Leslie Traylor's Story
Jen and I have been in email contact for a day. She invited me to share my story in this place. I hope that this inspires hope.
About 16 years ago, in my early 20’s, I had a stroke. A terrible headache, with residual effects. Numbness in my palate and tongue, double vision, stumbling, slowness on my right side. I went to a family doctor who prescribed medication for a migraine – took blood tests to look for something. Never found anything conclusive.
A nurse-friend suspected that there was more going on and got me into a neurologist who first did a neuro-check (this can be quite humiliating when you are used to being very athletic and you can no longer walk a straight line). He ascertained that something was going on, did a CAT scan and MRI – (the Reader’s Digest version) – I had an arterio-venous malformation in my brain stem – was told not to do anything too strenuous, and was dismissed (“we'll keep an eye on that�).
Backpacking apparently didn't seem too strenuous to me, and the third weekend in October is always the height of the Fall for leaves and outside weather, so my friend Jean and I went backpacking – Kentucky back country, James Taylor on the car cassette player – her golden retriever Jesse with us – a wonderful weekend.
I returned to teaching Tuesday – noticed that, normally right-handed, I couldn't even hold the chalk anymore and was using my left hand. I stumbled around the classroom, noticed a general worsening of my coordination. I called the doctor from school – went to the emergency room and was admitted to the ICU.
My brain stem had hemorrhaged a second time. As the AVM was leaking, progressively more blood was engorging the brain cells. Doctors feared that a third stroke would prove fatal. The brain stem is responsible for vision, coordination, and seemingly important bodily functions such as breathing. It was time to do something. A week later I had surgery. At the time of the surgery in late October, I thought I would return to teaching after Thanksgiving break. I was in no way prepared for the rehab that followed.
I was in in-patient therapy for about two months, out -patient therapy for another four months. I had to learn to walk - very slow, progressive healing. wheelchair - walker - etc. My sense of balance and body awareness - which way is up, which is down - gravitational pull or something - was gone. My language skills were compromised some, but I could still speak. Had speech therapy to work on that one, as my articulation was not very clear. I found that it was easier for me to talk if I picked up a southern drawl.
I am presently not near normal (I do not know that I ever was) – the differences may be unnoticeable to the rest of the world often, but they are glaring to me. “You can fool some of the people all of the timer, all of the people some of the time, but you can't fool all the people all the time.�
I used to be very athletic - God and I still have discussions about the fact that I'm hardly coordinated now. Eye-hand coordination is shot - my palate is still numb - I have a tremor in my right hand, so I had to learn to be left-handed. I run into walls when I am tired, I am sometimes double-visioned, I stumble more than normal, and I fear that my daughter will have to go through therapy to work out the fact that her mom was always falling in public. Looking on the bright side, I have been told at least I have an excuse.
Brain healing is so unpredictable. The brain can learn new pathways to facilitate functioning. I am not sure that physicians can accurately predict here, and I think the better physicians will admit their limitations in knowing. Frankly, there is so much about the human spirit and healing that medicine cannot quantify nor qualify.
People who have not seen me in a few years will still remark on how much better I am. And it has been 16 years since the incident. Brain traumas heal ploddingly slowly, not overnight.
I have not shared my story often. I think that’s because I do not want to be defined as a human being by the limitations I may have. So I do my best to try to mask them. I suppose we all try to mask our deficiencies from one another. We are not so very different.
Leslie Traylor
Jen and I have been in email contact for a day. She invited me to share my story in this place. I hope that this inspires hope.
About 16 years ago, in my early 20’s, I had a stroke. A terrible headache, with residual effects. Numbness in my palate and tongue, double vision, stumbling, slowness on my right side. I went to a family doctor who prescribed medication for a migraine – took blood tests to look for something. Never found anything conclusive.
A nurse-friend suspected that there was more going on and got me into a neurologist who first did a neuro-check (this can be quite humiliating when you are used to being very athletic and you can no longer walk a straight line). He ascertained that something was going on, did a CAT scan and MRI – (the Reader’s Digest version) – I had an arterio-venous malformation in my brain stem – was told not to do anything too strenuous, and was dismissed (“we'll keep an eye on that�).
Backpacking apparently didn't seem too strenuous to me, and the third weekend in October is always the height of the Fall for leaves and outside weather, so my friend Jean and I went backpacking – Kentucky back country, James Taylor on the car cassette player – her golden retriever Jesse with us – a wonderful weekend.
I returned to teaching Tuesday – noticed that, normally right-handed, I couldn't even hold the chalk anymore and was using my left hand. I stumbled around the classroom, noticed a general worsening of my coordination. I called the doctor from school – went to the emergency room and was admitted to the ICU.
My brain stem had hemorrhaged a second time. As the AVM was leaking, progressively more blood was engorging the brain cells. Doctors feared that a third stroke would prove fatal. The brain stem is responsible for vision, coordination, and seemingly important bodily functions such as breathing. It was time to do something. A week later I had surgery. At the time of the surgery in late October, I thought I would return to teaching after Thanksgiving break. I was in no way prepared for the rehab that followed.
I was in in-patient therapy for about two months, out -patient therapy for another four months. I had to learn to walk - very slow, progressive healing. wheelchair - walker - etc. My sense of balance and body awareness - which way is up, which is down - gravitational pull or something - was gone. My language skills were compromised some, but I could still speak. Had speech therapy to work on that one, as my articulation was not very clear. I found that it was easier for me to talk if I picked up a southern drawl.
I am presently not near normal (I do not know that I ever was) – the differences may be unnoticeable to the rest of the world often, but they are glaring to me. “You can fool some of the people all of the timer, all of the people some of the time, but you can't fool all the people all the time.�
I used to be very athletic - God and I still have discussions about the fact that I'm hardly coordinated now. Eye-hand coordination is shot - my palate is still numb - I have a tremor in my right hand, so I had to learn to be left-handed. I run into walls when I am tired, I am sometimes double-visioned, I stumble more than normal, and I fear that my daughter will have to go through therapy to work out the fact that her mom was always falling in public. Looking on the bright side, I have been told at least I have an excuse.
Brain healing is so unpredictable. The brain can learn new pathways to facilitate functioning. I am not sure that physicians can accurately predict here, and I think the better physicians will admit their limitations in knowing. Frankly, there is so much about the human spirit and healing that medicine cannot quantify nor qualify.
People who have not seen me in a few years will still remark on how much better I am. And it has been 16 years since the incident. Brain traumas heal ploddingly slowly, not overnight.
I have not shared my story often. I think that’s because I do not want to be defined as a human being by the limitations I may have. So I do my best to try to mask them. I suppose we all try to mask our deficiencies from one another. We are not so very different.
Leslie Traylor
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