I HAD A STROKE.

That still feels strange to write.

On July 31st at 5:45 p.m., my life changed in a matter of seconds.

I was at home when suddenly it felt like someone hit me in the back of my neck and head with a baseball bat.

The pain exploded forward into my temples and then underneath my cheeks.

My hearing disappeared.

My entire body reacted to the pain. I folded forward, then backward, and for a moment I felt like some strange transforming creature because I had absolutely no idea what was happening to me.

My first thought was: STROKE.

I ran into the bathroom, put my hands on the counter, looked at myself in the mirror and started checking.

Smile.

Move my face.

Squeeze my hands.

Move my feet.

Everything worked.

So, incredibly, I convinced myself maybe something had happened in my neck. I called my daughter, told her what happened, and said I was going to shower and then meet her at the grand opening of her new job.

Then I stepped into the shower.

And it hit again.

Massive pressure. Horrible pain.

And suddenly I knew.

This was a brain bleed.

My mom had suffered an aneurysm years ago. She had described that pain to us as the worst headache of her life.

Now I understood exactly what she meant.

I threw dirty clothes on and drove myself to the hospital.

PLEASE DO NOT DO THAT, BTW.

I know now how dangerous that decision was.

But at that moment I was terrified. I had watched what happened to my mom, and one thought was running through my head:

I cannot lose my brain. I cannot lose who I am.

The pain became so severe while I was driving that my body started going into what felt like shock. My hands cramped and curled inward. My left foot started doing the same.

When I got close to the hospital, I told myself:

Either I pull over right now and call 911, or if this light turns green, I’m going for it.

The light turned green.

I made it into the hospital parking lot.

From there, I called for help and hospital policies don't allow them to come out to the parking lot so I eventually called 911. I gave them my name, my phone number, my location, what kind of car I was in, exactly which parking space I was sitting in. I put my arm out the window and started honking.

And I kept talking.

I was terrified that if I stopped talking, somehow I would lose my ability to think.

The paramedics came and got me inside.

What happened next was probably the sickest I have ever felt in my life.

I couldn't hold my head up because the pain was so severe. I was crying and screaming—which anyone who knows me knows is completely out of character for me.

I was vomiting nonstop.

Moving my eyes made me throw up.

It felt like the worst case of vertigo imaginable combined with the worst headache imaginable.

Because I have an iodine/contrast allergy, I had to be premedicated before they could complete some of the imaging.

Eventually they got the scans.

And there it was.

A subarachnoid brain hemorrhage. A hemorrhagic stroke.

Mine was not the “typical” stroke people often picture. I had a rare bleed involving the area around my pons/brainstem.

And suddenly so much made sense.

The balance.

The dizziness.

The sensory changes.

The hearing.

The nausea.

The vomiting.

The feeling that my entire world had shifted.

I was transferred to the CCU/stroke unit at Queen of the Valley Hospital, and I cannot say enough good things about the care I received there.

The doctors were thorough. The nurses and staff were incredible. I was monitored around the clock.

They performed an angiogram through my groin so they could look closely at the blood vessels in my brain.

And then I got the news I had desperately hoped for.

The bleeding had stopped.

My brain looked healthy.

There was no aneurysm found.

There was nothing they needed to surgically repair. The "best possible outcome for a brain bleed".

Now my body has to do the work of absorbing the blood and healing.

My doctors have told me this was extremely rare and that they expect me to make a strong recovery.

Today marks only nine days since this happened.

Nine days.

And every day has looked a little different.

The first several days brought horrible neck pain.

Then headaches.

Now it is more pressure, strange stabbing pains and dizziness.

If I look too quickly from side to side, my world needs a second to catch up.

Today I walked outside to talk to my neighbor and nearly fainted after standing outside for a while.

My hearing has become ridiculously sensitive. Apparently my house makes about 500 noises I never knew existed. 😂 I kept wondering what one strange sound was and finally realized...

It was my sprinkler box.

I also have ringing and white-noise-type sounds in my ears. Sometimes I use music or brain healing soundtracks just to drown it out.

My eyes are sensitive to light.

My taste and smell disappeared for a while and are finally returning.

And then there are all the weird little symptoms that seem to change from day to day.

But here is what matters:

I can walk.

I can talk.

I can think.

I am still ME.

One physical therapist thought there might be the tiniest droop on one side of my mouth.

My kids said, “Mom...you've always had a crooked smile.”

😂So apparently even my crooked smile survived.

And my BODY hurts.

Good Lord.

I am used to walking my dogs twice a day, lifting weights, doing yoga, karate, working, moving and living a very active life.

Nine days of hospitals, beds, chairs and sitting still has my muscles asking what the hell happened.

So now I stretch.

I rest.

I walk when I can.

And I heal.

But please don't feel sorry for me.

I don't feel sorry for me.

I feel unbelievably fortunate.

My mom and I were so much alike.

Same body type.

Same allergies.

Same quirks.

So many of the same physical traits.

She was an incredibly strong, loving woman, and being like her has always been one of the greatest compliments I could receive.

I just could have done without inheriting this particular adventure.

I had always wondered whether something like this might happen to me someday because of my family history.

And if it had to happen, I am grateful it happened while I am 55, strong, active and healthy.

My doctors repeatedly commented on how healthy I am.

My labs were great.

My cholesterol was 166.

I don't live with chronically high blood pressure.

I exercise.

I eat well.

I pay attention to my health.

And now all of those years of caring for myself are part of the foundation my body gets to use to recover.

That has changed the way I think about health even more.

We spend so much time believing we will get serious about our health "someday".

When life settles down.

When work isn't so busy.

When the kids get older.

After the vacation.

After the holidays.

Next Monday.

Next month.

Next year.

Until one day your body reminds you that someday is not guaranteed.

There were little things happening before this that I had brushed off.

The previous month had been incredibly stressful.

I had fallen twice while walking.

I felt “off.”

My brain fog seemed worse.

I was having trouble concentrating.

Looking back, I wish I had paid more attention.

I had also been lifting very heavy in the gym and lifting heavy boxes at work.The day before, I had a moment during deadlifts where I became dizzy, short of breath and felt my heart racing.

Do I know that caused my hemorrhage?

No.

And I don't want anyone reading this to be afraid of exercise or strength training. Exercise has been one of the greatest gifts I have ever given my body.

But I will never again ignore my body when it tells me something feels wrong.

That is one of the biggest lessons I want to share:

Listen to your body.

And please take care of it.

You only get one.

Being healthy cannot guarantee that nothing bad will ever happen to you.

Clearly.

Sometimes genetics happen.

Sometimes rare things happen.

Sometimes something happens that you could never have predicted or prevented.

But you CAN give your body the strongest possible foundation to fight from when life throws something unexpected at you.

Build muscle.

Move your body.

Eat food that nourishes you.

Get your labs checked.

Know your numbers.

Manage your blood pressure.

Address metabolic health concerns.

Sleep.

Deal with stress.

Ask questions.

Know your family history.

Stop treating your health like something you'll get around to when you have time.

Because I can tell you...

When you are lying in a stroke unit, nothing you thought was more important than your health feels more important anymore.

This experience has also reminded me why I chose to work in health and wellness in the first place.

I want people to live longer.

I want people to feel strong.

I want women in their 40s, 50s, 60s and beyond to understand that getting older does NOT mean giving up on their bodies.

I want people to understand their health before a crisis forces them to.

And when I am fully recovered, I promise you this experience is going to make me an even better health coach.

Because I am walking through it myself.

For now, my job is to heal.

To rest when my body tells me to rest.

To move when it tells me I can move.

To be patient—which might actually be harder for me than surviving the stroke. 😂

And to be grateful.

So incredibly grateful.

I am still here.

I still have work to do.

I still have people to love.

Dogs to walk.

Students to teach.

Businesses to build.

People to coach.

A family to annoy for many more years.

And apparently...

it just wasn't my time. ❤️

So no pity.

Send prayers.

Send positive energy.

Send patience to anyone who has to deal with me while I am forced to sit still. 😂

And most importantly...

Go take care of yourself.

Not because you are guaranteed tomorrow.

But because if tomorrow throws you the fight of your life, you want to walk into that fight as strong as you possibly can.

I sure as hell plan to.

❤️