They say things come in threes. The past six months stayed true to form. Three strokes felt by three different people every couple of months. It was like strokes became Number 1 on Oprah’s Favorite List and she was handing them out to everybody, myself included.
February 10, 2017 I was rushed to the emergency room. My left arm, both legs, neck and face tingled like those bits had fallen asleep and refused to wake up. My chest ached. The room spun. Though I could speak it was slow. They ran me through so many tests that by Sunday they couldn’t run any more because the dye used in the CT and MRI scans had ravaged my kidneys. But that is okay, the diagnosis was confirmed.
Some time in the past I had suffered one or two silent strokes. They couldn’t tell exactly how many because there are two places in my brain that have scar tissue. There is no way to determine if those occurred at the same time or not. The next bit of info makes me feel like Wolverine.
The small vetebral artery in my neck that connects to the main banch in the brain had burst, scarred over, and created a bypass all on its own. With my bizarre sense of humor am I more like Deadpool?
These events have led me to stop saying the phrase, “Some day”. As in “Some day I’ll own a Mustang convertible” or “Some day we’ll take the kids to Disneyland” and “Some day I’ll finish writing the next great American novel”.
Well, I’ve got the Mustang.
We are planning our trip to Disney.
And I am back on the keyboard. My eyes are open. There is no “Some day”. There is “Today”.
What is your “Some day”?