They say that your body gives you signs before a major health event like a heart attack or a stroke. I recently went for my annual gynecological exam. Everything was fine, with no notable changes, except that my blood pressure was significantly higher than usual. The nurse and I laughed it off, attributing my nervousness to the visit.
Later that evening, I started to have a headache-like pressure behind my left eye. I thought it was weird, but again, I brushed it off as being tired after a long work week. My husband urged me to go to the emergency room, but I refused, and I told him I’d rest over the weekend and get more sleep. I was sure it was nothing serious.
The pain got worse over the weekend to the point I couldn’t get out of bed. I became sensitive to light, nauseated, and the pain got worse. Neither the pain nor the nausea responded to over-the-counter medications. My blood pressure kept getting higher as well.
I woke up feeling better and miraculously, the pain was barely there, and the nausea was better. I could tolerate the lights, and I was seemingly functioning normally.
Two hours into the morning, and all of a sudden, it hit very hard. Nausea like I’ve never experienced in my life, and a dizziness spell that forced me to sit back down and contemplate going to the hospital.
I waited thirty minutes, and when I continued to feel worse, I drove to the hospital. I didn’t want to wake up my husband, and the hospital is only six minutes away. What’s the worst that can happen? Right?
I arrived at the emergency room, but the journey from the parking garage to the entrance was incredibly tough; my legs felt heavy, and I was struggling to lift them, more like dragging my feet than walking. I told them I didn’t need a wheelchair and that I could walk to the room, still being stubborn.
I changed into the hospital gown, still thinking I made a mistake and blowing things out of proportion. I should have just continued to take over-the-counter medications and rest, and not waste anybody’s time.
Within twenty minutes of the doctor’s arrival, I noticed my speech was slower and labored, but I was still able to tell him what was going on. I was alert and focused. He asked me to move my arms and legs, but to our shock, I couldn’t move my right arm and leg. We tried a few times, but I couldn’t feel the right side of my body. I panicked and I told him, “I was fine, I walked here, my arms and legs were fine a few minutes ago.”
He hurried out of the room, and the realization started to sink in. Something was wrong.
He came back with more medical professionals than the room could fit. Someone attached an IV and another EKG cable; there were so many tubes and wires, and they were talking to me and telling me things I couldn’t comprehend at the time. I was going in and out of consciousness. It felt like I was watching someone else and not being there on that stretcher myself. I got anxious.
They reeled me out of the room. I heard the announcement calling for CODE STROKE, and I still thought they surely meant someone else. It couldn’t be me – a female in her early forties. I felt sorry for whoever it was. I imagined an old guy. Poor guy must be someone’s grandpa. I hoped he was alright.
Until we were in front of the CT scan room, when the doctor at my side told the technician that they need to empty the room for the code stroke they have as a priority, I finally realized it was me. I’m that poor person who is having a stroke. I was given a medication that melts blood clots before I even got into the CT scan machine.
Time was of the essence.
I was admitted to the ICU. My condition was stable after a couple of hours. Later during my first night at the ICU, I was feeling alright and even joking and laughing with my husband when I had an episode.
Suddenly I felt off and I told my nurse that something didn’t feel right. I couldn’t explain it, but I thought that I was slipping and that if I did, that would be it. It would be the end. I told my husband that I’m leaving. The nurse took it lightly, assuming I was just being anxious. But I wasn’t exaggerating, within seconds my breathing got erratic, and my heart was acting weird, my lips turned blue, and my blood pressure kept increasing to scary numbers.
Only then did the nurses call another code. More medical professionals rushed into my room, and everyone was again doing something to help me. They injected more medicine into my body and again reeled me out of the room for more scans.
It turned out to be a hypertension crisis. Despite all the medications they injected into my system, my blood pressure wasn’t responding; it kept increasing. The doctor scratched his head, unable to explain what was happening. After two hours of this panic, I started to stabilize again.
Long after I was discharged, this episode had an unexpected, long-lasting effect on my life. Other than the increased risk of recurring strokes and the possible permanent hypertension, it negatively impacted my sleep.
Who would have thought, right? I know I’m fortunate I don’t have any other severe effects, but I underestimated the importance of good old sleep. In turn, it affected my cognitive abilities and my mental health, and it affected my lifestyle dramatically.
I still hope it’s not permanent, and I hope I recover from this sleep disorder. It’s my constant reminder that my body went through this, and I’m still here. I wish the doctors knew why it happened so that I could keep an eye out, but all I can do is live as healthy a life as possible and learn to manage stress better.
