The Day It Happened
It was my first day back from the flu. I went to a jobsite in the morning, then was driving back to the office around 9:30, thinking about a million things as always.
Then, all of a sudden, I got very confused.
I pulled off the freeway and went to McDonald's even though I wasn't hungry. Then I went to the gas station and got gas I didn't need, and bought more food and drinks in the convenience store. I drove to the office while talking to some of my team on the phone. When I parked and got out of my truck, it felt awkward. Walking across the fab shop floor, I was veering off to the left — I had to keep course correcting.
I went upstairs to my office and worked the rest of the day.
That evening, I went home, took a nap, then went to my friend Cory and Beth's New Year's Eve party. I was surrounded by friends and family — my brother, my cousin Theresa, my nephew. When I walked in, the host's dog put her feet up to say hi and get pets. I got knocked off balance. At 6'6" and 310 pounds, that doesn't happen to me. I fell into the bookcase.
I stayed the rest of the night feeling off. No drinking. When I left around 1am, I had trouble getting up and was walking awkwardly. Concerned, I drove myself to Overlake Hospital — passing multiple other hospitals along the way.
Overlake is the hospital I helped build. I worked construction on the new wing.
January 1, 2025Overlake
When I got to the hospital, I was still able to walk, talk, and use my arm. The nurse gave me some motor skill tests — I did OK. The doctor gave me more — same result. She didn't think it was a stroke at first, but she consulted with the nurse and they agreed to call stroke protocol to rule it out.
Then came the CT scans, the MRIs, and the ICU. I was still able to walk and use my arm to get in and out of the wheelchair for all of those tests.
But after a few hours, I started to lose function. Left side — leg, arm, left side of my face.
ICUA Conversation With Myself
I have an extraordinary ability to handle high-stress situations — to stay calm and not panic. That rainbow is always behind that next cloud.
The doctors and nurses were great. They explained what could happen, what probably was going to happen. But it was frustrating, because they weren't running around like in the movies pushing drugs and looking at printouts. It was very wait-and-see, which goes against my problem-solver mentality.
They asked if I wanted them to notify my partner or kids. I told them I've never been married and don't have children, but I had called my brother on the way in and he would show up eventually. I remember the look on the nurse's face. Then she wrote something on my chart:
I told her I had lots of friends and family. She looked around the empty room and said "uh huh" — like you do when a two-year-old is telling you about the biggest thing to ever happen.
They told me I couldn't get out of bed without someone there. They kept coming — asking me to smile big, lift my leg, wiggle my toes, move my fingers. It seemed like every five minutes. PT, OT, Speech — they all came in to assess me.
At some point, the nurse call button and the urinal had been moved away from my bed. I had to pee after a nap, so I figured I'd just get up and use the bathroom. I got up and tried to take a step, but my left leg didn't do what I told it. I stumbled across the room into the wall, knocking over trays and linen baskets.
You'd think 300 pounds hitting a wall and knocking things over would get someone's attention. But they were all down the hall, tending to patients who were worse off. I made it to the bathroom and used the nurse call button there when I was done.
It was starting to happen. The loss of my leg and arm function accelerated rapidly after that. My brain was dying.
The hardest nightThe Breaking Point
My brother came and started taking care of things — easing my worries, keeping track of the doctors and nurses, setting up power of attorney. He made sure he understood everything, then made sure I did.
We decided not to tell Mom and Dad. We still didn't have answers, and with Dad's Parkinson's, he had started obsessing and fixating on anxiety-type issues. We wanted to protect them until we knew more.
I was still mentally fine — until it started to spread to my right side. My face. I was having trouble talking and swallowing. They said they might have to put a tube in.
That's when I freaked out.
My brother had left for the night. I was alone, imagining a life paralyzed — unable to talk, with tubes to breathe and eat. Then they took me for another MRI. They strapped my head down with a cage and slid me into a tube that I was too big for. For the first time in my life, I was claustrophobic. Panicky. Scared.
It was a moment of truth. I recognized I had a choice to make. I could no longer control what was going to happen to me — a scary thought for a control freak.
So I had a conversation with myself:
Maybe I'm Not Socially Isolated
Word got out.
What followed was the most humbling experience of my life.
Friends and family came out of the woodwork. People from Portland. People from Palm Springs. People I hadn't seen in over ten years. Coworkers, bosses, old coworkers, old bosses. Building engineers from Overlake Hospital — the hospital I helped build. The CEO of my company.
One of the cleaning crew told me I had the busiest room she had ever seen.
Maybe I'm not socially isolated.
During that same week, they also told me I had Afib and a brain aneurysm. But the swelling went down in my brain, and I got the use of my right side back again.