What are the odds that a very close friend of mine also suffered a stroke at a young age? I believe she was in her twenties when she had her stroke years ago, and I had forgotten that she’d had a stroke–the incident seemed like a burp in our lifetimes and one that she made very much light of.
And I, in my ignorance, had made plenty light of it, too. So I called her up.
Hers, she said, was a very light stroke. She was back to normal within a couple days. “Man, your stroke is way more severe than mine,” she said over the phone.
We bonded like old people comparing ailments. “Where was the stroke? Mine was on the left side.” Mine was in the thalamus. “Mine was nickel sized–how big was yours?” I have no idea. “You should ask and find out!” Weirrrd.
Interactions like these and with my professor friend awaken the reality that I need a support outlet, a place where I can chat about what I’ve gone through without having to explain or justify or…try to act NORMAL. I am all for “being 1%” in many things, but in this case, it’s a bit overwhelming and lonely.
In other news…I have been jotting down ideas for creative fiction work. The ideas themselves make me giddy. I think I’m inching closer to the ability to write again.