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Back to All Stories
Sarah - Illinois
Technically when you turn 18, you are considered an adult. But most 18-year-olds are just graduating high school and still under their parent. Most are not dealing with many responsibilities. They are more concerned about their weekend plans than anything else.
Perhaps they are on the brink of going to school. About to move to a new city. Others may start a full-time work week. Finally financially able to cover their own needs. At this time of change, many are pondering the next stage of their lives. Who they are and will they marry, settle down or how many kids they want. Yet as these 18-year-olds move away from home, they mostly want to have fun. They pursue short-term gratification and they find various ways to get it.
For me, I was ecstatic to go away to Indiana University in Bloomington. As I listened to the valedictorian give a speech about the new paths we would soon be traveling down, I couldn’t think of anything but this next chapter.
This is the first day of the rest of your lives. He told us that graduation day. His words resonated as I imagined college life. Total freedom. It wasn’t that my parents were super strict; I was just ready to take care of myself and make my own decisions. I was undoubtedly ready for the new adventure upon me.
The excitement dissipated only four days later- in a matter of a few seconds- the time it took for a blood clot to get stuck on its way to the right side of my brain. It had traveled through a congenital hole in my heart, which had failed to close during my adolescence. It blocked blood and oxygen flow causing paralysis in my left leg, arm and left side of my face.
This horrible truth came Memorial Day morning at my friend’s house. We had been celebrating our graduation the night before. A room full of 18-year-old girls who knew nearly nothing about stroke was the first people to see my disabled state. They tried but couldn’t make sense of my lifeless left side. Paramedics arrived in a few minutes and I was rushed to the local hospital. Due to lack of correlation between stroke and a healthy 18-year-old girl, I stayed in the emergency room for seven hours. Because of my condition, I was then transferred to Loyola University Hospital for further treatment.
Although I had blocked out the time I spent in the E.R., I vividly remember my time as a patient at Loyola. I hated being a sick person. And being only 18 and completely healthy a few days prior, I really felt out of place amongst the grandmas and grandpas. At Loyola, doctors closed the hole with a nylon covering and I was put on blood thinners. My chances of having another stroke reduced to the same as anyone else.
After Loyola, was the Rehabilitation Institute of Chicago (RIC), which sounded so much better than the hospital where I had been? Upon arrival, I was disappointed to see the white beds, and people in nurses uniforms, but it was filled with a breath of hope that I was that much closer to going home and moving forward with my life.
Although my floor was filled with people much older than me, I could relate to everyone because they were stroke survivors. They also had their lives turned sideways due to this awful incident that took the movement out of half of their limbs. And there were patients that had suffered hemorrhagic strokes who had so much to work on. Hemorrhagic stroke disables half of the body but also your ability to say things that once came out in an instant.
Once I met one of these survivors, it made me take a step back. All of the survivors would sit at a table, and work on our weaknesses. Her weakness was answering the therapist when he asked her where she was from, she immediately leaned forward and opened her mouth to answer the simple question she had answered a million times before, but hesitated at a grunt then sat back in her wheelchair. Her husband, loyal by her side, smiled with welling eyes and encouraged her to get the words out. Her frustration began to show after a few moments, but she continued to grunt and mumble syllables trying to form the words of her home. She didn’t quit until she finally muttered the city.
Her struggle made me realize how incredibly lucky I was. I didn’t lose any mental capacity, just the temporary movement of my left side. I remember feeling so empowered at that moment. I was fully capable to beat this setback and not let it affect what I had planned to do. What had seemed like a tragedy and why me? Circumstance turned into an opportunity. My childish selfishness had turned into a mature awareness of what I still had. Everything happens for a reason.
I progressed quickly at RIC and left on June 24, less than a month after my stroke. I got to go home and finish rehab with outpatient therapy three times a week until I left for IU at the end of August. Although I gave it my all, my left side weakness was extremely apparent. And I ceased using a cane an only a week before leaving for school.
I realized that my stroke affects wouldn't go away after just a few months of rehabilitation. Full recovery would take time and constant dedication. This would become something that would define me more than anything else. It wasn't what friends I had in high school, the Homecoming Queen title I won or which brand of clothes I bought. My stroke was teaching me the truly important things in life. My reasons for wanting to go away to college had changed. I didn't want to go to Bloomington to party and get rid of my curfew, I wanted to go to prove I could live on my own, merely three months after I had suffered a stroke. Doing this was quite a shock to most people who knew my situation. Friends had suggested I go to an in-state school, so I would have them there to help me whenever needed. Another friend asked me, “so what are you going to do now”? As I replied, “go to IU, what else would I do”? I was extremely self-conscious meeting new people because of my differences. I wasn’t vivacious, outgoing person I once was. I was a stroke survivor. I wanted others to know, but I didn’t want them to notice. Going out was hardly a possibility because I didn’t know how far we had to walk to go to parties. I played it safe.
Being by myself most of the time was hard initially. I missed my family and my friends from home, but I kept in frequent touch with them as they encouraged me. Not for one moment did I take anyone’s support for granted.
Welcome week was filled with those students who couldn't wait to get away from home so they could stay out and party. I was slowly realizing life wasn’t about this instant gratification. They would go out and miss class the next day. Where peers were struggling academically, I was succeeding because I had a clear view of my priorities. I also had a new set of responsibilities taking care of my health. I had medication to take to ensure I wouldn’t have future problems and a regimen of exercises so that my movement would continue to rehab. I was also attending meetings for clubs to join and finding comfort there. Second semester, I went through recruitment and joined a sorority. I felt a lot more comfortable telling my new sisters my story. They were immediately accepting. I was philanthropy chair my sophomore year so that I could give back to those less fortunate. Being less fortunate in a way sparked my desire to want to help. Now I take every chance I have not only to educate others about heart disease, but also to remind them of all the great things in life. When friends or family get down, I remind them they have the love of their family and their health.
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