Bruce Harland
A MIND OF ITS OWN - The American Experience!

Last year I was preparing myself for a planned solo ascent of our local Mt. Shasta, in celebration of my upcoming forty-fifth birthday in July. I had done my research; the climb was rated at a beginners level. Though a novice mountaineer myself, I could certainly handle that. I was stubborn as a mule and healthy as a horse, or so I thought. I was in the process of making my body strong through a rigorous exercise regimen. Despite the climb's ease, such a feat would impress many people; especially those who would never dare attempt such an undertaking themselves. I've always liked to impress people, a childish vice I have never outgrown. It was to be a celebration of my life, my strength, and my determination, an affirmation of who I am, so to speak.

Unfortunately, fate has a way of playing funny tricks in our lives. Certainly after forty-four years on this planet, I should have known better. Unbeknownst to me, my body had other plans, or more correct and contradictable, my brain was to have a mind of its own.

On February 5, of 2001 I suffered a massive ischaemic stroke to my cerebellum. I was taken by ambulance to the local emergency room in the late hours of that evening with nausea and an inability to walk without falling over. I was sent home with the diagnosis of a bad case of the flu or possibly food poisoning. With some rest I was told, I'd be back to my normal healthy self in no time.

See Bruce, I thought to myself, its not all that bad. Wrong, wrong big time.

I became extremely sick over the next two days. On the second day of my illness, I called my wife who was at work and told her, "Kathy, I think I've had a stroke, try coming home early, like right now", which she did. She also called our doctor to explain, and I was sent back to the hospital emergency room. I had a CT scan taken and it showed a large stroke in my cerebellum, bingo! I told you so. I had lost almost fifty percent of the my cerebellum, almost the entire left half was totally dead or infarcted as the doctors like to call it, and I also had a small infarct to the right side.

The doctors were understandably impressed that I was still breathing. Remember I told you how I like to impress people; well this stroke certainly did the trick. I knew it was serious when our family doctor, a friend and fellow volunteer firefighter met us at the emergency room. After she left my treatment room to exam my CT scans, she came back with tears in her eyes. Now this lady is a very strong person, of whom I've seen face many a stressful situation in the course of our firefighting duties. For her to cry confirmed to me just how serious the situation really was.

Over the past eleven months I have been poked and prodded by countless experts and specialists. Most of the doctors started out by telling me what they thought had caused my stroke, followed immediately by how they proposed to fix it. When these two pieces of medical advice eventually failed, which was universally the case, each doctor seemed to silently surrender to the inevitable. This, after giving me innumerable blood tests, MRIs, CTs, and angiograms, all to no avail. Most of them eventually simply told me that I may never know what caused my stroke and that I should move on with my life. Of course this valuable and expensive medical advice was only dispersed after both my insurance cards had been photocopied, and all other pertinent information as to the method of payment was secured.

I was always impressed by the tremendous time and effort expended by those medical administrative personnel trying to determine how they were to be paid. In a few cases, some doctor's offices actually spent more time figuring out how they were to be reimbursed, than their doctor did trying to cure my illness.

Forgive me, I got a little off track there, but as I tell my friends, I did have a stroke, you know. Let me continue.

Now it may just be me, but honestly, I cant believe that a forty-four year old man in what appeared to be excellent health and physical condition, could simply have a stroke for no apparent reason.

I have lost my faith in the medical profession, mostly because since day one of this illness, I was the one who figured out that I was having a stroke and pointed this out to the doctors. I was the one whom found out the reason for my agonising pain (CPS Central Pain Syndrome) on the affected left side of my body. I even told them what medication might help (it did). So, if someone like me, with my limited mental capacity education and resources, could provide medical answers, our medical system was in serious trouble. In one instance, I even had a neurologist tell me that I was probably depressed and perhaps that was cause of my pain. He recommended that I take an antidepressant drug. I somehow felt what it must be like for a woman back in the fifties and sixties, being told that the pain was all in her head. I almost suggested to him where he could put those pills of his, but alas I did not.

This past year has been nothing short of an exceptional and frightening experience. I am still confused and confounded by this stroke. Though I have sometimes experienced what Thoreau called a life of quiet desperation. I have come to chalk it all up to bad luck, and nothing more, and I can live with that, I think.

Update 12/04/03 - Streets of Philadelphia

I was bruised and battered, I couldn't tell what I felt
I was unrecognizable to myself Saw my reflection in a window
I didn¹t know my own face
Oh brother are you gonna leave me wasting away
On the streets of Philadelphia

I walked the avenue till my legs felt like stone
I heard voices of friends vanished and gone
At night I could hear the blood in my brain
Just as black and whispering as the rain
On the streets of Philadelphia

Ain't no angel gonna greet me
It's just you and I my friend
My clothes don't fit me no more
I walked a thousand miles
Just slip this skin

The night has fallen, I'm lying awake
I can feel myself fading away
So receive me brother with your faithless kiss
Or will we leave each other alone like this
On the streets of Philadelphia

Today as I sat alone in my room, and listened to Bruce Springsteen sing the song (Streets of Philadelphia)....my heart suddenly stopped. I swear to you, I actually felt a physical jolt run throughout my body. Immediately, a big smile came out of nowhere and settled upon my face.

It was as if, I had finally gotten it......I finally understood why I had gone through this whole stroke thing, and the ordeal it had caused me these past two years. Something in that song had made me understand, exactly what and why I had gone through.

Two years ago, on a cold February night, I had felt the darkness of death swallow me whole. Almost to the point of no return. For whatever reason I survived, I lived....and even at the time and in the condition I was in, I knew In my heart of hearts just how close I had come to returning to this beautiful earth, of which I am an indivisible part. The overwhelming sense of loss, of everything I once held dear, but most importantly, the loss of control of the "me", of the "my body," of that fleshy shell that binds my soul.

This had caused in me, a terrible fear. An inner sense of betrayal by my own body. Of which in the past, I had always taken so much for granted. Everything I had once trusted, was at the time, never to be trusted again. Eventually, I came to terms or as near as I could with my friends "Mr. Death" and "Mr. Life," and the trust I felt had be stolen from me.

At the time I did not understand why I had lived. Or perhaps more perplexing, I did not understand...why I had not died. Maybe it was to let others know what I have seen and felt.

This I do know, death is not our enemy. I tell you I am not afraid of "death", but I am also here to say, that I am unafraid of it's companion "life". There is more to us, than us, and somehow I feel that I have touched it's face. I do not know what the ending is, but I do know, it's as good as the beginning.
Thanks for listening .

Thanks to Bruce for sending in his profile. Anyone else who would like to share their story can send it along with a photograph (if you're not shy!)

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