By Will Shonbrun
So, there I was, just going along, minding my own business when all of a sudden I was having a stroke, although I had no idea of that happening. I was simply having lunch at Hacienda and next thing I knew I was being wheeled out of the restaurant. Very weird feeling.
The next thing I recall, I’m lying in a bed somewhere and Larry Barnett is staring at me and I’m wondering why is he doing that and not saying anything? Must be a dream, I thought.
So, the dream continues, and now I’m on a helicopter flying to who the hell knows where, but it’s all sort of vaguely interesting, so I figured I might as well just go with it. And I sort of remembered trying to piece together, why was Barnett not saying anything? It’s so unlike him not to be talking … about something, anything.
Anyway, I had four days at the hospital in UCSF to paste it all together while getting prodded and punctured and asked every five minutes my full name and date of birth. And, oh yeah, asked to smile, broadly, as if I’m going to be photographed. As it turns out, being able to smile where both sides of one’s mouth balance out is a good sign of recovery from a stroke. There are other signs, too, but I’ll leave all the medical stuff like CT Scans, MRIs and other initialed procedures out of it and the reader can Google it to their heart’s content.
I will relate however, that it’s a strange and somewhat disconnected feeling or experience coming off a stroke and then sliding, somewhat obtusely, back to a full range of consciousness, to myself, or what I know as my “self.” It actually turns out to be a process of reacquainting one’s self with that mysterious being one calls – self. You know, that voice that is always talking to you, telling you what to do or not to do, telling you what to think about this or that and generally analyzing everything that crosses your path ad infinitum.
And then little by little it all starts to fall back in place and gradually there you are, the same old schmuck you’ve always been, nothing more nothing less, but in some ways it’s comforting to be back in the familiar.
Oddly, having a stroke reminded me of Sly and the Family Stone’s song, Everyday People, where old Sly sang metaphorically about “different strokes for different folks,” but in a very different sense. Let me leave you with some of Sly’s fine lyrics. And if you get a chance, play the music to it. It’s killer.
We got to live together
I am not better than you and neither are you
We’re all the same, whatever we do
There is a yellow one that won’t
Accept the black one
That won’t accept the red one
That won’t accept the white one
Different strokes for different folks
I am everyday people
Now I get Sly’s message loud and clear, and it’s needed now more than ever.
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