Three days before our dream anniversary trip to the Maldives, I had a stroke. While I was in bed in the hospital, unable to move, my husband called me… from the airport. “Postponing is too expensive,” he said, before hanging up. That call changed everything and set in motion a plan he hadn’t foreseen.
This happened three days before our anniversary trip to the Maldives. I was chopping peppers for dinner and suddenly found myself on the floor.
A woman cuts peppers | Source: Pexels
The knife fell beside me, and a strange numbness spread down the left side of my body. My mouth couldn’t form words. My thoughts seemed trapped behind fogged glass.
Jeff was there moments later; his face was blurred above mine. His voice was high-pitched but distant, as if he were wading through water.
Was he screaming my name? Was he calling 911? I wanted to ask him not to leave me, but the words stuck with me.
A woman lying on the kitchen floor | Source: Midjourney
The ambulance arrived. Tests were performed. Words like “moderate ischemic stroke” and “partial facial paralysis” hovered around me.
The hospital room was like all the others: sterile and cold, with machines beeping too loudly and nurses speaking too quietly.
Half my face refused to function. My speech was slurred, as if I’d had one too many glasses of the cheap wine Jeff always bought.
