown period of time, a doctor put me in a wheelchair, and a clerk took my identification and noticed I could talk a bit. I was then put in a trauma room. Shit got real after that. It was a blur back then, but clear as day 11 months later. I sat on the hospital bed in an emergency room with wires hooked up to me, listening to three nurses who kept saying I was fine. I kept pinching my skin, saying I couldn't feel my right side and that my left side was heavy. But they still wouldn’t listen to me. Finally, in desperation, I pulled off my top, ripped out my nipple piercing, indicating that I couldn’t feel anything, and said, this isn't right! Please help me. There is something wrong!

 

Because I knew something was wrong with me, and I needed immediate attention and wasn’t receiving it, I didn’t trust that the doctors and nurses were providing thorough care. I went to sleep for a while, and when I woke up, I realized I had been in the trauma room for five days. I wasn’t sure where I was, and I couldn’t see or move my body. I was weak and not fully conscious but heard the emergency doctor who initially treated me apologizing to me for his mistake—for missing the window to give me a blood thinner that could have prevented my stroke. This caused the blood clot in my neck. Despite blood work and two CT scans, he and others missed what was really going on. When I first questioned them, medical staff continuously told me there was nothing they could do for me, that I was okay, and that I should go home and lie down. I told the doctor I did not have vertigo like he suggested, and I refused to leave until I was treated. Then, they wheeled me out into the hallway under the lights. I remember the endless minutes, the people, and the bright agonizing lights, but most of all, I remember the most excruciating pain of my life. 

 

Lying there, blind and paralyzed, I heard someone asking, how long have her eyes been like this? How long has she been vomiting? How long has she been having a seizure? It was an out-of-body experience whereby I was aware of everything happening, but I couldn’t respond; I wondered over and over what I had done to deserve this. Finally, I was able to tell the doctor that I knew something was wrong and remembered people walking past me. All he said to me was that he was sorry I went through that. He was sorry! I couldn’t understand how someone could be sorry yet do nothing. I lay in a bed, unable to move, unable to see, and listened to my heartbeat like it was being pulled out of my chest. I couldn’t trust them. They didn’t listen to me tell them there was something wrong. There were nurses, paramedics, the entire staff attending to me, and even a neurologist later on. Still, I wasn’t satisfied with their diagnosis and the degree of medical care they gave me. I felt I knew my body better than those trying to diagnose me.

 

After my stroke, I constantly thought about what I might miss out on. My doctor gave me a huge list of activities I couldn’t do. I started thinking about the people who probably wouldn’t want to hang out with me anymore. I had a lot of time to think about people in my life and things I was attached to. I learned who my true friends are. Among them is my dog. Big Rigg is the most meaningful and loving attachment I have. He helped me get through the most challenging times when I felt overtaken by grief. 

 

Grief was a cold dark feeling of loss and abandonment. It showed up as fear of what I could be missing out on, yet in reality, it was just an emotion—a blockage in my mind. I was attached to a number of things, and when they were gone, I felt loss and pain. I was attached to people, the person I used to be, and the life I always expected to be safe and predictable. I learned that after trauma, grief can cause physical, cognitive, and behavioural problems. I was never taught how to manage fear, and I didn’t automatically know how to deal with emotional issues and trauma. Help appeared in various forms: talking to someone professionally, accessing online resources, or taking medications. For me, turning to medication cut me off emotionally and didn’t always lead to closure. Being outside and learning to ground myself in nature helped—I immersed myself in it, energizing my mind, and cleansing my spirit.

 

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Reflection

 

After the stroke, my brain scrambled to be put back together, so I went on anti-depressants and anti-anxiety pills that made me feel even more confused and depressed for six months. They numbed me, and I felt like I lost more of myself each day. During moments of despair, I remember holding onto things and people so tightly that I became stuck in limbo and forgot how happy I was before my attachment. I felt selfish for believing I was entitled to keep that person or experience, even though I knew it was the right thing to let go. I find it’s never easy to say goodbye, but I learned that when one door closes, others open. I realized it was okay to hold on, and it was okay to love to a depth only I could understand. But my fear of loss made anything that came into my life feel short-term. I watched people, jobs, and materialistic things come and go, and I treasured them because I knew nothing was permanent. The change was scary but necessary for my growth.

 

The most frequent comment I received during my early recovery was, wow, you look great. It looks like you made a full recovery in a short time. I wondered, does anyone ever make a full recovery? I had not but somehow learned how to cope with my injury. I learned and successfully moved on. The experience of my stroke made me physically and mentally stronger, and at the end of the day, I came to believe it was a choice how I achieved recovery. It was essential to do things that helped my healing and growth, and I needed to get out there, try something new, and find what lit my soul. 

 

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Dear Self,

 

Emotions exist in your mind and heart. They change constantly. Never give up on yourself, no matter how hard life gets. Never turn to quick fixes because that won't help you in the long run. If you want to change yourself and grow, it will take time and small goals; before you know it, it will be weeks and months later. One year from now, you will look back and see how much you have grown. Every time you think of the moments that almost broke you, be proud and smile. Feel love for yourself. The sweet shortness of living brings us back to life—the existence of eternal love, joy, and bliss. There is no end to being; just go back to where your heart truly lives.

 

At some point in my recovery, I realized that grief was universal. Like many people, I experienced it through the death of a loved one, the loss of a job, the end of a relationship, and now the stroke. Grief was personal. Only I could really understand the pain. It wasn’t neat or linear. It didn’t follow predictable timelines or schedules. I cried, shouted, withdrew, and sometimes I just felt empty. I came to learn that none of this was unusual or wrong. One of my favourite poets is Rumi. He was a renowned writer, poet, and spiritual teacher who inspired me. He wanted people to wake up and see beauty in themselves and each other. Some say the universe is a mirror. If that is true, I have been the one creating my reality.

 

Don't grieve.

Anything you lose comes round in another form. 

 

~Rumi

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Dear Reader,

This is Your Gift of Grief

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Why is it so difficult for us to let go of experiences that have caused pain and suffering? We get stuck in the past because of our need for certainty. We need to be assured that we can avoid pain and find some comfort in our lives. Letting go of the past also means stepping into the unknown. It means having the courage to be vulnerable and let go of what is familiar and learn from what's ahead, even if it feels negative. We need to embrace the unknown and the fear that lingers in our mind and heart.

 

Take some time for the self-reflection on the following pages to shift your mindset around grief.

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Reflections for the Reader 

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1. Where Can I Find Gratitude Within Grief?

2. What Lessons Have I Learned About Grief? 

3. What Part of Grief Can I Release Control Of?

4. How Can I Accept Grief Right Now?

5. My Reflection Around Grief

6. My Poem About Grief

7. A Letter To Myself About Grief 
   Dear Self,