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Hey. So in brief description, on September 5th, 2021, while on holiday in Maine, I had a massive ischemic stroke. As it has been told to me, I called my dear husband Michael into the kitchen. I was cooking. We had been arguing about family politics as my brother and sister had just left. Like a good family visit, ours was complete with plenty of love and challenge. Michael was finally free to escape into the games his iPhone offered him, about which I had disdain.  I hollered, called him to the kitchen and asked him to call 911. I told him that I was having a stroke. He did. An ambulance came and off we went to the closest hospital, a 20 minute drive. The treating ER team got the larger regional state hospital on the horn. The more senior doc there saw something they hadn’t. She encouraged them to send me along to her larger hospital. They did. Thankfully. Had they not abided and given me standard-of-care treatment my brain would have been fully pickled in my own blood. My dry stroke was caused by a blood clot in the vessel called the circle of Willis with a dissection in the artery. This vessel typically rejoins the main carotid vessel. Mine does not. It terminates in the neck. Evident at this point was my birth defect of the malformation of this vessel. The clot blocked blood flow to my brain. As I understand it, the info in my brain cells migrated to adjacent cells as the original cells died. Upon arrival to the larger hospital I went straight to surgery where 3 stents were inserted and advanced and via my groin to my neck. They saved my life. 

Thus began the hardest work of my life (so far). A few days later I was released from Intensive Care to a regular hospital wing. Then began the campaign to bring me home to NY. My husband needed to get back to work. You might know Rusk is a leading stroke treatment and rehabilitation center. You might not know (I didn’t) that it is one of the only such places in existence. Turns out getting into Rusk was harder than any night club in the 80’s. Both my sister and my kind activist power lesbian cousin called in favors to get me in. I traveled there by ambulance from Maine.  I had PT, OT and speech therapy every day. I was there for 4 weeks. I didn’t like to open my eyes.  It was all too much.  I couldn’t walk. Getting to the toilet was a major undertaking.  I have sporadic memories of this time. My grandmother (who is over 94 y.o. and lives in CT) came to visit. Her visit and that of other family who lived far away struck me that if this was happening, I must really be effed-up. I was.  Eventually I could move with the aid of a full wheelchair with a neck support. The hospital bed was alarmed. I had to call a nurse to go the few feet to the toilet. Time had stopped.  I  took comfort in the perceived ghostly presence of my dead family; my parents, my grandparents. After four weeks I was discharged from inpatient care; it’s the maximum length of time they will keep someone. For a few weeks I had home therapies of PT, OT and speech. I progressed very slowly (to me) to a walker. The PT arranged for me to get a slick model of walker in cobalt blue. I pushed that thing all over Chelsea. Tonight, walking to dinner at 18th/7th, I recalled when the fish place on 7th avenue, Seymour’s (10 blocks from my apartment) was the furthest I would go. I used (the bargain internet lunch service) Mealpal. I’d traipse all over the neighborhood in pursuit of cheap lunch. I’d make myself an egg and toast for breakfast. I had read in medical journals that walking was widely agreed upon as one of the best rehabilitative movements. I walked the high-line a lot. A joke I made was that tourists were nicer than NY’ers and that if I fell, it would be nice to fall into a bush rather than a Mac truck. The elevator to the Highline on 23rd street was frequently the only one working. I took the Medivan transport back to the outpatient Rusk six times per week. I couldn’t recall much at that time. Not names, not anything. I remember walking on the treadmill suspended in a harness. That was a huge accomplishment. Working to recover was the hardest I had ever worked at anything. It still is. 

And I’m so grateful for the opportunity to live. I keep thinking this week of things I wouldn’t have been able to say, if I had died. It seems utterly urgent now to tell everyone (to whom it applies) that I love them. If you’re reading this, I love you. 

The story is still unfolding, as is everyone’s. I can walk, talk, joke and treat people.  I’m very fortunate for the love and support (of my husband Michael, my family, and a crack set of healers -especially Theresa, Tony and Jen) [deepest heartfelt thanks] to be able to work into being a miracle. I feel compelled to share these incomparable blessings with you. I want to work. Despite gallant efforts at it, idle life doesn’t suit me, even complete with walks of 5 miles a day on the Highline. 

To that end I have been working at the office to test my skills; and I've passed. So I've opened limited appointment windows, both in person and remote which you can access with the Google (free) Chrome browser here:  https://patient.unifiedpractice.com/turning-point-acupuncture/booking/previous-visit. Other browsers haven’t been working well and cause system errors (we/they are working to resolve it, but we know now that Chrome does work.  I'm openly obsessed with providing quality care. I'm confident I can do that. However, I cannot chat AND treat, as was my style. I'm sending this to you all first and in a few days will send it to the rest of the practice. I look forward to serving your best possible health. 

Warmest regards and thanks, 

Shane