I deviated from my plan of working on this post bit by bit through the week and that was not a good life decision because I have other things I want to do and it’s been an hour and a half of sifting links and being distracted by the internet and I cannot sleep in tomorrow because I am a genius who has a therapy appointment every Friday at 8:15 am. And boy oh boy, do I need that appointment this week.
I was reading Emilia Clarke’s essay about her brain aneurysms as one does and, well. Well. The first one she had, the subarachnoid hemorrhage? The one that kills 30% of the people who have one? The one which is technically a stroke?
One thing I didn’t mention in my post from last November that I had seizures in the ER. Caused by a subarachnoid hemorrhage. The medication they had me on to prevent any convulsions was the one I was refusing to take because it made the inside of my mouth feel like raw hamburger. I dealt with weeks of guilt-tripping and near-bullying from medical professionals before they prescribed me another anti-convulsant (which I took happily).
At no point was I told how serious a subarachnoid hemorrhage could be. I have no idea what caused it–I did not have an aneurysm (I just read the cerebral angiogram report) and I didn’t have a traumatic head injury and there’s no congenital deformation to the blood vessels in that area. So who knows?
Based on how information was withheld from me during my first hospital stay, I shouldn’t be surprised by this and yet. Here we are. I just found out by reading a celebrity’s essay about her brain and its problems that I had a fucking stroke eight months ago and that I’m lucky to not be dead or brain-damaged.
I really wish I could still drink.