On Wednesday, November 24th, 2021, our world was upended. Our beautiful brother, Kevin (31 y/o), had been spending the day with family when he began to feel unwell. Thinking nothing of it, he laid down for a little while and seemed to feel better after an hour or so. He stayed and talked for a short time longer before heading home. After returning home, he started to experience some terrifying symptoms such as palsy, inability to speak coherently and loss of control of the right side of his body. Miraculously he was able to get in touch with his girlfriend, who immediately called 911. He was taken by ambulance to Milford Regional Hospital, where he was diagnosed with an ischemic stroke, the immediate suspicion as to the cause of it being a vertebral arterial dissection - he had severed one of his vertebral arteries.

Fortunately, Milford was able to administer a drug called tPA, which needs to be given within 3 hours of having a stroke. Kev was then medflighted to Brigham and Women's Hospital in Boston and immediately seen by their Neurosurgery team. He had emergency surgery before our family even made it to the hospital; a piece of his skull was removed to alleviate the swelling of Kevin's cerebellum, which very likely saved his life. A drain was then placed in his head to allow the fluid from the swelling to safely exit without increasing the pressure on his skull and brain.

For the next 37 days, Kevin was in a coma. These days were the darkest, scariest, saddest days of our lives. He was on a ventilator in the ICU for the first two weeks, fighting for his life. Devastated and heartbroken couldn’t begin to describe what it felt like to see Kevin like this; it’s something no one should ever have to experience. After a couple of weeks, Kev started to have moments where his eyes would open, and you could sense a bit of awareness, but the doctors were uncertain of any future possibilities. They could only convey that he had experienced multiple major strokes that affected everything from his brain stem to his pons and thalamus.

Kevin continued to battle medical infections: pneumonia, pulmonary embolisms, and more blood clots. He had sporadic procedures as needed, inserting medical implants to prevent additional clotting. He underwent a tracheostomy to allow him to breathe through his throat – this procedure, while necessary, leads to other complications like speech and swallowing challenges.

After 37 indescribably difficult days, Kevin started to emerge from his coma, but not without more complications. He suffered from aphasia and was unable to communicate. On top of this, his vision was (and continues to be) a problem. There was no damage to his optic nerve or eyes, but because the stroke had impacted Kevin’s occipital lobe, it is thought a fault had occurred somewhere in this region and was making it hard for Kev to see well. He remained at Brigham and Women's hospital for two months before he was cleared to be released into a rehab facility. His stay at Brigham was limiting due to the infrequent therapy sessions received there; stroke survivors need to receive regular therapy as soon as possible to give them the best chance to regain all that was lost due to the stroke.

On January 24th, Kevin finally made it to Spaulding Rehab in Cambridge. He was given various therapies once there: occupational therapy (OT), physical therapy (PT), speech and language therapy (SLP), and recreational and music therapy. Kevin's memory has been deeply affected by the stroke, and while we’re still working with him on those aspects, he remarkably demonstrates a strong recall of music and lyrics. During several music therapy sessions, Kevin was able to remember the words to songs he used to listen to and sing along to them with his therapist. Over the last 8 months, progress has been slow, but there’s always been a light at the end of our tunnel; we are unwavering in our commitment to return this beautiful person to the life he used to live.

You may know from personal experience that you rarely find an O’Donnell alone; we usually travel (minimum) in pairs, and if you invite one somewhere, it’s implied that you may get all four of us. Every day since this happened, we have been missing Kev and his tendency to appear very tall but quietly in doorways on a weeknight around dinner. “Whatcha eatin?” He would join in on anything. You might find him doing laundry by the washing machine before he comes to say hello, and spend the day providing smiles. He had spent from September until his injury in late November babysitting his nephew Jacob on his day off — free childcare from the most loving human we all know. Oh my, how we miss his voice, his hug, and his energy. We do still have his presence and are working our hardest to bring him back to us at his fullest. It is impossible to describe what these 8+ months have felt like. Each day we try to practice gratitude - Kev is still here fighting, and we have each other, but we would be lying if we said it had gotten any easier since November 24th. The world continued, but our world stopped on that day.

On Friday, July 22, 2022, Kevin finally returned home to our father’s house after being away from us for 239 days. If you saw Kevin today, you would grab him and hold him for a while. For any of you that really know him, you know his heart beats for all things living, and there is nothing too small he wouldn’t have lifted up to care for. You’d notice he can’t walk (yet), he can’t see very well (yet), he can’t eat or drink (yet) or do nearly all other daily doings we all take for granted.

It’s bittersweet to announce Kevin’s return home. While it feels that Kev is not entirely ready, we firmly believe his quality of life will best improve here. His response to us has been astronomical and integral to his recovery process. Hospital visiting hours due to Covid protocols hindered Kevin’s progress and recovery. We were with Kevin for 237 of the 239 days he was away, only missing two days for snow storms, but you better believe we facetimed with Kev on these days. We devoured every second we could take from the hospital visiting hours, but the virus meant chopping a third off of that time and limiting beneficial time Kevin could have family by his side. Kevin is, and has always been, what makes our hearts beat; we will not stop lifting him as he has lifted us. We stand ready and strong in this transitional period to bring him back to his full capacity. We were made for this and will be damned if we let the events in our lives dictate Kevin's future, no matter how tragic or impactful.

We are so grateful you took the time to read this. Asking for help is not something that comes easy, but the journey Kevin is on is long, unpredictable, and extremely expensive. Your generosity will help Kevin get the care he needs over the next several years. Beginning with household accommodations (ramps, chair lifts, house generators for feeding & breathing machines, associated bills etc.), medical equipment and supplies not covered by insurance, therapies, travel and transportation costs, additional nursing help and emergencies. Here’s to bringing back the most special person in our lives and showing all stroke survivors IT. IS. POSSIBLE.

**Click here if you haven't been lucky enough to have met Kev yet**