The Unimaginable
I had a stroke.
I am a healthy 47-year-old with no prior history and no warning signs and I likely escaped permanent brain damage at the 11th hour when I was administered anti-ischemic medications after my husband drove an hour to the nearest hospital that could help me.
It was terrifying.
It continues to be terrifying every time I hear of someone else having a stroke, or when I am in yoga class wondering if my left side equals my right, or when I am denied health insurance coverage because I am now a risk, or when I think about my beautiful life and I know that all I really want is to be able to keep living it.
It is terrifying to me, but I am unable to think about the frightening part of it without also thinking about how it felt for my husband to sit up that night and watch me sleep, not knowing if he would have me fully back when I woke up.
Little background here. My husband and I have been together for ten years and we are best friends who simply belong together. He is my person, my lobster, my flamingo (I watch a lot of TV – Grey’s anatomy, Friends, and Boston Legal respectively) and it is clear to anyone who knows us that we are uniquely suited for one another. We have seven children between us (two together) and we live the fuck out of life on every level. We love being married to each other and make note of that in one way or another every day. Well, except about once a month when my hormones dictate that I need to point out every flaw in his character and every mistake he has ever made. There are no real fairy tales kids, but we have it pretty good.
Marriage is a tricky thing. You basically sign on to accept a life with another person permanently in it. What the shit is that all about? You make what is meant to be a lifetime agreement. Who does that? Just the devil as far as I know. Even though you have no idea how each of you will change, you stand up and face each other, promising you are signing up for whatever comes. You are taking on one another’s dysfunctional families (yes, they all are – even yours.) and one another’s bad luck and career turns and, yes, even physical ailments – forever. It is a crazy ass thing to do. Yet, we do it. At least a lot of us do. Sometimes three times (don’t judge me – I am a slow learner).
Why do we do it?
I think, at least partly, we do it because we want someone obligated to be on our side. We want to know that if we walk into our favorite restaurant and proceed to try to take our clothes off and eat a napkin (Yes, that is pretty much how the stroke went down), that someone will have our back. Keep us clothed and drive us to the hospital and watch us sleep, wondering if they will ever have their best friend back. We do it because it means we matter to at least one other person. I have sisters and kids and friends – and I know I matter like crazy to all of them, but there is something about a partner that grounds us; that allows us to feel safe and makes us feel at home.
Marriage is not for the faint of heart. It is constant and challenging and we can grow in such different directions and our partner feels like a stranger sometimes, but the thought of losing your person?
Unimaginable.
I am unable to imagine how my husband felt that night when he did not know if he would ever see me again, at least in my original form. While I slept in the hospital bed, my husband held me. He had found a way to curl up with me on that hospital bed for one, and he had held me all night. My niece texted him in the morning and asked how he was doing. He didn’t know. He didn’t know how he was doing until he knew how I was doing. I continued to sleep. The last time we interacted, I didn’t recognize my own children and couldn’t even feed myself. My mind and everything I was had faded away. He simply could not imagine how he would feel if things were about to change forever. When I woke up, I was happy to see him and scared and confused and worried about my kids. I was speaking slowly (actually speaking normally for most people, but since I usually converse at the speed of an amphetamine-addicted carnival barker, he was concerned). As the day passed and night settled in, I was returning to my wild, manic, untethered, dancing self; he was able to breathe freely again.
We narrowly escaped a very unhappy ending, and that is how stories sometimes go. It was a $5,000 reminder that life is fleeting and that your forever person is still a person. And that we may think we are locked in to love security by making a commitment to another person, but the best laid plans are still just plans.
We really need to take life as it comes and live for today and appreciate the fuck out of every single moment (and all the other cliches), because doing it any other way is…
Unimaginable.
