This afternoon, I went to visit a friend from school who also had a stroke. This is Tess Cordero Pardo, the owner of Things, a lovely shop of beautiful ethnic things in Glorietta 1. Her son Paolo now runs the shop with her. Tess was blinded by her stroke. She can no longer see. She experiences bright light – "I see a bright light here," she signalled on her right side where there was no bulb. "I get a glare coming down from the car."
"Do you wear dark glasses?" I asked her, meaning to relieve her eyes from the glare, and she laughed saying, "I don’t want people to say I am blind." Both of us almost collapsed with laughter.
"Tell me about your stroke," I said. This is something I have been wanting to do for a while now, to sit down with another person who has had a stroke and to compare notes. She said she was in a bus coming down from Baguio and suddenly, while she could smell food, she could not see it. She could hear the sounds of the wheels turning, but neither could she see them. Suddenly, she could see nothing. She told her maid who was with her, "I cannot see anything." Then she asked her to call up a son who said, "Mommy, I’m intercepting the bus." He did, drove her straight to Makati Medical where she lay confined for two months.
"Did you feel pain?" I asked.
"No," she said, "no pain. I just could not see anymore."
There lies one of the benefits of talking to someone else who has had a stroke. I too felt no pain. I just looked down at the table and when I looked up, I thought, "Everything has changed." Then I looked around and nothing had, but in my heart, I knew that everything had changed. She said, "You’re lucky your stroke was light. But you have to be careful. You must be aware that it’s there and another one can take you at any time. I am afraid of that. I think of many things," she said.
"Don’t think of anything. Just take what comes and do your best. Just be grateful that you can do what you do. We have little control," I said. Only God really knows what will happen next.
Tess was right about the danger of another stroke, but it’s almost impossible to predict. You don’t know if and when the next one will come. You don’t know with what severity, whether you will live or die. Yes, that is the truth I did not see clearly. I have told myself since my stroke – it looks like I inherited the Gonzalez body. I will die of a stroke like very many of them and it will most likely happen any day before I am 70. That is why every time I wake up alive, I take note and I am grateful.
My grandson, Wootie, came over to visit. He is so grown, nine years old now. He came to spend the day while my cleaning man Arnel was on duty. While Arnel was around, I had an easy time, but then he left, and Wootie and I were happily alone. We decided to go shopping at Rockwell. Then we came home to have dinner. I heated the dinner and washed the dishes. Then it was time for bed. I nagged him to shower and tucked him in. I put oil of eucalyptus on his pajamas to prevent his nose from getting too clogged. Did we sleep well? No, no, no. He turned itchy and I had to put ointment on him. Then his nose got clogged. I had to fetch him some water three times that night. He got up to get tissue from the bathroom. He was doing things to his nose that made it sort of look burned in the morning. It was a tough night.
The next morning, I had to cook him breakfast and wash the plates. Then I had to keep him company and play games and chat with him until it was time to meet his mother for lunch. Then he went home and so did I, but I was ready to drop dead, so exhausted I just wanted to lie down and sleep, but it was too early. Finally, I went to bed. It was 7:30 p.m. What kind of a grandmother are you? I asked myself. There was nothing unusual about his demands. He did not demand anything at all. Why was I so worn-out? This must be an effect of my stroke: I had to be in bed at a certain time, preferably alone to sleep all night. I am too old to be a wonderful grandmother again.
So, that is the way of life for stroke survivors. We have overcome, yes. We are strong enough for everyone to judge what a fabulous recovery we’ve made. But we know in our hearts the one thing that can change. We can go suddenly at any time. That gives us trepidation, a bit of apprehension, a touch of dread always there before we sleep and when we awaken, there is some relief. I am alive. I am profoundly grateful.