At the age of thirteen I suffered a grand mal seizure. I was scared to death. Even as I write this I am reliving the day my life changed.

Seizures were soon to be a common occurrence and for the next thirty-four years of my life. Eventually during one hospital stay it was discovered that I had an AVM (Arterio-Venous Malformation). 

I understand that an AVM is an abnormal collection of blood vessels. An AVM puts additional strain on the blood vessels and the surrounding tissues. These weakened blood vessels can rupture. This is known as a hemorrhage or bleed. If an AVM bleeds the person most commonly has a stroke and often dies. The chance of an AVM bleeding increases 4 % per year. AVMs are a rare condition affecting about 250,000 people in the United States." The majorities are operable but I had one that was inoperable.

With that knowledge I made a concerted effort not to tell anyone. My parents of course knew, but I refused to tell any of my closest friends for fear I would be looked upon as someone special, after all I was only thirteen. My logic, and one I adhere to for all these years, I was living on borrowed time so why not live life to its fullest. I planned to live into my thirty's.

At age forty-seven, I woke up to a terrible headache, I thought it was stress; I was starting a new job. I knew I was in trouble when my speech slurred and my arm went numb. I entered the ER and my legs seemed to drop out from underneath me.

I remembered I was surprised as my wife, who is a nurse, told the ER Nurse that I was having a stroke. That night the doctors prepared my wife for the worst case scenario, that I might not live.

Imagine my surprise. What was to follow in the grand scheme of things was mild. Three operations, two months in the hospital, countless days in intensive care, five years in rehab. But I was alive.

I soon was to find out what is meant by the word motivation. I treated each day with a renewed vengeance as I woke up from I can only describe to be a nightmare. I had the vocabulary of only 3 words; yes, no, "peekles" (I still do not know what the word means); short-term memory loss; reasoning skills were lacking; my entire right side was nonfunctional.

My rehab started in Stanford Hospital, but I was soon transferred to Santa Clara Valley Medical Center for inpatient therapy for a month. I attended 18 months of outpatient therapies at Valley and Mills Hospitals. I spent countless hours a day. When a therapist would say "only five more'..... I would do ten. My battle hymn, "I'm possible and I think I can".

The first thing I wanted to do is walk, (everybody does, and it makes you feel less handicapped) actually walking is highly overrated. The ground can be a scary place when you fall from 6 feet. Speech is where I should have concentrated more. All the times when I could walk to the dinner table, only to not carry on a conversation. I wouldn't be as far along if it was'nt for the years of therapy and the incredible therapists. They were ruthless, and I loved each one of them.

Life has changed:

Today I can walk with the use of an AFO (ankle foot orthotic), speak with a little added effort, my reasoning skills have returned. Numbers are still difficult.

I fell downstairs, broke my leg...moved from that two story house immediately!!

I fell another time and ripped my rotator cuff on my good arm .. walking is highly overrated.

I regained my license and have my car outfitted with a left foot pedal.

I'm pretty much independent, except for things needing two hands, like those darn cereal box liners and cutting steaks. I've tried to learn patience.

Life has simplified, where I used to travel internationally, my wife and I enjoy going to the coast for a weekend.

We enjoy getting together with friends. There was initially a fall out, but we're busy every weekend.

I enjoy my 2 Golden Retrievers, walking them at the park, and of course our cat.

I go to a personal trainer once a week and I try to work out 5 times a week.

I still see a speech therapist every 3 to 4 months.  

Where I used to work 60 hours a week, I now volunteer at Stanford and at Mills Hospitals in the acute rehab units, where I am affectionately referred to as "here comes Trouble" Yes, life has changed and despite the occasional frustrations, I'm enjoying what I consider to be a second chance!

(Excerpts from speeches given to health care professionals and community organizations)

Gary Drach

garyd@mythumbsup.com

This site is dedicated to Peggy. She has taught me what motivation means and the gift of patience. Her inspiration is never ending. She taught me how to laugh again. I am truly a blessed man; I am her husband.