I have encountered numerous challenges throughout the years, with Dawne's death being the most profound and difficult experience I have faced. The aftermath of the stroke has been beyond comprehension; it is both daunting and isolating. One experiences a sense of internal conflict, as the body seems to resist cooperation, leading to a struggle for control. Certain sensations are perceptible, while others remain elusive. For example, I can feel the back of my left hand and the triceps’ of my left arm, yet I lack sensation in my forearm, wrist, and bicep. Similarly, in my left leg, I can only feel my ankle and calf, while the remainder feels numb. It is as though my body has been divided; I do not even feel my bowel on the left side.

I face difficulties with basic functions, such as blowing my nose, due to a lack of control over the left side of my nasal passages. Recently, while showering, an object entered my left eye, causing significant pain and disorientation, nearly leading to a loss of consciousness. The lack of control over that side of my body contributes to feelings of isolation and loneliness. My speech has been affected; I often slur my words and have diminished control over the left side of my lip, resulting in frequent drooling. I tend to prefer solitude, as I am a prideful individual, and navigating life in this manner is both embarrassing and humiliating.

This experience has undoubtedly been the most challenging of my life, necessitating immense patience as I allow myself to heal. Although my cognitive functions remain intact, there exists a significant disconnect between my thoughts and my body’s responses. My parents endure my lack of a filter; I often express whatever comes to mind without restraint, which is quite embarrassing. I find myself reluctant to engage in public settings due to the fear of expressing my thoughts uncontrollably.

Having suffered a brain injury, which is the nature of a stroke, I now confront the reality of brain damage. Many functions I once possessed are no longer accessible, and I must retrain myself to regain them. Patience has never been my strong suit, but I have no choice but to cultivate it now. My body resists participation in the manner I desire, compelling me to adapt to its limitations. Coming to terms with this reality is profoundly challenging, and I would not wish this experience upon anyone.

I recognize that I will grapple with this for an extended period, likely continuing to isolate myself until I no longer slur my words, drool, or unexpectedly doze off mid-sentence. I was unaware of the significant energy required for the brain to heal; even contemplating a conversation can be exhausting. Simple movements, such as shifting my hand a few inches, demand immense energy, thought, and concentration, leaving me utterly fatigued.

I am apprehensive, as I am in a precarious position for experiencing another stroke. I was fortunate to be awake during this incident, and Carter's persistence in keeping me alert was invaluable. I received the clot-busting medication within the first four hours; without it, I would not have recovered and would have sustained further damage. There was no pain; suddenly, I was unable to move the left side of my body, and I felt everything shutting down. The experience was surreal and unbelievable. While standing to use the toilet, my left side became completely paralyzed within seconds.

I understand that I often address uncomfortable topics, but this situation is particularly distressing. I feel trapped and at the mercy of my brain and the healing process. It is incredibly frustrating, and I question whether I possess the requisite patience. I am, quite simply, confined within my own body.