It was just another Tuesday morning in March 2024—at least it was supposed to be. I had just started putting the pieces of my life back together. After years of struggle, I finally had a full-time job I loved, a cozy new apartment I could call mine, and most importantly, shared custody of my daughter again. For the first time in a long time, things felt normal. Stable. Hopeful. I was getting ready for work, sipping my coffee, going through the motions like I always did. 

But something felt… off. I couldn’t quite explain it—just this sudden, overwhelming sense that something was very wrong. It wasn’t pain exactly. More like a wave crashing over my body, like my brain suddenly forgot how to be in my body. My vision blurred, the floor shifted under me, and my heart started racing.

 Panic rose in my chest. I grabbed my phone and called my friend. I remember my voice didn’t sound right—slurred, shaky. I said, “Something’s wrong… call an ambulance.” And then—nothing. Just black.

 I had suffered a hemorrhagic stroke. A blood vessel in my brain had ruptured. If I hadn’t made that call when I did, I might not be here to tell this story. 

 The days that followed are mostly a blur. I woke up in the hospital, surrounded by machines and quiet beeping sounds, with doctors explaining things I could barely comprehend. I was scared. Angry. How could this be happening now, just when everything was finally falling into place? 

 Recovery wasn’t easy. There were moments I couldn’t speak clearly, moments I couldn’t move the way I used to. Simple things—like brushing my teeth or standing for too long—became massive hurdles. But I was determined. I had to get better. For me. For my daughter.

 Relearning how to live after a stroke is a kind of rebirth. It’s humbling and raw. But every day I pushed forward, little by little. And with the support of my friends, my medical team, and my own stubborn will, I made it through.  

Today, I’m still recovering—but I’m talking a little bit, and showing up for my life in a way I never thought possible. I struggle in this rehabilitation nursing home. Frequent UTIs I can’t tell if I have pressure sores. It’s hard to eat my meals come to me in semi liquid form. 

I don’t get out much. They tell me my body is not responding to stimuli. 

But, I know with a little bit of support I can get the medical equipment I need to rehabilitate and start stimulating my muscles and nerves. Pay for a neurologist. It’s so hard with hardly any support. I lay here 24/7 in this nursing home praying for something. Please help me. 

 A stroke tried to take everything from me, but I’m still here. I’m still fighting. And I’m not done yet.