Chicken Soup For The Soul Story
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Chicken Soup for the Soul
BACK FROM SILENCE
Sept. 30th, 1974: When I woke up, I was disoriented and
confused. I became aware of a toneless voice saying "We're
moving you to intensive care, Anne. You've just had a massive stroke." As he and the other attendant strapped me to a Gurney, I felt the urge to scream at them "NO!!! You've made a MISTAKE!!! This can't be happening...I know I have a heart disease, but I can't have a STROKE!!! I'm not even twenty years old, yet!!!" However, I didn't speak up. I couldn't say a word. *************************************************************
Summer, 1974: I had just finished my second year at
Marquette University in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, while also
working as a waitress. I had excelled that year in both
school and work. I had lots of friends. And, for the first
time in my life, I was in love.
Jim had just graduated from Marquette University. He
planned to move to Portland, Oregon and he wanted me to move
with him. My life had become so inextricably wound up with
Jim's, in the year that we had been together, that I never
seriously considered doing anything but going to Portland
with him. We were also engaged to be married at some
unspecified time in the future, when we both felt more ready.
When I broke the news of my impending move to my
parents, they were understandably, horrified. I come from a
large close knit Catholic family and I had certainly not been
raised to go traipsing halfway across the country to live
with a man to whom I was not married. However, the more my
parents tried to dissuade me from going, the more determined
I remained to go.
Within a few weeks of our arriving in Portland, Jim and
I found jobs and an apartment. During the same time period, I
started feeling sick. After a few weeks, I was feeling more
sick than I ever had in my life. When I went into the
hospital on August 30th, my temperature was spiking at 106
degrees. After a couple more weeks the doctors finally handed
down a diagnosis: sub-acute Bacterial Endocarditis (SBE). SBE
is a heart disease. I had always been healthy and had
certainly never had problems with my heart. In view of that
fact, nobody could explain to my satisfaction how I had
managed to come down with a full-blown heart disease...
Oct. 1974 - It was not to be believed. I was going to be
20, in two weeks, and I had just had a massive stroke. My
stroke had paralyzed my right side, from the top of my head
to the tips of my toes. It had rendered me temporarily mute
and wreaked havoc on my previously perfect eyesight.
My prognosis was not good. For a few days it was
anybody's guess whether I would live or die. Furthermore,
nobody knew how extensively my brain had been damaged or how
permanent that damage would be.
Unfortunately, my boyfriend's reaction to my the stroke
was very negative. His visits were frequent but abrupt.
When he did visit, Jim instead of being kind and reassuring,
was at his self centered best. He made up hurtful names to
call me, names unflatteringly descriptive of my severely
underweight, newly crippled body. In essence he made it all
too clear that while it had been fine having me around when I
was in health, dealing with me in sickness was more than he
could handle. I felt totally betrayed by Jim, during my
hospital stay. Though we would have a number of break up and
make up scenes in the next two years, before breaking up for
good, things were never right between us again.
When my parents heard about what had happened to me they
rushed to be by my side. I was later told that when my mother
and father came walking into my hospital room, my vital signs
immediately improved. I still recall the combination of
relief and excitement I felt when they walked into the room
that day. I remember clearly knowing for a split second that
now everything would, somehow, be all right because now the
two people in all the world who would most readily lay down
their lives for me were by my side.
After a week, my father, a Law professor at Notre Dame
University in Indiana, had to go back to his classes, and to
looking after my six younger siblings. My mother, an English
teacher at St. Mary's College, Notre Dame's "sister" college,
had already arranged for someone to take over her classes for
the rest of the year, so that she would be available to me.
I will never be able to thank my parents enough for
having been there for me so completely at a time when my
young life hung so treachorously in balance. Their faith and
courage helped get me through some exceedingly rough times.
I said my first word after two weeks. The word was
"No!". It is true that my speech therapist had directed me to
say the word "no", but on a more metaphysical level, I
believe I was saying "no" to a lifetime of severe
incapacatation and immobility. After that I added new words
to my vocabulary daily.
I also had daily physical and occupational therapy, to
strengthen my right arm and leg. By mid-November my heart
disease had gone so my mother and I flew back to Indiana.
Still wheelchairbound, I would undergo more therapy in a
hospital in my hometown, and then I would enter a large
rehabilitation center for a few months of more intensive
therapy.
I wish I could truthfully say that upon my return to the
midwest, I straightened out my act, faced up to the
tremendous challenge that had been thrown my way and got to
work healing myself to the best of my ability. That is not
what happened. I did not work as hard as I could or should
have at the rehab. Nevertheless, I continued to improve,
physically. By the time I left the rehab, in March 1975, I
was walking with a cane.
Back home in South Bend, my emotional state went from
bad to worse. The stroke had wreaked havoc with my maturity
level, my sense of caution and my ability to make sound
judgements. These things would take years to come back to
normal. I was angry and felt extremely sorry for myself.
The phrase "Why me, God?" became a semi-constant, inner
whine.
Desiring to take more control of my life, I moved out of
my parents' house after a few months. I was enrolled as a
junior at Notre Dame, and had maintained a "B" average.
Left to my own devices I started spending too much time in
bars, drinking too much and indulging in go nowhere
relationships. My grades took a nose dive.
The self destructive behavior continued, off and on for
a few years. My family and friends watched in horror as I
dropped in and out of schools, living situations and
relationships, always seeming to teeter on an emotional edge.
I still thought of Jim as the love of my life, so I
continued to be bitter at the set of circumstances that kept
us apart. However, in the summer of 1977, I met a man who was
kind, interesting and intelligent. Robert and I became
immediate friends, and a year later started dating. We would
later move down south and marry. Two children were born to us
in the early '80's.
Over the years I came to terms with something about my
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