The Take

Strokes are not subtle events. They happen with a vengence. The onset comes with little warning. The symptoms may begin quietly, but they quickly crescendo until they reach an intensity impossible to ignore. Strokes rip away functions so fundamental that they only becomes visible in their absence. They are wholly changing events. The climatological equivalent of a stroke would be a tornado - they develop unexpectedly and cause focused destruction - leaving one thing intact while destroying something else. One day your house was there - strong, sturdy, filled with many years of improvements and memories. You knew how to skip each creaking step and where to leave the faucet handle so that the water temperature was perfect. The next day, your house is gone. Strokes are similar. One day you could walk, shake hands with a stranger, smile at a child, tell your partner you love them. The next day, you can't. And just like in a tornado, where your house is destroyed and your neighbor's is fine, a stroke doesn't take away everything. Instead, it picks and choses - so your right leg may be fine, but your right arm is unusable. You may talk, but you might not understand anything. You may understand everything, but not be able to speak intelligibly. Walking might be easy, but seeing difficult.

The recovery from a stroke thrusts adult patients into the role of a child. Like a young baby, they are forced to rely on those more capable for help with daily living. And like an infant, they must (re)learn how to do things. They have to take a first step, form their first words, eat their first solid foods, read their first book. It perverts the desire to be childlike in one's approach to life - for these patients are not childlike in mind, but rather are forced to depend like a child and learn the tasks of a child with the understanding of an adult.