Peace. This is a word I thought I knew the definition of so well, actually better than well. Even as a small child I was all about peace signs and peace, love and happiness. I mean after all I hated guns, didn’t think people should be at war or fight with each other, that everyone should live together as one without conflict. Well it would take me nearly 30 years to learn that there was so much more to peace than that simplistic definition I had in my head.
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1. A person who survives, especially a person remaining alive after an event in which others have died.
2. The remainder of a group of people or things.
3. A person who copes well with difficulties in their life.
4. In Law: A joint tenant who has the right to the whole estate on the other’s death.
In American culture the title of survivor is often worn like a badge of honor, to have survived is to have somehow beat the odds and won at something in life that you otherwise should not have. However, beyond the celebratory graces of “surviving” people rarely delve deeper to examine or learn for themselves what it in fact means to survive. Is surviving the end or just the beginning?
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As the year draws to a close I find myself reflecting upon the past calendar year. It was filled with a lot of ups and downs and one of the hardest things I have ever gone through. Perhaps that is why sitting here now I cannot help but to think about the beauty of new beginnings and all that can be learned from them.
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Back before it turned out Lance Armstrong was taking steroids, when everyone still loved and adored him I read his book and he mentioned something in the book that always resonated with me it was that ” Cancer either brings you together or tares you apart.” He was referring to his first marriage and while I was just a child when I read that it resonated with me for some odd reason, but years later I would fully understand what he meant.
While not married to Matt at the time when he had his stroke I became his care taker, which to everyone whom has ever taken on that role you know how tough it is. I thought the role was temporary and for the most part it was, but I think the thing I never actually fully comprehended was just how much Crohn’s Disease played into my care taker role. In so many ways that would be the reason why for most likely the rest of my life I will cycle in and out of the caregiver role. I don’t think there is ever a way to be prepared for that role especially not in your 20s, but when it falls upon you out of the blue you step up to the plate and embrace it, as I did when I needed to.
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As much as Boulder was our home, after Matt had a stroke and we went back, we had to accept the fact that our life there was not the same. You have to keep in mind that Matt and I had been dating a mere 4 months when shit quite literally hit the fan so we were getting to know each other, but we were not there yet. I knew tidbits about his family and had met his friends and vice versa, but we did not know the inter-workings of each other and guess what now we were roommates and one of us did not communicate well, talk about a relationship shift.
Matt struggled with the fact that time is everything in stroke world and he had been showing signs of a stroke for days. He thought that if only his family had taken him to the hospital sooner he may have had a very different outcome. A minute can mean the difference between being saved with few deficits or having a long road to recovery or in Matt’s case the difference between being administered a clot busting drug and being ok or having the clot bleed and having brain surgery.
I encouraged Matt to take ownership in his role in all of this. He should have listened to me when I said it sounded like Crohns Disease and gone into the first urgent care center saying I think I have Crohns instead of lying about how long he had been having GI symptoms. I also pointed out that if he had not been living such the party lifestyle he would have never thought profuse diarrhea for weeks was normal and would have gotten help after a week or two of it. I also prodded him to talk to his friends about their drug use and what he now knew about all of the complications that happen from them.
Instead of his friends reevaluating their life choices they decided it was just Matt’s bad luck and it could never happen to them and even crazier than that they assumed Matt, who let me remind you could hardly speak and could not read or write, would be back partying with them in a few months at Red Rocks.
I listened to them talk to Matt about when he had to partied hard at various shows and rolled my eyes as I thought ahead to the next days round of doctor appointments and therapy. They had no idea because they chose not to have a clue. It was easier for them that way because they did not want to leave that lifestyle behind, but they also were not ready to realize that Matt had. That version of him died the night he had his stroke and had been slowly dying even before that as he was trying so hard to transition away from all of that.
Matt did not have a phone at this point in time because he did not want to pay for something he could not use and this right here was how it became so easy for me to be the “reason” he had changed. I read Matt every text and handed him my phone every time someone called for him, but he rarely wanted to answer and when he did it was always that he was busy. Naturally, this was seen as me “keeping him from his friends” which is hilarious to me because if you know Matt one of the things we have in common is that there is no telling us not to do anything. I was warned by his neuro-psychologist that this would happen. I was the easiest one to blame, but it was not easy for me at all. I hated being hated for something that obviously was not my fault. How had I made him have Crohn’s Disease or a stroke or not want to hang out with them as much? The reality was his reality had changed and their reality had not and rather than accept and adapt to the new Matt they fought it and blamed it on me, inevitably driving an even larger void between them and him.
This being said when it was time to move onto our two month stay in Chicago we were more than ready. It was the fresh start and change we needed. I was beat down from care giving and dealing with his friends and my friends and our families and my class and the Praxis test. I wondered if I would ever have any semblance of a normal existence again and Matt clung to Chicago as his hail Mary in his recovery.
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No one tells you that the stroke happens, it is extremely tough to watch, but unlike cancer or any other sort of illness, for many that is the easiest part. The real struggle begins with the recovery and all of the unknowns. There was one thing I realized right away when Matt had his stroke. It was isolation island from people our age. No one quite comprehended that this was not a broken leg or strep throat. There was no set time to recover and then all would be well. There were no magic pills or anything rest and water were going to fix. As a matter of fact we now resided in a grey area where we were hoping for close to a full recovery but had no idea if that would happen and were staring down a long road of doctors, testing and therapy and it started almost immediately.
Once Matt was cleared to go back to Colorado to continue recovery we spent a weekend with his mom in California then began the journey back to our home. Let me tell you traveling through two airports with an adult in a helmet that has only half of his skull and does not speak is not a task for the faint of heart especially when this person “looks fine”. People are relentless and would constantly attempt to ask Matt why he was wearing a helmet, which he couldn’t respond to with anything but a smile and eye lift. Then they would turn to me who was struggling to get through the airport with four bags and basically a large toddler. There is no quick way to explain what was happening other than he had a stroke, which I learned quickly shifts their perspective from woah why are you wearing a helmet to a look of gut wrenching pity, which is a look I would not wish on my worst enemy. Matt being from the South compares that look to the “bless your heart” of his youth.
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A favorite quote of mine is “The cure for anything is salt… sweat, tears or the sea.” For me that is incredibly true. I have often found myself needing all three, sometimes at the same time. Exercise has been a passion of mine and major form of stress relief for as long as I can remember. I was a kid that hated TV or being indoors. I remember many a summer night spent outside running around catching fireflies or playing manhunt until I was forced to go inside and get ready for bed. My mom enrolled me in dance classes when I was 2, I started skiing the same year and shortly there after it was soccer then lacrosse throughout most of high school and college. As a lifelong athlete you can start to take advantage of what your body can do for you through exercise, until that one thing that you have always taken as a constant and given is taken away from you.
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