As told to Nicole Audrey Spector
September is Brain Aneurysm Awareness Month.
It was Aug. 11, 2022. I was working remotely that day. During a Zoom call with my boss and colleagues, while discussing a new project I would lead, I heard and felt a big pop go off in my head. Suddenly the voices of those in the meeting sounded strange, as if in stereo.
I didn’t know what was happening to me but knew I needed to get off the call. Being relatively new to my job and not knowing my boss or colleagues well, I had no idea how to explain myself. I typed in the chat that someone was at my door and hopped off.
Minutes later, I was on the hardwood floors of my home office vomiting. I yelled for my husband, Gary. He’s a first responder police officer who’d just gone to bed a couple hours earlier, after working a night shift. He must have been deep asleep. My 17-year-old child came running in.
“Mama, mama, are you okay?!” they cried.
“Go get your dad,” I said.
Gary soon rushed to my side in full first responder police officer mode, asking me a list of questions to assess my condition. We thought this might be a severe migraine attack and that possibly some over-the-counter medication for migraine relief would help. Gary left to go to the nearby pharmacy to pick some up while my child waited with me.
When Gary returned, I was in the bathroom vomiting in the tub. By then, it had been about an hour straight of vomiting. I was so tired I couldn’t get up. Gary called an ambulance and within minutes I was being shuttled off to the nearest hospital.
Through his work, Gary knew the ER hospital staff pretty well, and I was able to be examined and put in a room quickly. I was found to be in stable condition. The vomiting had stopped, but I was exhausted and my headache was unbearable. The fluorescent lights were like daggers in my eyes. I slipped in and out of consciousness awaiting a CT scan.
Gary let others in our family know that I was in the ER. My younger brother hurried over and was sitting with me once the CT scan was done and the results were in. A doctor went over the results with us. Though I was dazed, I remember her saying “Aretha has a brain bleed.”
Gary and I looked at each other in horror. The words “brain bleed” sounded like a death sentence to us. I thought of how Gary and I had just celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary and how our child had just graduated from high school. Milestone events filled with joy … only to be followed with my tragic death at the age of 47.
I was transferred to a trauma hospital where there are neurosurgeons on call. I immediately liked the neurosurgeon who worked with me and my family. He was experienced and sensitive. He made things easy to understand and explained that I had two brain aneurysms. One had burst (that was the popping sound I’d heard) and formed a blood clot. That blood clot had stopped the brain bleed and, ultimately, saved my life. The other aneurysm had not yet burst and needed to be clipped.
The neurosurgeon estimated that to clip the two aneurysms would require 10 hours of surgery. I don’t really remember how I felt when I heard all this. I was still so out of it and so tired. It was nighttime by then.
I went into surgery the next morning. Tons of family and friends showed up. The waiting room, I was later told, was standing room only, so additional chairs needed to be found to accommodate my community. My surgery didn’t take the predicted 10 hours. Complications arose and it took close to 16.
Once I was finally out and recovering in the ICU, my brain started to swell, and I had to be taken back into surgery so more of my skull could be removed. Poor Gary — by then he’d been up for days.
The weeks that followed were a near out-of-body experience. I was there but I wasn’t there. I remember wearing a very annoying mitt on my right hand so that I wouldn’t touch my brain, which was still exposed. My left arm was immobile — a result of the burst aneurysm. Complications kept arising. From August to November, I was back and forth between the trauma hospital and the rehab hospital. In all, I had 11 surgeries and, by October, I’d lost 30 pounds and needed a feeding tube.
As I healed, I worked with a physical therapist, occupational therapist and speech therapist. Having to relearn how to do simple physical things like get out of bed was difficult to accept — but what really devastated me was realizing how dramatically my mind had been affected.
I remember being presented with a connect the dots worksheet. I was so insulted. I’m a PhD-educated executive in higher ed who works with statistics and analytics — and you want me to complete a preschooler’s game? Then I went to connect the dots, and it was unbelievably difficult. I could see what I needed to do, but my body just couldn’t, well, connect the dots. I was baffled and humiliated.
I didn’t recognize my voice either. It was slow and muffled. I sounded like a Muppet. I began to feel hopeless and defeated. At my lowest point, I asked God to end my life. That night, I had a spiking fever and was rushed to the ER. Was God answering my prayer for the end? I panicked and prayed to live, apologizing to God for my earlier ask. I soon after stabilized.
It’s been close to three years since my brain aneurysm ruptured. I’m not the person I was before. My memory, once impeccably sharp, is now spotty and I have to take notes constantly. I’m surrounded by Post-Its, which guide me through my day. I’ve returned to work but am no longer comfortable managing people, so I have a different role.
You may be thinking that my life is worse than it was before my medical ordeals. In fact, it’s better. I’m far more spiritual and connected to God than I used to be. I never did much more for myself in terms of self-care, but now I take time to rest and rejuvenate. Additionally, I work with a mental health therapist — something I never opened my mind to before. I also work with a brain injury coach and am thinking constructively about my future. I try new things. I meet new people. And I’m more fulfilled and more supported than ever before.
Throughout my healing journey, I’ve heard the word “recovery” used over and over. It’s not a bad word, but it implies getting back to a place that simply doesn’t exist anymore. Through practicing LoveYourBrain yoga, which specifically caters to people with brain injury, I’ve come to much prefer the word “resilience.”
I encourage others who are living with an impactful disease or medical event to focus on resilience, too, and to open their minds to new experiences and new people. Celebrating the small wins is also so important. When I left the hospital in 2022, I needed assistance with walking, showering and dressing. I could not drive. I relied on others to help me with things I used to take for granted that I was previously able to do with hardly any effort. After a lot of time, practice and faith, I’m more independent and can do a great deal on my own — including drive. Incredible progress!
I think so many of us feel this urge to become superwomen. We don’t realize that we already are superwomen — we’re just too caught up in society’s high expectations of us to appreciate it. I’m looking forward to seeing God’s plan for me in this new season of life.
Resources
Brain Injury Association of America
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