Well, I thought my next post would be about how I went from the frying pan of substance abuse and sexual assault and into the fire of being a patient and later staff member of an abusive treatment center, but then I had a stroke. So the story of how I attended, graduated, and later helped shut down my treatment center will have to be tabled for now.

First things first: I’m fine. I didn’t even know I had a stroke until months after the fact. I simply woke up one day with a headache and a blindspot in one eye. Friends with migraines said they sometimes lost their vision right before or during a migraine, so I ignored it and went about my day. By day three, my vision was still impacted, so I started down a journey of optometry, opthmology, rheumatology (it’s never lupus), and eventually, neurology. I had a string of professionals asking me to call them when someone figured out what was wrong with me. I joked with my friends I always wanted to be published, but I didn’t think it would be in a medical journal as a mystery case.

The neurologist was actually the first to notice I didn’t have a blindspot in one eye but actually two blind spots, with one eye filling in the visual field gap for the other. This fun fact signaled it was a brain-related issue. Tests showed an event, most likely a stroke, occurred in the vision portion of my brain, knocking out the image processing abilities for my eyes’ right peripheral vision. Short of a “duck-duck-goose” moment where Jesus himself taps my damaged brain, the blindspot will remain in place and I will continue to hip-check furniture for the foreseeable future.

On second thought, Jesus’ heart seems covered with thorns and on fire so I shouldn’t expect much healing there.

Now if you are thinking, “aren’t you a bit young to be having strokes?” the answer is yes. I had no warnings or history of blood clots, and my family members usually die from cancer or heart disease. My test results are typically “Healthy AF”. During my last well women’s exam, my doctor remarked I have the arteries of a teenager, which explains why they were easily distracted and let a clot pass by. I have had two MRAs, an ultrasound of my carotids, an MRI, and at least twenty vials of blood drawn to help narrow down what happened and what happens next. I’ve talked myself out of crying while in the MRI tube, lest I ruin the imaging. I’ve pretended the ultrasound wand against my neck was a massage, not a clot detection tool. I’ve had medication switched and an IUD installed (Placed? Screwed in? What’s the correct term here?) to take over for my estrogen-based birth control pills to reduce my risk of future strokes. I’m still waiting to see a cardiologist to see if my heart is throwing out clots like a team mascot with a tee shirt gun. And I am comfort eating and disassociating my way through it all.

In my head, a mascot firing a clot into a crowd sounds like operating the pneumatic tube at the bank drive thru.

I hate that I am turning to food right now. I hate that I cannot sit at home in the evening and feel normal and sane in my skin. I hate that I have had to visualize my daughter growing up without me. I hate that I’m moving away from my adopted home of San Antonio and relocating closer to family, just in case. I mean, I was planning to eventually getting the fuck out of Texas but I didn’t think it would be due to a brain shart.

I don’t know about you, but my eating disorder allows me the fantastic ability to keep my mind from racing. Sometimes binging stops the entire stream of dialogue happening. But I have over 30 years of experience with my ED and I know my old methods will only end in disappointment and new (bigger) pants. So I’m trying, fighting really, to be present and ride this wave of disappointment and change and fear of death and variable self worth all the way through.

Some of the more prominent thoughts have been:

You just lost a little bit of your vision, why are you making a big deal out of this? No one else would be concerned.
You’re basically dying.
Dont know why you gave up eating sugar and other unhealthy shit years ago— clearly didn’t matter in the long run.
How bad would this have been if I hadn’t given up sugar and started taking care of my health?
You should take up smoking again. Smoking is awesome and it’ll keep you from eating all the things.
Idiot, don’t start smoking again, you’ll get more clots.

Plus the occasional “what if it’s not just a stroke and they find something else like MS”. I will tell you right now — I am not your poster child for a strong, brave disease/condition survivor. I am a little bitch, I will purchase myself a fainting couch to waste away on, and I will require you to do all the walkathons for a cure on my behalf.

Listen, you’re just going to have to walk a few more miles so Mommy can live long enough to read The Winds of Winter

So what’s the solution here? Usually I present some lesson learned and tie it all in a pretty bow and relate it back to alcoholism and recovery and shit like that.

But I can’t.

I’m scared, sad, and frustrated, and when I am not scared, sad, or frustrated, I’m shut down and quiet. I still have to show up to work, take care of my daughter, feed the cat, walk the dog, engage with my husband and friends, attempt to read the book club book. Life isn’t stopping for me to feel this one out, and I don’t have nearly enough vacation days to step back and go feral in the mountains for a week or so. But Smart Sweets did have a 50% off sale and I bought two boxes of Sour Watermelon and Peach Rings to see me through the next two weeks.

In the AA Big Book, it states “half measures availed us nothing”. I respectfully disagree. Half measures are all I have left. I don’t want to spiral out and get loaded, but I cannot remain present every hour of every day right now. I’m allowing myself to check out mentally, and if it’s with a daily chamoy and sugar free sour candy snack, so be it. Maybe when I am settled in Atlanta, the pressure to see every San Antonio friend removed and the longer days allowing me to hop on my bike and ride for hours, I will be able to feel at ease, balanced. But until then, snacks and gallows humor will have to suffice.