I check myself out in a full-length mirror, a necessary ritual since the day I showed up for a meeting wearing my shirt inside out and mismatched shoes. I make sure buttons are buttoned, zippers are zipped, clothing labels are on the inside, hair is combed, and shoes match. I am headed to a housing project for older adults in a neglected section of Washington, DC, where I am the featured speaker. The topic, as usual, is stroke and its risk factors.
My interest in this kind of work, much of it as a volunteer, was spurred by a health crisis in 2009, when I had seven strokes in two months. I lost the ability to speak, read, write, and count. The injuries to my brain's right hemisphere caused other cognitive problems. If asked to raise my right hand, I would raise my left. The wail of a siren or too much chatter in a crowded space would catapult me into a state of confusion, anger, or tears. I had trouble with my memory, and I couldn't organize thoughts and ideas. I had difficulty identifying time and place, and my perception and reasoning were impaired.
I spent nearly three months in and out of the hospital, and 10 days in a nursing home, as doctors tried to find the cause of the strokes. The cause remains a mystery, but my health is stable. In addition to doing traditional speech therapy, I took up qigong, an ancient Chinese practice, and switched to plant-based meals.
I also joined a support group to meet others who could relate to my troubles and with whom I could share how desperately I wanted to recover my skills and return to my vocation as a writer. The first meeting was uncomfortable because I am not a “joiner,” but I sat next to a lady with a big smile and a fancy cane that matched her outfit. A few dozen people were gathering for lunch in a multipurpose activity room. A guest speaker would address common concerns like hypertension and depression. What held my attention was a young couple directly across from me. The woman was in a wheelchair, her eyes distant and sad, as if she would rather be anyplace else. Her companion stood beside her, ready with a box of tissues to gently wipe away the constant drool from her lips.
After the meeting, accompanied by my new friend with the fancy cane, I walked across the room to introduce myself. The companion's name was Tim, and he and his wife were practically newlyweds; they had young children, he told us. His wife did not want to go to a support group, but he pushed because it was good for her—maybe she wouldn't feel so lost and alone and hopeless.
I left there with a renewed sense of purpose. My personal recovery was no longer about me. If I could spare one individual, a single family, from this devastating malady, that was a worthy goal.
As soon as I was able, I found a local stroke advocacy group and began teaching people about the signs and symptoms of stroke, and preventive measures such as healthy eating and physical fitness. It was humbling to be named a “Stroke Hero” by the American Heart Association.
My processing and other cognitive skills are far from perfect, but I still have the power of language, an ability that many stroke survivors never regain. It is a gift I will never take for granted.
J. Andre Sampson lives in Maryland, where she works with Circle of Rights, a nonprofit stroke advocacy group in Montgomery County. She’s also a playwright whose plays have been produced at fringe festivals in New Orleans and the District of Columbia.
