My Stroke Story

By: Leslie Wilson

The morning of January 3, 2004 dawned crisp and cold. Our family was headed back home to Dallas from Pueblo, CO. Our family is used to road trips. With our kids being older (twelve, nine, and eight), such trips have become a joy rather than a burden; we read together, listen to books on tape, enjoy some of our favorite music or simply share thoughts about goals and life in general. This particular morning, we decided to finish These Happy Golden Years, the final book in the Little House on the Prairie series. One of my favorites as a kid, I’ve had the pleasure and privilege of making the books come alive by reading them to my own children.

To bring you up to speed, Almanzo Wilder is wooing Laura Ingalls, and on this particular Sunday, as Almanzo approaches to pick up Laura for a buggy ride, she sees that the hated Nellie Oleson is sitting by Almanzo after scheming to ride behind the brown Morgans—the fastest and most beautiful team of horses in the territory. Laura debates whether or not to go with them, but decides to not give up Almanzo without a fight. I continued reading, my children as enraptured with the timeless nature of the pioneer struggles and romance as I.

Suddenly I struggled to catch my breath and the book seemed farther away than arms’ length. The words jumped around on the page so I put down the book. My oldest son Charlie asked, “What, Mom?” He referred not to my condition, but rather to what happened next in the story. After all, having rooted for Laura and Almanzo for several books, we weren’t about to lose him to Nellie Olesen now! I breathed deep, but my breath caught in my throat. My vision blurred - not teary blurry, but more like a Salvadore Dali painting with some objects appearing near, some much farther away, most distorted. The kids pressed me again to continue. I told them I needed to catch my breath. Little did I know that my body was having a stroke.

I now know the physiological reasons for strokes - more than I ever wanted to know, truth be told - but at that moment, I only knew that things seemed distorted and strange. My right side went completely numb. I grabbed my right arm with my left and could feel nothing – even though my arm still floundered wildly. I felt down my right leg with my left hand; it was a wooden stump. I looked at my husband, Bret, panic rising within me, “Honey, I can’t even feel my leg.” In a matter of seconds Bret had turned the car around to head back toward Pueblo.

Miracle #1: My husband sharpened his sales teeth in the toughest training ground possible - pharmaceutical sales. As a result, he had become conditioned - whether consciously or not - to notice the blue hospital road signs. Within moments, he was exiting the highway and following the signs to St. Mary-Corwin Medical Center. This relatively tiny hospital’s sign listed three specialties. The last one was Stroke Trauma Center.

Miracle #2: We entered the Emergency Room and no one else was waiting. I was admitted in a matter of seconds and wheeled into the trauma center.

Miracle #3: The doctor on call was the Chief of Staff of the hospital. He gave me individual attention for the next three hours. I watch ER on TV - the Chief of Staff is never the “on call” doctor.

Miracle #4: I was in a bed, being monitored and examined within fifteen minutes of my initial symptoms. That wouldn’t have been possible if I had been at home when the symptoms started.

Our children were gems, troopers, angels - you choose the word. Charlie, my twelve-year-old, bore an especially great responsibility, rising to the occasion with strength and grace. At his age, he was old enough to grasp the gravity of the situation. He later admitted he thought I was dying. He watched his younger sister and brother the entire time I was being examined and Bret was in the back with me. He read to them, played with them, kept them calm in spite of his own fears and concerns about my condition. He jumped from twelve to seventeen emotionally that morning.

I remember little of what happened after that. The doctor ordered a battery of tests. (It’s always called a “battery”, isn’t it, though I have no idea why.) The diagnosis: a stroke - affecting my entire right side. A hole in my heart - an undetected birth defect - had allowed a clot to maneuver through the main artery and lodge in the base of the left side of my brain.

The doctor started me on meds right away and monitored every bodily function I have - some I didn’t even know about. Though I never considered the damage to be life-threatening, I was uncertain about what senses and functions I might regain. Hours passed and my children played and read and charmed their way into the hearts of the hospital staff.

The prayers went out very soon after I was admitted. My husband called the key people at church and in our families - movers and shakers who would get the word out on a Saturday at the end of a holiday. Calls of encouragement and support came pouring in. I sensed God’s presence throughout each test, each scan, each round of medication.

To say that the night was rough barely scratches the surface. Anyone who has ever spent the night in the hospital knows that you don’t go there to get rest. In the morning things were much brighter – it brought new hope and the realization that not only would I live, but that God had graciously chosen to restore my body. I was in the hospital for five days, but the miracles weren’t over.

Miracle #5: Several good friends came into our home and prepared it for our return. They put away all of our Christmas decorations, tidied the house, and stocked the refrigerator and pantry.

Despite the extensive initial paralysis, by the time I got back to Dallas, I had regained most of my sensations and functions. I underwent surgery – a procedure known as CardioSEAL closure - to treat the small valve defect between the right and left atrium of my heart which had let the clot through that caused the stroke.

Two weeks post-op, I finished reading These Happy Golden Years to my kids. It wasn’t because Laura and Almanzo ended up together that we were hugging one another and crying. It was because we, too, were blessed to be together to finish the book!

Leslie Wilson, wife and mom of three, hails from Rockwall, TX. She pens a weekly humor column, “Reality Motherhood,” and speaks to thousands of moms each year through Hearts at Home, MOPS and ECPTAs. Visit www.RealityMotherhood.com.