Esther

 

Ramblings of a Retired Mind

Warp Speed

Stroke—formally known as a cerebrovascular accident—runs deep in my family.

A Childhood Memory

In 1965, my parents moved my sister and me from the only home we knew in Chicago’s Rogers Park to Stamford, Connecticut. We went from neighbors stacked on top of us to an acre of land with a pond out back. I was in heaven.

We arrived in October, right after my Bar Mitzvah and my thirteenth birthday, beginning our new life out East. The following spring, my father’s parents came to visit. But at that age, treasure hunts through the vast three-hundred-acre forest beside our house with my best friend, Fang Ferguson, were far more appealing than slow afternoons with grandparents.

One afternoon, Fang and I were watching a baseball game in the den with my grandfather when my grandmother headed toward the kitchen—and collapsed face-first to the floor. At first, we thought she’d tripped on the step. But no—Anna had suffered a stroke.

An ambulance was called—three years before the first 911 call in Haleyville, Alabama. Back then it would still be years before that lifesaving service reached most places. Anna was rushed to the hospital; we followed behind in our family sedan.

Doctors stabilized her, and she recovered—no paralysis, no cognitive loss. But with strokes, the first can be a warning… or the last. For my grandmother, it was a warning. Her second stroke took her less than three years later. She had high cholesterol and high blood pressure—traits she passed on to my father. Thirty-five years later, he would join her in the same way.

History Repeats

People who knew my father said that when we buried my mother, he wanted to go with her. They had been married forty-eight years when she died in 1995. My wife and I have now been married forty-nine years. I think of that often.

My father lived with high blood pressure and high cholesterol. His life was nearly cut short earlier by an aortic aneurysm—discovered entirely by chance. He had accompanied my mother to the doctor for what turned out to be a simple chest cold. When he coughed, the doctor ordered X-rays for both of them. My mom’s results were clear; my father’s revealed the aneurysm. He went into surgery the next day and made a full recovery.

After my mother’s passing, his health declined. First came TIAs—mini-strokes. They resolve quickly, but often warn of more serious events. Four years later, the warning proved true. He suffered two major strokes and passed away from the second. In the end, he got what he always said he wanted: to join her.

Inherited Fear

Now that I’ve lived longer than both my parents, stroke is never far from my thoughts. I share their risk factors—high blood pressure and high cholesterol—and I get my carotid arteries checked every six months. Sometimes, if I’ve been sitting too long, I stand, feel a bit lightheaded, and tell myself it’s nothing. But the worry always lingers.

A New Scare

For about fifteen years, I’ve had occasional migraines. Mine begin with a dull ache and then a shimmering crescent moon aura. My wife gets the same visual pattern—some strange intimacy in sharing that. We know exactly what the other is seeing.

But last Tuesday was different.

After a quick dinner out, we settled in for a new series on TV. Half watching, I suddenly felt intense pain on both sides of my head. My mind jumped straight to one word: stroke.

“I don’t feel right,” I told my wife. I tried to stand—and then it hit.

A visual I can only describe as thousands of stars flying toward me at incredible speed, like I’d been thrown into warp drive. In seconds, I was on the floor, shaking, drenched in cold sweat. The stars kept coming. I heard my wife calling her sister in the attached apartment.

My daughter and son-in-law burst in just as my sister-in-law dialed 911. I trembled so hard I could barely speak. The visual flashes would not stop. All I could think, over and over:
I am having a stroke.

My daughter dropped to the floor, took my hand, and calmly coached my breathing. I clung to her words. No matter how close everyone held me, I could not get warm.

Within minutes, paramedics arrived. Blood pressure, temperature, electrodes—blurred sensations beneath the panic. I was loaded into the ambulance and rushed to the ER.

Answers in the ER

A doctor and two nurses met me. An IV went in; a warm blanket was wrapped around me. My heart rate was elevated, but neurological tests—hand, foot, finger-to-nose—showed no signs of stroke.

A sedative flowed into my veins, loosening the grip of panic almost instantly.

The diagnosis:
A severe migraine with aura—specifically photopsias and tunnel vision—creating that bizarre “warp speed” effect. My fear of a stroke triggered a full-blown panic attack.

Once I calmed, they added two migraine medications to the IV. I watched the fluid drip, silently begging it to work. Within minutes, the terrifying visuals faded. What remained was an all-consuming headache—but I could breathe again. Think again.

The Aftermath

The ride home felt like waking from a nightmare.
No stroke.
I repeated it to myself like a prayer.

The headache stayed with me into the next morning, then slowly lifted. The cause? No one knows. Stress is always lurking, always ready.

The whole episode shook me to my core—yet left me strangely comforted. Terrified as we all were, it was not a stroke.

I’m still here.