I had one of the most frightening experiences of my life yesterday. 

Over the weekend in Southwest Virginia, I’d picked up a couple of things for my parents. I called my mom around noon to see if she wanted to meet me for lunch.  She’d already eaten, but we decided to get together around 1.15 to exchange some things and she could watch me hoover up something for my own lunch.  She was perfectly normal when I talked to her.

I arrived in the restaurant parking lot around 1.10 pm.  I saw her car, and her silhouette.  I wasn’t sure why she was waiting in the heat, so I walked over to the car and called her name.  No answer.  I called her name more loudly (and impatiently, because good lord, let’s eat already).  No response.  I walked up to the driver’s side door and noticed the window was down; she was sitting in the car, sort of leaning back and forth in the seat.  I told her I was there, and as soon as she made eye contact I knew something was wrong. 

Her eyes were barely open and her speech sounded like she’d been on an all-night bender in Vegas.  When she tried to get out of the car, she pitched forward immediately and I was able to catch her.  She was unable to walk without falling, and although my mom is petite, she sure felt heavy as I dragged her - literally dragged her - to the other side of the car where I got her to lie down.  Through her thick, slurred speech, she told me she was “just tired” and assured me she hadn’t been taking any medication. 

Internally I was panicking.  I thought she was having some life or death reaction to a medication from the surgery she recently had; the other part of me was idly considering how in the HELL she had driven 20 minutes in the condition she was in without killing herself or someone else.  She was mostly incoherent, making half-hearted hand gestures and mumbling the same sentence in a strange, strangled tone I’d never heard her use before.  Occasionally saliva would bubble out of her mouth, causing me to internally panic and wonder how much I could fake my way through CPR. 

After 2 or 3 minutes of trying to wrap my mind around this person who didn’t resemble my mother in the slightest, I finally began to react.  I called my father first, irrationally asking him why he let mom leave the house in this condition and what medication had she taken?  He said she’d been fine when she left and that she hadn’t taken anything this morning.  I told him to get there as soon as possible. 

In the silence that came after hanging up the phone with him, I began to shake.  My mother kept trying to get up and move around in the car; I kept telling her to stay still and stop talking (the stop talking part was for my benefit, because every time she tried to communicate with me, it scared me even more).  I realized that she wasn’t getting better and I also realized that I needed to make a decision. 

I told her firmly to stay put and ran to the restaurant, grabbed a manager and told him to call 911.  I ran back to the parking lot and stayed with my mother while we waited; the cliche is that minutes seem to take forever when waiting.  In this case, the fire department rescue squad was right around the corner and within 30 seconds of the call being made, I could hear the sirens.  A minute after that, I could hear the ambulance.

Many things happened in the minutes and hours after I made the decision to call 911.  They included a ride to the hospital with my mother in the back and me in the front seat, next to an incredibly buff and sexy EMT (high point of the day), a dawning realization that my mom was probably having a stroke right in front of me, the amazing ability to communicate to large groups of people via mediums like Facebook and texting, and many interactions with a superb, if not overworked, ER staff.

A few minutes after my mother reached the ER, she was assessed for stroke symptoms.  The doctor and nurse both agreed that she was probably having one and activated the stroke team.  Since she was getting better on her own, they didn’t use some of the new medication they have for severe strokes but gave her aspirin immediately and began a long process of CT scans, x-rays, blood work, carotid ultrasounds, swallowing tests and echocardiograms.  A few hours later, we were told that she probably had experienced a transient ischemic attack (TIA) or in layman’s terms, a “mild stroke”. 

I wasn’t familiar enough with the symptoms of a stroke to know that it was urgent to get medical help for my mother.  I didn’t realize that she was smiling and the right side of her face wasn’t the same as her left.  All I knew was that she was completely out of her mind and going downhill; it was that fear of waiting in a parking lot and watching my mother die in an Arby’s parking lot that propelled me to risk the wrath of her later, healthy self about ER copays and ambulance costs to dial 911.  (Really, who wants to pass on to the next fabulous plane of existence with a giant cowboy hat in the background and the smell of greasy fries in the air?  It doesn’t bode well for the next life)

Without wanting to sound too much like a Public Service Announcement, strokes really aren’t that difficult to spot. I’m sure these same symptoms can appear in other situations, but it’s not worth taking a risk.  I’ve pasted some information below from the National Stroke Association about recognizing and reacting to stroke symptoms:

-Sudden numbness or weakness of the face, arm or leg, especially on one side of the body

- Sudden confusion, trouble speaking or understanding

- Sudden trouble seeing in one or both eyes

- Sudden trouble walking, dizziness, loss of balance or coordination,

- Sudden, severe headache with no known cause

Immediately call 9-1-1 or the emergency medical services (EMS) number so an ambulance (ideally with advanced life support) can be sent for you.

Also, check the time so you’ll know when the first symptoms appeared. It’s very important to take immediate action. If given within 3 hours of the start of symptoms, a clot-busting drug called tissue plasminogen activator (tPA) may reduce long-term disability for the most common type of stroke.

tPA is the only FDA-approved medication for the treatment of stroke within three hours of stroke symptom onset.

A TIA or transient ischemic attack is a “warning stroke” or “mini-stroke” that produces stroke-like symptoms but no lasting damage. Recognizing and treating TIAs can reduce your risk of a major stroke.

The usual TIA symptoms are the same as those of stroke, only temporary. The short duration of these symptoms and lack of permanent brain injury is the main difference between TIA and stroke.

Now that I’ve done the most basic of research, I’d recognize a stroke from miles away.  It’s plainly obvious if you know what to look for.  I’m posting my story of yesterday in the hopes that others will read this and be able to react quickly if they are ever (and I hope you’re not) in this situation.

In the meantime, my mom is doing much better today.  She will probably stay in the hospital another day while they finish running her through the gamut of tests and using her as a human pincushion, but I’m thankful for a couple of things.  First, I’m grateful it happened when she had stopped driving and I was there to see it happen.  Second, I’m grateful I stopped worrying about how it would look if I overreacted and called an ambulance, and just did it.  Third, I learned a bunch from the experience - both about the signs of stroke and how I react when put in a situation like that. 

I stayed in “competent daughter” mode until 10 pm last night, when I finally got home.  I then reverted to “freaked out daughter who saw her mother having a stroke” mode and let all the pent up emotions from the day spill out.  After a long night of not sleeping, I’m still a bit of a mess but feeling much better today - just like my mom. 

I was pretty busy before the Disney trip, and was unwilling to pay $10/day for internet access while there (note to Disney:  your customer service is excellent, but your nickel and diming made me feel like I had a wedgie the entire weekend).  This explains my absence from blogland. 

Disney was amazing.  It was emotional as well.  I felt myself letting go, easing into my new life as a divorced woman with children, on vacation sans man.  Windsor was the best surrogate husband and daddy a girl could EVAH ask for - patient, kind, thoughtful, and able to handle all of the details and roadbumps a vacation like that can mess with the best-laid plans.  Before we left, she secretly had the girls make me congratulatory posters since they weren’t able to be at the finish line.  More about that later, but it made me so thankful to have such amazing kids and such amazing friends.

I was texting with Dan while in Florida and I told him that I felt like this trip was a turning point.  He agreed with me.  I could literally feel the edge of the corner as I turned it.  I talked with the girls and told them this was our big ol’ gift for making it through the past year and half - and from now on, it was sunny days, ice cream, and the occasional turnip.  I probably didn’t say that, but they knew what I meant. 

The trip put me in the kind of debt it will take a few months to pay off, but it was worth every penny.  From the Disney Princess breakfast where I managed to annoy Snow White and yuk it up with Ariel (she’s wild, that one!) to the Bibbidi Bobbidi Boutique hair extension extravaganza, it truly was a magical experience for the girls.  Watching them experience it did all of the cliched things the commercials say it will - reliving my own memories of breaking my dad’s arm when he got me onto Space Mountain at a young age, forcing my mother into endless eternal loops through the creepy singing dolls in the “it’s a small world” ride, the stretching chamber in the Haunted Mansion, and the absolute overwhelming hugeness of fun and experiences.  Lily sort of got over her fear of roller coasters and Arden tried everything she could get her hands on.  She even went back through the Haunted Mansion with me, after getting stuck on it with Windsor and Lily - right near a headless ghost. 

I didn’t get to spend as much time with my traveling companions as I had hoped, but I did not understand how difficult it would be getting from park to park.  That is a whole other blog post about why you shouldn’t waste your money on park hopper tickets.  We had to be flexible with our schedule once we realized our plan wasn’t going to work.  I did get one adult’s night out with Cameron, Sarah and Tim at an expensive Italian restaurant the night before the race.  The highlight was being hit on mercilessly by our Columbian waiter Oscar, who kissed me twice and probably would have followed me back to my less-than-luxurious hotel had I given any indication I was interested. 

A couple of things I didn’t really think through:  running a half marathon after 2 days on my feet standing in long lines probably wasn’t the best way to run a good race.  However, was running a “good” race really the important thing?  Theresa was proud that both Sarah and I stopped in front of the castle for pictures - but it was hard to do.  The Pirates of the Carribean were out - and shirtless, I might add - along with Cinderella, Tiana, Belle . . .and of course Mickey and Goofy and Daffy and a host of others waving at 16,000 women was truly amazing.  I wanted to throw caution to the wind and just take a bunch of pictures and be silly, not worry about my time - but I did anyway.  I’m not competitive by nature, but I am very competitive with myself.  My first foot out of the starting line (complete with fireworks! and a Fairy Godmother!) made me realize I wasn’t going to have an easy time of it.  I was already exhausted, having gotten up at 3.20 AM to make the bus at 4 AM and the starting line at 5 AM.  Lots of irregular eating and no sleep made for my first ever mid-race porta-potty stop.  And let me just say:  there is nothing quick about a bathroom break when wearing a tutu, crown, fuel belt and spibelt. 

(brief stop - even though I look like I’m ready to die, you can see how happy I am, and how Sarah looks like she’s barely sweaty)

Sarah had a great race and PR’d - when I bonked in the bathroom at mile 7, she trotted on ahead.  The rest of the race was mentally grueling and physically punishing.  Despite all of that, I realized how much stronger I had gotten since the half marathon in November.  Hauling my big body around in running shoes was a bit easier, the distance more manageable, and the aches and pains only slowed me down as opposed to stopping me in my tracks.  Running through the castle, seeing all these women at different ages and levels of fitness was quite inspiration, and the choir they had near the finish line sent shivers up my spine and it wasn’t just from dehydration and exhaustion. 

Another blogger I like posted a beautiful picture of her medal - the same one I received, but about 23 minutes later . . .
 
It was heavy enough that it immediately discouraged me from trying to wear it in the park that day like the rest of the nerds . . . 

Unfortunately a miscommunication (read: I got lost and couldn’t find the rest of my group to ride back to the hotel) at the finish line made my diminished mental state more, well, mental.  Coming back to the room to find balloons and streamers and an unmade bed was just what I needed, and after an hour nap I was ready to meet up with the girls again. 

The girls handled everything amazingly well, including a flight delay that got us back home at 1 AM.  They are slowly returning to normal, and so am I.  I’m already forgetting the near-disaster my tutu had in the porta-potty and am considering signing up for the half in Disneyland over Labor Day weekend . . . once my big toenail grows back. 

Really, all one needs is eclairs and friends.

Truth 1:

I am coming out of the worst depressive episode of my life.  It lasted from approximately December 17th through yesterday morning.  I don’t do math, but that equals a lot of days and nights.  “Bad” days prior to this lasted as described - a day or two.  I shored myself up, waited it out.  This time, the rules were completely different.  Starting the day I received the notice that my divorce had been finalized, it went downhill from there.  I think I had expected the divorce to make me feel free.  Instead, I simply felt unmoored - like I was floating over a huge expanse of ocean with nothing and no one to hold me.  There was a huge financial pressure squeezing me, the behavioral changes in my kids, this house I live in, a year of crappy and unreliable relationships, drowning in some sort of codependent nightmare relationship with a close friend, losing the image of what my life was supposed to look like while frantically trying to rebuild a new and better picture of the future that will be.  Health issues, a year spent running - literally and figuratively, aging parents, the usual and standard self-loathing of my physical body refusing to conform fast enough for my ever-persistent need to be different, better, improved.  A year and half worth of therapy that has made me strong but so self-aware that I can get away with nothing anymore, and when bad habits shed their disguises, they are no fun. 

I am terrible at seeing myself from the outside.  To me, yes, the previous year had been difficult.  It wasn’t until Jennifer made me add up all of the pieces, especially over the past couple of months that I realized how much I’d really been through.

I refuse to get into the details of the last couple of weeks.  It’s ugly and it’s humiliating and it’s just frankly disappointing that I fall back into old patterns and old vices when the shit hits the fan.  I’m all about outing myself and my silliness if I can think it will help someone else, but this won’t.  Nothing good will come of discussing the true low I hit and I’m not going to put myself through it. 

The worst of the depression revolved around my self-doubt.  It includes thinking that I cannot make good decisions, or that I will be able to have healthy relationships down the road, or that I will ever be able to throw the yoke of despair off me forever.  It’s quite possible that I won’t, but Jennifer’s diagram of what has happened to me over the past few months made it easier to see that all of this “stuff” combined with the holidays was a perfect storm and perfect storms don’t happen very often. 

Someone asked me if I thought I would have been better off staying with Mike because I was never this depressed before.  The answer is yes and no.  Yes, I might have been less outwardly depressed, but it was only because I was stuffing all those feelings down and covering them up with parties at my house, internal pressure, granite countertops and expensive shoes.  My pace today is still frenetic, but compared to the way I burned up hours in my past life, I am moving at a snail’s pace.  Slowing down, taking deep breaths and sifting through the reasons I ended up here has made me both strong and extremely vulnerable.  I’m where I am because this is exactly where I need to be.  There’s no shortcut, especially since I wasted years of my life (and my ex-husband’s) by trying to take shortcuts every chance I could. 

so . . .

John and Karen - thanks for opening your house to me, distracting me, feeding me too much chocolate and chicken and vodka.  John, all those runs have been life-saving. 

My running buddies who are now friends:  Sarah and Meg, all that giggling and hard work made me confident I could handle anything - even half marathon training in 100% humidity.

Sean, thanks for all the sushi and conversation, and being able to put some personal stuff aside to just be a friend to me.  The 2010 Porsche Driving Tour was definitely a highlight and brings me some peace whenever I feel most peaceless. 

Susan, as always, you came through in a million amazing ways.  Having you here with me and knowing you see right through me is priceless.  Being able to listen to you without fearing what you’re saying because I know you are right is a rare thing.  I don’t know what I did in a past life to deserve you but it must have been something akin to saving Christ from the crucifixion. 

Theresa, your tea and your house have been lifelines for me in so many ways, along with the way you’ve made me a part of your lovely and quirky extended family. 

Philip, I know things are hard for both of us right now.  You are confused, I am angry and so very sad, but we will get to a better place someday down the road.  I will always owe you a huge thank you for doing what needed to be done.  I know I helped you through a big part of your year; you helped me through a big part of mine.  I think we should both pat ourselves on the back for being mature and aware enough to realize the limitations we both have right now.  Just as you watched me make bad decisions earlier and suffered, I owe you the same courtesy. 

Stanley, the email you sent me a few days ago brought me to my knees.  I feel the same way about you.  I may be older, wiser, and much better looking (only one of those is true), but you truly inspire me.  You are an amazing friend and one of the kindest people I’ve ever known.  You are one of those irreplaceable gifts that came after going through hell.  You’re like the blingy medal at the end of the race.  You make it all worth it. 

Tricia, you are still my hero - even though you don’t get why you are.  Talking to you feels like home and I miss you tons. 

My family, especially my sister and my parents.  I know I put you through the wringer.  I wish things had been easier for all of us, but that’s not life and I’m okay with that.  I can’t imagine my life without you in it.  My sister gets me in a way very few people do.  I’m so glad I have one. 

Lily and Arden, you have no idea what you’ve done for me just by being my children.  I gave you life, but you have kept me alive as well.  At the lowest points, I remember that the basic fact - and most important - is that I am your mother and nothing else matters but you two.  I know my decisions have made your lives harder but I’m certain we are all growing stronger by the minute and we will survive this together, laughing and dancing to Lady Gaga.  I know you’ve sensed the wrongness that has surrounded me for a while.  Thank you for all the extra hugs and kisses, for nurturing me when I’ve most needed it, for being the amazing people you are.  You are the most amazing gifts and I will never, ever leave you. 

Truth 2: 

I absolutely will make it out of this.  I’ve got one hand on the edge of the crater and I can see some light peeking over the top of it.  Just a little bit farther to go.  It’s blind faith at this point, but so many people are rooting for me that I just keep digging my feet into the wall and pushing myself up a bit further.  If this many people think I can do this, they can’t all be wrong.  Right now I’m okay substituting their confidence for mine.  Mine is hiding somewhere in the sand, refusing to come out.  I’m hollering.  It will eventually obey and return to me. 

Much as my dad and I tend to disagree on things like politics and boys, he does usually get me.  After I received notification of my divorce, I sent a very short email out to everyone who had an impact on me over the last year plus.  My dad responded with this.  I have a copy printed out and near my Tao Te Ching for Parents cheat sheet, which means I look at it every day and remind myself why I’m here. 

Cristina;

The road of life is full of bumps, hollows, deep ditches, bad paving and shocking motorists.  It also contains many junctures such as ninety degree turns, baffling instructions and without a GPS.  The only way to know if you turned the right way or not is look in your rearview mirror and that is too late.  What if I had only———-doesn’t help either because you are now on a new path—good or bad.  The key to a sane trip is keeping your balance, remember why your turned or did not, and keeping your life in perspective.  No one survives the Road by making all the right decisions.  Coping with the direction you have taken, learning from your adventures or misadventures, learning to take all this with some form of mirth, dedicating yourself to take responsibility for your path and keeping in mind that all this is not as important as we once thought it was. The only true reward that we get is the children.  It would be a barren trip without them.

Since I have been on the road for some time I have come to grips with the decisions I have made and marvel at how intelligent and stupid I have been.  My history is certainly checkered, but I have reached the point in my trip that I really have to confess I have had a great time, that the assessment of turns, bumps and pitfalls are semi normal.  I don’t honestly give a hoot what grade I got for my driving.  I did it my way, bad, good or whatever.

You have made decisions in much the same manner.  You are your own person and should always remember that you are unique and wonderful. The Hell with those who criticize, disparage or otherwise philosophize.  The only person who knows why or what the driver has done is the driver herself.  She has the wheel and has no latitude for backseat drivers.

I love you for what you are.

Your grumpy old father.

As usual, the weekend was full of fun and crazy and sometimes fun craziness.  Lily and Arden went off to school with stomachaches, so I guess that means another Halloween success was had. 

Friday my mom met me and the girls and we headed out to the Halloween festival their school puts on.  It was a lot of fun, and it was reassuring to see how many new friends both girls have made in less than 2 full months.  Lily enjoys saying that no one likes her, but it’s obviously untrue and Arden knows half the school by name already.  I’m also starting to learn my way around the school and school politics.  Thankfully they are not as fraught with drama and money as the politics in my old school district.  I can only handle so much talk about how much smoked salmon a third grade class needs for a Thanksgiving celebration. 

Saturday, I made poor Windsor show up at 6.30 in the morning so I could pick up my neighbor and hit the road for City Stadium.  The group run was our last big one:  12 miles.  More about the run in a bit. 

After the run was finished, Windsor saved my life by having lunch with me after I iced my legs, then offered up her jacuzzi tub while entertaining the kids with a Harry Potter movie.  Sunday we headed to Yorktown for Nik’s first birthday which was a blast.  It’s hard living where we do because Mia and my girls are very close, and if we lived within a more reasonable distance, it wouldn’t be so rare.  I forgot my camera, which was a bummer because watching Nik smash a cupcake into his face for the better part of 10 minutes was priceless. 

The girls passed out in the car on the way home (truth:  I did too).  We had about half hour before we changed into Halloween finery and headed to Emma’s neighborhood for our traditional group trick or treat.  All three girls, at different times, adopted a poopy attitude but at the end of the night everyone was happy and spastic and working on tooth rot. 

(don’t read if you don’t care about running or laughing about me attempting to run)

I was keyed up all week about the long run, trying to not psyche myself out or worry too much about things I couldn’t control (which was just about everything).  I worried about food, what to eat, what not to eat, what to wear, whether I’d blow up in a cloud of sweat and dirt halfway through it, and other anxieties (what if I have to poop? what if I break my leg?  what if I fall into a gutter and no one notices my body until the smell of my decaying corpse hits the Boulevard and can’t be ignored any longer?)

Turns out only a few things happened, and none of them were those I had preemptively worried about. 

I dressed appropriately - freezing at the start, sweating and removing layers by mile 3.  The pace was perfect but brisker than I usually felt comfortable with.  The great thing about running with others is they remind you when you are being a mental case.  “The pace is fast,” I said.  “Do you feel tired?  Cuz if you don’t you’re fine,” said Meg.  Sure enough we stayed steady all the way through Bryan Park until the SAG at mile 6.  A long hill followed a brief rest break.  I turned to Tara and said, “I can’t believe I feel this good.  My leg isn’t bothering me at all.”  As the words left my mouth, my right calf muscle seized.  At first I though I’d torn my Achilles or a muscle back there.  I let out a howl and started running like my right leg had been removed.  The poetic justice of nursing, massaging, and icing my LEFT leg into submission just to injure the right one was not lost on me.  I’d had a similar experience about 6 weeks ago, running up another hill - and it turned out to be a terrible cramp that left my leg sore for the better part of a week.  I kept running trying to determine if I was hurt or if it was “just” a cramp. 

I’m going to admit that I had a full-on 5 minute panic attack.  All I could think was that I’d ruined my chance of running the half.  My leg HURT.  I wanted to lie down in the middle of the road and let a truck hit me.  It felt that disastrous.  Telling Meg and Sarah to keep running sucked but I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to move, let alone run, at any point in the near future.  I was on the verge of tears - pain, panic, and flat out anger that I was finally having a GOOD LONG RUN and now it was going to be a PAINFUL HEINOUS LONG RUN that might eventually become a PAINFUL HEINOUS RUN FOLLOWED BY WAITING FOR A CAR TO TAKE ME HOME WHERE I WOULD COLLAPSE INTO A SMELLY HEAP OF DEFEAT. 

Help pops up when you least expect it in life.  A woman walking a dog told me to stretch.  I started to tell her that I was “fine”, that I just needed to keep going.  For whatever reason, I didn’t argue with her.  I leaned against a tree and she walked me through a number of stretches to work the cramp out.  It was obvious she had been a runner in her previous life.  Her calm demeanor and steady voice made my panic subside.  I knew logically that I needed to stretch, but I was only focused on staying with my friends and finishing in a reasonable time.  Having her force me to stop, stretch and breathe made the cramp stop seizing.  I was left with an intense soreness from it (I could almost literally hear my muscle say “GOD NOOOOO! when I started running again), but I kept running and as I entered miles 8, 9 and 10 I stopped thinking about it constantly.  My neighbor was running with me and she told me story after story to keep me distracted.  At the end of the 12, I thought, “It wasn’t that bad.” 

And it wasn’t.  All the training has paid off.  Certain people in my life have told me that I’m “crazy”, “anal retentive”, “intent on doing something that isn’t good for me” and any number of other remarks or comments.  In many ways, they may be right.  It does take a certain amount of crazy to tell your brain that your body CAN do this and it’s truly a game you play with yourself.  You win the game by controlling your mind.  For me, checking in with my body and breathing makes my brain shut up.  When I finish 12 miles and recover my breathing and heart rate in just a few short minutes, I know I’ve won the battle.  I AM anal retentive.  I don’t miss a training run for anyone or anything (except my kids).  When it poured rain on the day of my 10 miler, I ran.  The homeless and random people on the bus line heckled me (“Hey!  Didja know it’s raining?  You’re gonna get WET!”).  I had a friend in town.  I still ran.  I run when it hurts, as long as the doctor has told me I won’t do any damage.  I run when I’m cold, when I’m alone, when friends bail at the last minute, or when I just really feel like staying in bed.  I don’t agree about the whole “isn’t good for me” statement.  After reading Born to Run, I stopped viewing running as an extreme sport and something that always equates to bodily damage.  I think it takes a combination of obsession, crazy and risk taking to continue doing something like running over a long period of time.  For me it’s been a year, and the changes to me - both mentally and physically - are quite incredible and I don’t mind tooting this air horn of mine.  If a person like me can do this - well, you know the rest of the sentence. 

From here until November 13, the mileage is decreasing.  I ran 12.2 on Saturday; theoretically, this means I can run 13.1 on the 13th.  For the first time, I got in my car after the run and actually said, “I can do this” - and I meant it.