The scene on this chilly early spring night transcended from me alone dimly lit from above near the garage and sat still momentarily becoming aware of the occasional neighborhood dog barking. I didn’t contemplate, I didn’t think at all and that is the secret that I can recognize in retrospect. I was content. Complete tranquility. Happy. And this didn’t change right away. From a sleepy, non-descriptive suburban development, home, driveway and life was grabbed by a lose thread of a life and unraveled it as if it was pulled unexpectedly torn on a rusty nail while brushing by a fence in disrepair. But I didn’t see the mess it created. Despite the cacophony around me I absorbed it, one stimuli at a time…conscious, aware and more curious than disconcerted. One ambulance, 4 EMT first responders, two police cruisers and 4 cops. Allison shared what she knew which was limited. She found me sitting there in the car and unable to get more than one word at a time out of my mouth.
One of the EMTs kneeled in front of me. He asked me a number of questions:
-“What is your name?” No response from me.
-“Where are you? No response to me.
-“What is your birthday? No response again.
In each case I tried to answer. I really did but the words wouldn’t come out. The EMT stood up to speak with Allison and as quickly as he was in front of me, I forgot he ever existed. And then I saw my neighbor, Sven. Sven and his lovely family are from South Africa and we were lucky enough to have their teenage daughters often come to the house to babysit. Sven and his youngest daughter, Kirsty came across the street and passing the tumult that was impossible to avoid in the quiet Wednesday evening. Kirsty followed closely behind Sven to see us while staying out of the way of the team. And while I was watching Sven’s face I was conscious of the fact that the only things I was looking at, hearing and understanding was Sven. Not Allison, the cops, the EMTs or even Sven’s daughter who stood right next to him, holding his hand. Sven hadn’t uttered a word. He stood maybe 25 feet away but it was like I had a camera lens of a movie that zoomed in on Sven’s face. His countenance of concerns, his wispy, thinning front hair, the back angling brow and 1 day’s worth of stubble. And I was completely present with Sven without a word from either of us. As focused and locked-in as I was with Sven that moment passed fluidly into looking at Kirtsy. Like while looking at Sven and now again with Kirsty, everything else seemed to lose its fidelity; Sounds, depth, smell, touch, texture and peripheral vision. But what was lost in the moment’s context of all five senses was made up by making the subject insanely acute. Like looking through a portal using High Definition and headphones with surround sound. But the screen was not huge like an I-Max…. it was small through the looking glass.
The next scene panned to the EMT again and now I was being helped into a stretcher. I was wrapped in blankets and secured before they rose me up on the stretcher. I was aware I was going into an ambulance. Allison looked at me, kissing me and told me she would meet me at the hospital. “They’re going to take care of you. “I’ll take care of you.” And with that I was put into the back of the ambulance. The doors closed behind.
Inside the ambulance everything was heightened. The lights were brilliantly blinding. The open and closing of cabinets were deafening. The ripped sound of a new IV was heard loudly inside my head, not just outside. One tech began the IV while another wearing latex gloves and looked at me closely. “Mr. Salvati, who is the president?” I focused and I looked deep inside the irises of the eyes of the tech and his over gelled hair and I confidently said to him, “Omama.” And I heard it myself too. “Omama.” “Why did I say that?” I was thinking to myself. He asked me a couple more questions and I couldn’t get another word out of my mouth. In my head “Omama” kept echoing inside the cavern of my head, unable to focus on anything else let alone answer to another question. And then I stopped listen to my mind and came back to listening and focusing on what the EMTs were saying and doing despite how loud it all sounded to me. And next what happened was the precise moment that my calmness was abruptly, rudely ended. The EMT’s who were speaking to each were as if the three of us weren’t in the same room let alone in the back of a moving ambulance. That was rude enough but I never expected to hear one EMT to say out loudly to another, “This guy must have been doing a lot of drugs.” I was enraged but couldn’t speak a word and with my right hand I made a fist and hit my thigh. I did it again as if to protest the indictment, implication, possibly endangered me and worst of all he shattered the closest I’ve ever been to complete tranquility.
What happens at the hospital comes next…
DID YOU KNOW? On average, every 40 seconds someone in the United States has a stroke.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Monday, September 13, 2010
Something is Different
I knew I forgot something… call Allison. She's gonna kill me.
So knowing that something was different and I was unable to close the garage, I sat in the car’s driver side in the driveway. Keep in mind that I had no plan on driving. It wasn’t that I was scared in fact the mere thought of driving home didn’t even enter my mind. I never lost conscious. Most stroke suffers lose conscious, waking up (if they do) after sometime and often have a blurring ephemeral return back to reality albeit likely altered. If they are lucky they will recognize someone looking above them with a combination of smiles hidden by their concern. Others wake up attached to tubes, leaders from EKGs, IVs and if they made it this far the unmistakable wafting mixed of scents of hospital smells; rubbing alcohol, stale flowers 24 hours from expiring, hospital food in various states of consumption all combined with the unique various inmates/patients mixed with their own ailment. Imagine that for a moment.
One minute you’re in a Starbuck’s getting your latte on. You ask the barista for a grande. You’re on the phone with a colleague about a deadline which just went sideway. In your mind, working in the background much like a computer, there are a dozen other things to process, consider, choose, decide, procrastinate, plan, worry, and look forward to. You’re processing what your colleague is telling you. You consider talking to your colleague and asking them to call the client to have a meeting. You choose about whether you should get a blueberry muffin at Starbucks or get something on the way to the airport? You decide to refinance the house now because interest rates have gotten pretty low and we should refinance now. You procrastinate getting your driver’s license renewed because who the hell wants to go to the DMV. You plan for a vacation 6 months ago. Where should we go? You worry about whether or not the economy is going to go into a “double-dip?” You look forward to seeing the kids when you get home from your business trip. But at the moment of the stroke, it all stops. But if it was even possible, I digressed more than usual.
While sitting in the car, looking down at my iPhone, and then looking up, I had forgotten why I was there, in my car, in this driveway, of this house, in this state, at this time, of day of this month or year. So even more befuddling to me was why Allison had suddenly been kneeling down in front of me in the driveway of our rental house. I did recognize her and then after a few moments I vaguely remembering something about her talking to me on the phone. It would be accurate to call it a “conversation” because at the time, on the phone I was unable to get past 1-2 words let alone a coherent thought, feeling, expression or an explanation. Later I would understand that Allison guessed on where I was at the time of the stroke. Allison had to guess where I was and which way she drove to find me. She had no idea if I went to the rental, if I was driving, had I stopped on the road side? Did I drive off into a ditch? While the kids were blissfully ignorant and asleep while what was occurring Allison jumped in her car a started to drive following instinct and instantaneously calculating where I might have been and the route I might have taken. She was right.
She was wearing blue pilled sweats, Ugg boot knock-offs and a face that combined urgency with incredible calm। And so here I was. I had no pain. But I did have this sense that my peripheral site was not blurry but was not considered in my mind. Ambient sounds were all muted. Allison pulled into the driveway and kneeled upon an icy driveway and looked straight in my eyes.
Allison: “Are you ok?”
Me: “I’m…”
Allison: “Did someone hurt you?”
Me: “Something…” “I…”
And this is when I started to understand that something was beyond a “normal” experience. I understood most of her questions. And I thought I understood the answers to her questions. At most I could get one word out of my mouth. And often nothing came out of my mouth at all. I knew Allison was calling 911 and this was the first time that more than one word in a row came out of my mouth.
“Something is different.” Not ‘wrong,’ ‘different.’ “Something is different.”
Allison called it in and gave my location and condition. ‘Condition’ for Allison would observe me as confused, not speaking, and I’m sure she was a little scared but….calm. ‘Condition’ for me was ‘different.’ I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t in pain. There was no past or future there was only that moment. And nothing else mattered in my mind. I was calm, and experienced a tranquility that I wish I could bottle. The tranquility remained even though an ambulance and police officers arrived with brilliant red, white and blue brilliant flashing lights along with a small platoon of EMTs and police officers. And despite all the brilliance of lights, strangers, the parade of neighbors pouring out of their front homes and moving closer, I only saw and heard was Allison. At least for the moment that was all I had.
How long would this tranquility maintain? You’ll find out soon…...
So knowing that something was different and I was unable to close the garage, I sat in the car’s driver side in the driveway. Keep in mind that I had no plan on driving. It wasn’t that I was scared in fact the mere thought of driving home didn’t even enter my mind. I never lost conscious. Most stroke suffers lose conscious, waking up (if they do) after sometime and often have a blurring ephemeral return back to reality albeit likely altered. If they are lucky they will recognize someone looking above them with a combination of smiles hidden by their concern. Others wake up attached to tubes, leaders from EKGs, IVs and if they made it this far the unmistakable wafting mixed of scents of hospital smells; rubbing alcohol, stale flowers 24 hours from expiring, hospital food in various states of consumption all combined with the unique various inmates/patients mixed with their own ailment. Imagine that for a moment.
One minute you’re in a Starbuck’s getting your latte on. You ask the barista for a grande. You’re on the phone with a colleague about a deadline which just went sideway. In your mind, working in the background much like a computer, there are a dozen other things to process, consider, choose, decide, procrastinate, plan, worry, and look forward to. You’re processing what your colleague is telling you. You consider talking to your colleague and asking them to call the client to have a meeting. You choose about whether you should get a blueberry muffin at Starbucks or get something on the way to the airport? You decide to refinance the house now because interest rates have gotten pretty low and we should refinance now. You procrastinate getting your driver’s license renewed because who the hell wants to go to the DMV. You plan for a vacation 6 months ago. Where should we go? You worry about whether or not the economy is going to go into a “double-dip?” You look forward to seeing the kids when you get home from your business trip. But at the moment of the stroke, it all stops. But if it was even possible, I digressed more than usual.
While sitting in the car, looking down at my iPhone, and then looking up, I had forgotten why I was there, in my car, in this driveway, of this house, in this state, at this time, of day of this month or year. So even more befuddling to me was why Allison had suddenly been kneeling down in front of me in the driveway of our rental house. I did recognize her and then after a few moments I vaguely remembering something about her talking to me on the phone. It would be accurate to call it a “conversation” because at the time, on the phone I was unable to get past 1-2 words let alone a coherent thought, feeling, expression or an explanation. Later I would understand that Allison guessed on where I was at the time of the stroke. Allison had to guess where I was and which way she drove to find me. She had no idea if I went to the rental, if I was driving, had I stopped on the road side? Did I drive off into a ditch? While the kids were blissfully ignorant and asleep while what was occurring Allison jumped in her car a started to drive following instinct and instantaneously calculating where I might have been and the route I might have taken. She was right.
She was wearing blue pilled sweats, Ugg boot knock-offs and a face that combined urgency with incredible calm। And so here I was. I had no pain. But I did have this sense that my peripheral site was not blurry but was not considered in my mind. Ambient sounds were all muted. Allison pulled into the driveway and kneeled upon an icy driveway and looked straight in my eyes.
Allison: “Are you ok?”
Me: “I’m…”
Allison: “Did someone hurt you?”
Me: “Something…” “I…”
And this is when I started to understand that something was beyond a “normal” experience. I understood most of her questions. And I thought I understood the answers to her questions. At most I could get one word out of my mouth. And often nothing came out of my mouth at all. I knew Allison was calling 911 and this was the first time that more than one word in a row came out of my mouth.
“Something is different.” Not ‘wrong,’ ‘different.’ “Something is different.”
Allison called it in and gave my location and condition. ‘Condition’ for Allison would observe me as confused, not speaking, and I’m sure she was a little scared but….calm. ‘Condition’ for me was ‘different.’ I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t in pain. There was no past or future there was only that moment. And nothing else mattered in my mind. I was calm, and experienced a tranquility that I wish I could bottle. The tranquility remained even though an ambulance and police officers arrived with brilliant red, white and blue brilliant flashing lights along with a small platoon of EMTs and police officers. And despite all the brilliance of lights, strangers, the parade of neighbors pouring out of their front homes and moving closer, I only saw and heard was Allison. At least for the moment that was all I had.
How long would this tranquility maintain? You’ll find out soon…...
Thursday, September 02, 2010
Who has a stroke in their 30’s? I do.
After a long absence my Blog has life once again. Ironic, isn't it?
I’ll miss the stroke. Really. Don’t get me wrong. Sure it was scary afterwards when I understood what the Hell had occurred. The kids, my family, a presentation to give and tomorrow is trash day! But oh how fascinating it was when my mind was co-opt and somewhere between PS (pre-stroke) and afterwards when the “event” was over. But during the stroke which felt like it lasted about 4 hours. There is one (that I can recall) caveat. While the stroke was occurring, linear time does not occur during a left-hemisphere ischemic stroke. There was no past remember and there was not future to consider/worry/think about. There was only the present. And for the only time in my humble adult life I was aware, living in, thinking in solely in the moment and then the following moment and so on. I couldn’t consider the next second let alone tomorrow. And as a result of “Being Present” for those hours I was as content and tranquil as I had ever been. And so now when I say I “miss the stroke” perhaps you’ll better understand. Other than stress (and who doesn’t have it), I was in the best shape of my life. 9% body fat, 158 cholesterol, BP of 120/70, eating right, working out like a freak. Never smoked, only an occasional drink. So, if that doesn’t help, maybe I’ll start smoking, ravenously wolf down steaks every night, swill martinis before dinner and gulp Scotch at the end of meals.
At some point, a clot moved to my left hemisphere and caused the stroke. In an ischemic stroke blood supply to part of the brain is decreased, leading to dysfunction of the brain tissue in that area. 87% of all strokes are classified as “ischemic.”
Stroke without an obvious explanation is termed "cryptogenic" (of unknown origin); this constitutes 30-40% of all ischemic strokes. And despite the alien abduction like slew of tests and procedures the reason for my stroke is still a mystery.
What Happened: The Rug pulled out from under
Things started innocently enough. We moved to Colorado from Connecticut 8 months earlier and we had the joy of moving 5 places in those 8 months with two under 5 year old kids in tow. But we had finally settled on the house that was going to become our home. A recent home we bought no more than 3 days and I was heading to our rental home 1.5 miles away. All was left to do was for me to meet to a couple to look at and buy a rug from the rental and then I was heading home for the day. If you’re dying to find one of your own, here is where you can find it: ( http://www.potterybarn.com/products/quinn-felted-shag-rug-clay/ ). The couple seemed nice enough. Rather non-descript late 30ish/early 40ish. Not gregarious but polite. If I were to guess, they were accountants.
Back and forth they wondered whether it would fit in the room they were planning on them. Not really wanting to keep it any longer, nor did I want to get rid of it, I substantially discounted the asking price as to further incite them to purchase it. “You know, I know it is a little larger than the room you have, but I’ve done the same. Just fold it under the rug where the couch is going to go. Worked great for us.” That sold it.
My Silent Movers
So I rolled up the rug and it started relatively well though we clearly knew this was going to be a heavy job. The husband was in front and I was in the back. It was only slight easier to moving a king mattress. After a little of heavy breathing we collected ourselves for the carry up the stairs and turning the first landing. We cleared the landing and were half-way up and took a moment to catch our breath. On this next push up, with me at the bottom and taking the bulk of weight we gave a big (mighty is an adverb more reserved for heroic efforts) shove. And then something happened. Or more accurately, something stopped happening. I stopped speaking out loud but all of my thoughts and words were in my mind. Though I still not felt that there was anything “wrong.” I felt a little floating sense in my head but not light-headed or pain. In fact I stopped thinking about anything but moving that rug. But the husband and wife, made a couple of comments and/or asked me. And I said…nothing. I smiled, I think. Not really a smile, but more of a sense of content. I even fooled myself a couple of times into thinking I may have actually spoken. But in fact I had not spoken a single word had been uttered from me approximately starting at 7:35PM. I learned later that Allison, my lovely wife whom I spoke with the couple the next day, thought I had “just been on drugs.”
The couple had left in their truck and was started closing up the rental and this is when I started being more aware of something was up. I went into the home to turn off the lights and to be fair, there were a lot of lights indeed. But I couldn’t find all of the lights in the house. After walking around for a few minutes, I gave it up and walked into the garage.
Now in the garage I was simply trying to close the garage with a 4 digit number to shut the garage door closer. I knew it by heart. But I didn’t. I tried first. No dice. No problem…it happens. Tried again. Wrong again. Now I just walked around the garage for a few minutes. Not why I was doing that….maybe thinking that it would come back. At this point I knew I was feeling “different” but still hadn’t connected the dots yet. But there is also a physiology reason why which I’ll come back to later. I tried again, now the 3rd time. Still didn’t work. Tried 3 more times getting the number wrong and figured somehow I obviously forgotten a number that I’ve known for 6 months. Time to call Allison.
I’ll miss the stroke. Really. Don’t get me wrong. Sure it was scary afterwards when I understood what the Hell had occurred. The kids, my family, a presentation to give and tomorrow is trash day! But oh how fascinating it was when my mind was co-opt and somewhere between PS (pre-stroke) and afterwards when the “event” was over. But during the stroke which felt like it lasted about 4 hours. There is one (that I can recall) caveat. While the stroke was occurring, linear time does not occur during a left-hemisphere ischemic stroke. There was no past remember and there was not future to consider/worry/think about. There was only the present. And for the only time in my humble adult life I was aware, living in, thinking in solely in the moment and then the following moment and so on. I couldn’t consider the next second let alone tomorrow. And as a result of “Being Present” for those hours I was as content and tranquil as I had ever been. And so now when I say I “miss the stroke” perhaps you’ll better understand. Other than stress (and who doesn’t have it), I was in the best shape of my life. 9% body fat, 158 cholesterol, BP of 120/70, eating right, working out like a freak. Never smoked, only an occasional drink. So, if that doesn’t help, maybe I’ll start smoking, ravenously wolf down steaks every night, swill martinis before dinner and gulp Scotch at the end of meals.
At some point, a clot moved to my left hemisphere and caused the stroke. In an ischemic stroke blood supply to part of the brain is decreased, leading to dysfunction of the brain tissue in that area. 87% of all strokes are classified as “ischemic.”
Stroke without an obvious explanation is termed "cryptogenic" (of unknown origin); this constitutes 30-40% of all ischemic strokes. And despite the alien abduction like slew of tests and procedures the reason for my stroke is still a mystery.
What Happened: The Rug pulled out from under
Things started innocently enough. We moved to Colorado from Connecticut 8 months earlier and we had the joy of moving 5 places in those 8 months with two under 5 year old kids in tow. But we had finally settled on the house that was going to become our home. A recent home we bought no more than 3 days and I was heading to our rental home 1.5 miles away. All was left to do was for me to meet to a couple to look at and buy a rug from the rental and then I was heading home for the day. If you’re dying to find one of your own, here is where you can find it: ( http://www.potterybarn.com/products/quinn-felted-shag-rug-clay/ ). The couple seemed nice enough. Rather non-descript late 30ish/early 40ish. Not gregarious but polite. If I were to guess, they were accountants.
Back and forth they wondered whether it would fit in the room they were planning on them. Not really wanting to keep it any longer, nor did I want to get rid of it, I substantially discounted the asking price as to further incite them to purchase it. “You know, I know it is a little larger than the room you have, but I’ve done the same. Just fold it under the rug where the couch is going to go. Worked great for us.” That sold it.
My Silent Movers
So I rolled up the rug and it started relatively well though we clearly knew this was going to be a heavy job. The husband was in front and I was in the back. It was only slight easier to moving a king mattress. After a little of heavy breathing we collected ourselves for the carry up the stairs and turning the first landing. We cleared the landing and were half-way up and took a moment to catch our breath. On this next push up, with me at the bottom and taking the bulk of weight we gave a big (mighty is an adverb more reserved for heroic efforts) shove. And then something happened. Or more accurately, something stopped happening. I stopped speaking out loud but all of my thoughts and words were in my mind. Though I still not felt that there was anything “wrong.” I felt a little floating sense in my head but not light-headed or pain. In fact I stopped thinking about anything but moving that rug. But the husband and wife, made a couple of comments and/or asked me. And I said…nothing. I smiled, I think. Not really a smile, but more of a sense of content. I even fooled myself a couple of times into thinking I may have actually spoken. But in fact I had not spoken a single word had been uttered from me approximately starting at 7:35PM. I learned later that Allison, my lovely wife whom I spoke with the couple the next day, thought I had “just been on drugs.”
The couple had left in their truck and was started closing up the rental and this is when I started being more aware of something was up. I went into the home to turn off the lights and to be fair, there were a lot of lights indeed. But I couldn’t find all of the lights in the house. After walking around for a few minutes, I gave it up and walked into the garage.
Now in the garage I was simply trying to close the garage with a 4 digit number to shut the garage door closer. I knew it by heart. But I didn’t. I tried first. No dice. No problem…it happens. Tried again. Wrong again. Now I just walked around the garage for a few minutes. Not why I was doing that….maybe thinking that it would come back. At this point I knew I was feeling “different” but still hadn’t connected the dots yet. But there is also a physiology reason why which I’ll come back to later. I tried again, now the 3rd time. Still didn’t work. Tried 3 more times getting the number wrong and figured somehow I obviously forgotten a number that I’ve known for 6 months. Time to call Allison.
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