I remember it like it was yesterday. How could I not when I find myself replaying that evening over and over in my head. It’s like I’m watching the same movie every day – mentally visualizing that night’s events which would change my life forever.
It was Day 3 of our annual family vacation. My happy place. Surrounded by the people I love most — my husband, my kids, and their kids — creating new lifetime family memories. My heart was full. Hanging together in the living room, relaxing, talking nonstop and laughing after a full day of picnicking, kayaking, and watching the grandchildren toss water balloons.
It was about 9 PM. We were getting ready to play The Not So Newlywed game – something we’d all been looking forward to. We’d been preparing since the prior year’s family vacation. My husband and I, every day, dumping extra change into the prize to be — an oversized coin-filled whiskey bottle. The bank of questions — some easy, some hard, and some just embarrassing enough to cause a tad of flush in our cheeks — was ready.
My daughter and her husband had just put their youngest to bed. While waiting for my son and his wife to finish tucking their two kids in bed, the four of us decided to play a test round.
Looking down at the computer and with slight hesitation our eldest grandson read the test question, “When was the last time you made whoopee?” Grinning and giggling, the four of us scribbled our answer on a dry erase board. Slowly, each couple revealed their response. “Today” appeared on all four white boards. Along with everyone else, I laughed so hard my belly ached.
And then it happened. Out of nowhere, a sudden and intense pain at the base of my skull. It felt like a long, sharp sword was quickly being thrust up my neck and into my head. Wide eyed, I stiffened, clenched my jaw, and drew in a deep breath.
As the pain continued to intensify, I quietly stood up and walked to the bedroom. Fumbling through my stuff on the bathroom counter, I searched for some pain reliever. I swallowed two Tylenol and walked back to the living room. A little queasy, feeling flushed, and my entire body trembling a bit, I sat back down in my chair. Looking down and avoiding eye contact with the others, I kept thinking, “What was going on? Was I out in the sun too long today? Did I drink too much wine today? Was my blood sugar low?” The pain was intense. I felt like I was going to pass out.
I’m not sure who asked, but I recall hearing something like, “Hey, are you okay?” “No,” I said as I slid out of my chair and curled on the floor in fetal position. “I need to lay down for a minute … I think you should call 911.”
About 15 minutes later the paramedics arrived. After a quick assessment, they asked if I wanted to sleep the headache off. Good thing my answer was “no.”
I’d learn later that I’d experienced a thunderclap headache – a telltale sign a brain aneurysm had ruptured. An artery in my brain had developed a weak spot, ballooned out, filled with blood, and popped — spilling blood into the tissue surrounding my brain. A form of stroke — a hemorrhagic stroke.
I’d also be referred to as one of the “lucky ones.” Someone with unexpected good fortune. A survivor. 50% of us who experience a brain aneurysm rupture don’t survive. Of those of us who do survive, over 65% live the rest of their lives with significant visible reminders — physical and cognitive disabilities — due to permanent brain damage.
The next 24 hours are a blur. First was the ambulance ride to the local hospital, which was followed by lots of blood work and several brain scans to determine what had happened to me. Second was a helicopter ride to a larger hospital where the neurosurgery team conducted more tests to determine treatment options. Third was brain surgery – a craniotomy to clip the aneurysm — followed by an extended stay in the neuro ICU.
I didn’t expect everything to be fine when I came home from the hospital. I expected to struggle for a while. I’d anticipated soreness, swelling, head pain, and tiredness for a few months. I truly thought that after a little recovery time I’d be back to my normal energetic self.
But that didn’t happen.
On June 8, 2024 I celebrated my 3 year rupture anniversary. Looking at me and talking to me, you might never know that I have a significant brain injury. Like many other rupture survivors, much of the injury is unseen. Two years of therapy has helped. Sometimes in life we end up in situations we likely can’t change. While I now understand the certainty of my situation — that this may be the forever new me — I’m still working on accepting my situation.
Writing is helping. I used to love writing. I found it comforting, insightful. It helped me make sense out of complexity. Writing had always been a major part of my professional life. Writing allowed me to share my knowledge, voice my opinions, and process all of the thoughts in my head. Writing made me happy. It relaxed me. I felt safe writing.
So, to help further my healing, I’ve spent the last year writing — a memoir of sorts. I’m telling my story, my experience, hoping it will help me reach what seems to be an elusive state of radical acceptance.
