Don't Leave Me This Way: Or When I Get Back on My Feet You'll Be Sorry (27 page)

JIM AND I WERE DRIVING
home late one night when we got a flat on the highway. We could hear the tire shredding. Jim had no choice but to pull over onto the shoulder. Not only was it a dangerous area, but it was pitch-black and pouring rain. With no flashlight, Jim struggled to locate the jack and tire iron buried in the trunk. It was pretty bleak, but then a nondescript delivery truck pulled over. A man got out and, without saying a word, went to work getting out the tools and changing the tire. He did this in complete darkness and there was not one word of conversation. Once he completed the task he ran back to the truck and drove off. I never saw his face and he didn’t speak. We tried to give him money but he was gone. I didn’t see any wings, but I honestly think he was an angel. I think he was setting an example for us.

Initially, my goal was to become who I was before the stroke. I was really in search of my full-functioning body. I remember shopping with my mother. I was in a wheelchair purchasing clothes for Rory. A young woman was in the same area of the store. As I stared at her (though she was oblivious of me), I thought, “I used to be just like her.” At the time, it upset me that I was not like her. What I now realize is that I didn’t even know her. I was looking at the outer appearance. This realization magnified the fact that I didn’t really know me. But I have begun, I think, the process of knowing myself through the process of recovery. And yes, that entire process has been a gift from God.

I used to make deals with God. When I first found myself in a hospital bed, paralyzed, I asked God to let me feed myself and become independent. Once that was achieved, I prayed that I would be able to pick up my toddler and be able to put my arms around my husband again. As God answered my prayers, I continued to ask for more while expressing gratitude for what I had received. This has helped me come to terms with the fact that none of us ever really knows what is around the corner on our life’s paths.

I thought my life path was to be a woman climbing the corporate ladder while maintaining a family life with a husband and two children. Instead, I got to climb a different ladder and learn that the ladder to God is a choice and that we can choose which rung we want to claim in our relationship with God. I thought I was a good person before this injury, but what I’ve learned is that I have to give something of myself in order to help others get through whatever may have them trapped.

When I awoke from surgery, I felt sure that I had a mission, a purpose in life. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get to know what it was. Now, I know that I have the privilege to be here, to share life with others, to find ways to give back to people who need something. I like to think that this book has been part of that mission, and that this story will help people overcome some of the all-too-easy “certainties” that they imagine define their lives.

“Young people aren’t supposed to have strokes.”

Aren’t they?

“You have your whole life ahead of you.”

Do I?

These are assumptions most people make in order to get through the day. I used to make them, too. Replacing them took a lot of work. To reach a point where you can really, honestly accept an event like a massive cerebral hemorrhage as part of God’s plan requires not only your own willingness to take the next step on the ladder, but also, perhaps, the act of opening yourself to the possibility of receiving assistance from someone with wings.

Nowadays, my recovery lets me see the expression of relief on people’s faces. It lets me see them acknowledge my progress, but also in that misleading “certainty” that bad things only happen to people who have lived for a long time—or to people who “deserve it.” Or, the “certainty” that our mortality is a far-off reality, if it is a reality at all.

I try to correct them, but not like I would have corrected someone at work before my stroke. I try to tell them what I’ve learned: “Love your family, go home and kiss your spouse and kids. It’s always best to have the warmth of love, even when you’re apart from the person you love.”

I don’t know whether I’m going to wake up tomorrow morning. Nobody does. But I
know
I don’t know that, and a lot of people imagine that they can be certain about tomorrow morning.

I truly feel like my stroke has made me a better person. It has given me the insight to see that there’s more than meets the eye in any moment, any situation. My spirituality has evolved. I know I am here, for a while, in this body, because I made a choice and because God made a choice. While I’m here, I’m completely comfortable in my own skin. What a sense of freedom.

I believe that although I was a good person before the stroke, I was only tapping into a single facet of the diamond in the rough that we all are. Hopefully, by the time I complete my mission here on earth, I’ll have become a multifaceted jewel. Every day I have a chance to add a new facet. I love diamonds.

I have angels around me all the time; they tell me things. For instance, there was a day when I was driving alone with Rory for the first time since my stroke. He was only three and I was nervous because my body was not in good shape. I was dragging my left side around. I decided that I was going to take him to a local park. On my way there—it is less than ten minutes from my house—I had a vision of Rory running, and in my vision he fell down. When he got up, there was blood all around his mouth and coming out of his nose.

It was a terrifying image. I panicked for a second and was about to turn around because of this vision, but instead I said a prayer to let me carry on; I needed to do this trip for my independence and to reclaim my role as a mother. I needed to do it for my son while keeping him from harm. I said a little prayer (it was more like a chat with God) and I continued on my way to the park.

The park has a couple of benches around the play area, which is one big sandbox that contains jungle gyms, tire swings, and forts and ladders. It is really a great place for kids. I had to sit at the bench farthest away. The other ones were full because there were many children playing. Two women came over and sat next to me on the bench. We talked a little bit. I had brought a book, but was too nervous to read, so I just watched my boy have fun; it made me smile.

I looked up and I saw him running as if he were in slow motion and he did a face plant right in the sand. My heart stopped. I froze as I witnessed the fall. The two women sitting beside me jumped up and ran over to him. I hobbled my way to where he sat crying. When he looked up, it was just like my vision. But instead of blood pouring out of his mouth and nose, it was only sand.

This type of vision and a knowing sense happens to me a lot. I get a little frightened by it because sometimes these visions come true. They do not make sense to me, and I do not know what they mean when it happens. I’ve learned not to make snap judgments of others, because the outer package is only good for a first impression. You need to go beyond the surface for a better understanding. I’ve discovered that I can no longer be embarrassed. There are many things that, before my stroke, I would have considered embarrassing. When I ask people what they think the word “embarrassment” means, the response is often “shame” or “humiliation.” I now know it means judgment—others judging you. No one has the right to judge another. The only judgment I’m accepting is God’s. So when you see me Rollerblading with my cane Steady and I happen to wipe out, you can laugh. I’ll be laughing, too. Falling is just another way of moving forward.

BECAUSE I WAS RECOVERING
during much of Rory’s formative years, I was not able to teach him common tasks like tying a shoe, buttoning a shirt, or snapping his pants. But I have been able to teach him about people, and about being kind and about showing compassion. In fact, compassion has become a teaching platform for me to pass down to my son. I want him to realize that helping others is more rewarding than helping yourself. I want him to feel the power of positive thinking and attitude—the joy of seeing challenge and opportunity in adversity, which makes a victory more worthwhile.

When struggling for a title for this book, I looked to my young son and said, “Rory, help me come up with a title, I’m lost.” Without missing a beat, he said, “How ’bout
My Curtains Were Closed and Now They’re Open
?”

“What do you mean by that, Rory?”

“Well, before your stroke you couldn’t see everything—and now you can. If you don’t like that one, what about
God Showed Me the Way
?”

His insightfulness has shown me that I’m not the only one who has learned something on this journey.

Life took on an intensity after the stroke that I wasn’t able to experience before. I learned firsthand that things happen for reasons, and sometimes we get to know why and sometimes we don’t. But there is a Plan.

And I have come to accept that.

I know that no answers are possible outside of God, but I can’t really tell you what I mean by that. I’m just thankful there is an answer, even if I don’t understand it, and I lean on that answer, whether or not it makes sense to me at the time. A lot of people come out of an experience like this convinced that they have no control over their lives. I try to make things happen in the most positive way possible. Who has time to wait? God put us here to do something.

There really are angels, and if you listen, they’re always looking for a way to guide your steps, always looking for a way to explain something to you. They’re saying life is funny and difficult and pretty damn good, and when you can hear their message, even if it’s just once in a while, even if it’s very faint, you’re deeply grateful—and you’re never quite the same again.

P.S.: Thanks for all my blessings. I love life.

Special thanks to…

Original Manuscript Editor: Brandon Toropov, Beachbrook Productions
For culling reams of material to get my vision of a good read. Thanks for climbing the mountain with me.

Author Photo: James Fox

Like father, like daughter? They say we’re so much alike, it’s scary. I inherited your humor. Thanks for the “funny” gene.

Mom Fox

For being my chauffeur, laundress, housekeeper, babysitter, closet organizer, note taker, sounding board. Have I left anything out? Yes, best friend. Bet you never thought you were going to have to raise me twice.

My dear family and friends

For your support and encouragement, and for making me laugh even when I wanted to cry. Thanks for always being there for me.

Linda Wilkes, Northeast Visual Communications

For your breadth of knowledge and creative spark. You are a true Renaissance woman.

I had over forty physicians caring for me after the “incident.” Two doctors who went above and beyond the call of duty I need to thank personally, and they are:

Kinan Hreib, M.D., Ph.D., Director of Stroke Services Neurology

For your medical expertise and for your insight and compassion. From the beginning, you listened and heard what the patient had to say. You are the best.

David Burke, M.D., M.A., Associate Professor, Harvard Medical School, Department of Physical Medicine and Rehabilitation

For the generous doses of laughter to offset the pain of those shots you give me. Your humor is as much a gift as your medical treatment.

Robert Drillio, IAM Orthotics

For keeping me on my feet and moving in the right direction.

Pam Hinckley and Carrie Myles

For keeping my body toned and supple. Hey, a girl can dream, can’t she? For helping me get the most out of what I’m left with.

Dr. David Elpern and John St. Augustine

You are both kindred spirits who have taken up the drumbeat of the message. Thank you for your continuing support.

Chip Seelig, Mike Shatzkin, Vicky Bijur, and Marjorie Braman

The circle started with you, Chip, who believed in me and my work. You introduced me to Mike, who suggested I talk to Vicky, who presented my work to Marjorie, who believes in me and my work. The circle is complete, but the work continues.

I never really had a fire in my belly to write a book; it just seemed like so much work. All I ever wanted was to have one dedicated to me. Funny how life’s journey doesn’t always stay on course.

Julia Fox Garrison,
November 2005

We come into this world seeing a doctor, and we continue to see a doctor until we reach the end of our journey. And while we’re here, insurance companies dictate how long we get to spend with a doctor each time we see one.

Use this checklist to get the most out of your doctor’s visit:

• Write down on an index card all medications, including prescription and over-the-counter drugs and diet supplements. Note the respective strengths and dosages. Keep the card accessible and up-to-date. Every doctor you see will ask for this information. You want to be accurate and consistent.

• Come prepared with a list of questions and concerns about your health in general and specifically about the condition for which you are seeking treatment.

• Have a family member or trusted friend accompany you into the examining room. You will have to filter a lot of information, so it helps to have an extra set of ears. Have the person take notes if possible.

• Ask about options for treatment, including alternative medicines, and possible side effects.

• Ask about additional resources that might be available to you, for example, Internet Web sites, studies, support groups.

• Have the doctor set your expectations as regards follow-up on what you have discussed today. When is the best time to call if you have additional questions? Will the doctor call you directly with test results? Is there an e-mail address that you can use for contact?

• Don’t accept anything less than coequal status. Don’t allow yourself to be talked down to or patronized. If you are dissatisfied or uneasy about your interactions, change doctors without a second thought.

• Go with your gut. If your body is telling you there’s something wrong, trust your instinct—who knows your body better than you? Persist in finding the root cause; don’t accept any suggestion that “it’s in your head.”

• Positive Outlook = Positive Outcome works. If you approach your consultation with a positive attitude and a sense of purpose, your doctor will respond in kind, and together you can work toward the desired result—a healthier you.

• Laughter is a great stress reliever and icebreaker. Use humor in your interactions to humanize the experience with your doctor.