The first stroke was in the parking lot of Jones Coffee Roasters, before I ordered two cappucinos. A second stroke in Huntingdon Hospital, Pasadena, at night. Jo, my wife, Jen, my daughter, and Sandy, my son-in-law, were anxiously waiting. I didn’t think I would wake up from the second stroke. But I opened my eyes, flat on my back. Hazy, blurred, weak, etc The right side of my mouth drooped. I could not swallow. I couldn’t walk. I couldn’t use a wheelchair. Yet. I couldn’t speak. I couldn't write. I could read but slowly. The left brain, with mini-whole hole, was gone. The right arm was in a sling for months on end. The right leg was weak but all right. I experienced the entire devastation of my right side. I had to reconstruct the neurons into some kind of new order to fire me up again.
I took me three years to start writing after the strokes. I didn’t think I could do it. I began to write slowly, tediously, and painfully. It took me three weeks to finish the first page. Garbage bound. I had to redo it. It took me two weeks to do the second page. Three or or four lines per day. Then I had to rest on the sofa. To the laptop and to the sofa. It was determination to get to the end. Believe me. As I made progress, there was hope for other stroke survivors. We can spread the message more widely. I join you in spreading the inspiration out in the world. You can find my book here.