by Joe Kennedy
Having a stroke can change your life.
You can trust me on this. My stroke in February 2009 left me with a visual impairment that means I can no longer drive. That means that in order to visit with my grown children, who live and work in the Washington area, I now take the Valley Metro connector bus that leaves the Roanoke Civic Center early each morning and delivers its passengers to the Amtrak station in Lynchburg.
The Amtrak train deposits its passengers at Union Station in Washington.
From there I join my grown son and daughter and their significant others so we can do the big-city thing — brunch in funky restaurants or diners, visits to galleries or other attractions and dinners at big, busy restaurants that are overstimulating to a country-boy stroke survivor like me.
On my last visit we dined at an Italian place that featured dozens of brands of beer. The beer menu was several pages long and contained in a three-ring binder.
I thumbed through it and noticed one brand that cost $40 per bottle. What did it taste like?
I don’t know how it tasted. Like beer, I imagine.
We also travel around by cab. In big cities you can ride for several blocks in a cab for less than $10. When the wind is howling and the sky is spitting snow, it’s a handy way to go, though I must say that bounding around a big city becomes a bit of a challenge for someone who doesn’t see well.
Heck, just getting your bearings in a big, noisy eatery can be a challenge, especially if the light inside is fashionably dim.
Visits to galleries can be tiring to people who don’t see so well, too.
The funny part is that if I hadn’t had a stroke, I probably wouldn’t be taking these D.C. Trips. At least I wouldn’t be doing them in this way.
For one thing, I’d drive to the nation’s Capital rather than ride the train. That means I’d have to fight traffic to get to my kids’ places and scramble for parking when we went downtown.
That means I’d be less enthusiastic about seeing so many sights, and I am certain that the Sunday afternoon visit we made last time to the Phillips Collection would not have happened, because I’d be heading home instead of waiting for the late-afternoon train.
On the other hand, I probably would not have fallen off that curb 10 inches high in front of Union Station and mashed my foot or slammed my hand on the road, making me a one-finger typist, at least for now.
When I went in the hospital the day I had my stroke, I asked the doctor what was the most Important thing I should do in the future. He said, “Don’t have another stroke.”
Lots of people, particularly men, do have second strokes, usually within five years. They can, of course, be fatal.
That’s the nightmare that makes me vigilant about exhaustion, which comes on suddenly during strenuous trips. When I feel it, I am not shy about saying I need a break, and taking one.
And I’m one of the lucky people. Significant though my visual loss may be, I got off easy. The consequences of my stroke could have been much worse.
Taking the train home from D.C and the bus back from Lynchburg can be a hassle, but it provides an easy ride to tired travelers who would otherwise be in their cars battling traffic .
The doctor said, “don’t have another stroke.”
I say don’t have the first one. You’d be surprised how thoroughly it can complicate your life.