Portrait: Dmitry

A little bit about Dmitry

My name is Dmitry Chernomyrdin, and I am from the Russian city of Orenburg. In December 2021, at age 44 years old, I felt unwell, like I was drunk (that's what my son Igor said.) I was trying to have lunch but couldn't pour the soup and dropped the plate. I tried to pick it up and dropped the spoon. Not understanding what was happening, I laid down on the sofa to rest. After this incident, my hearing changed and I began to hear "distorted" sounds. Trying to understand what was going on, I went to an otorhinolaryngologist and a neurologist, but they said everything was fine. The conclusion was that most likely this was the effect of anesthesia after an operation. An MRI was ordered, but unfortunately, the results showed that I had suffered a micro stroke. 

With these results, I turned to a neurologist who took care of me and said that we would look for reasons why this happened, and so that it would not happen again. 

Surviving a stroke at work 

On Monday, February 21st, 2022, I was at my workplace as usual. We were preparing for an important project, and everyone was busy. Closer to 12 o'clock in the afternoon, while at my desk, I was writing down information and a strange thing happened to me. The pen fell out of my hand and fell on the table. Not realizing what happened, I picked up the pen but dropped it again. 

It took a minute to realize what was happening: I was having a stroke. I tried to shout out to my nearby colleagues, but I couldn’t speak. After a few seconds, everyone was running around me, frightened and confused. 

Lying on a stretcher in an ambulance, I looked at the buildings and gray trees rushing by. My wife, Lera, was sitting next to me and I understood without words being spoken that she felt fear and pain. The drive to the hospital seemed to only take a few minutes. Then everything was a blur. An MRI confirmed that I had suffered another stroke. All this time, I was holding my right hand with my left hand, because it was just hanging, and I couldn't feel it. Looking into Lera's eyes, I tried to say something to her, but couldn’t. I squeezed her hand with my left hand and tried to say with my eyes that everything would be fine.   

Recovering in the ICU 

On Thursday, February 24, a new stage of my life began in intensive care where doctors visited me one by one. Each doctor asked their own questions and I just mumbled but, thank God, they understood me. My new life began, almost from scratch. I did not understand then, but it would be a long and painstaking work on myself. The four long days I spent laying there; the gray view outside the window and the oppressive atmosphere felt like "Groundhog Day". I ate only ground food, twisted all sorts of trinkets in my hands, did exercises for my legs, and most importantly, I learned to talk again. Every day I took a small bottle and tried to unscrew and tighten the cork, but it would fall on the bed. My brain could not order my fingers to work, and I couldn’t feel them. I tried tongue twisters to help me with my speech. The surrounding medical staff was always kind and responsive to me and encouraging.

Working hard to heal 

On Saturday, February 26, I asked for a phone to call my wife. Thanks to the nurse who understood me, I dialed the number (I remembered the number!!!!!). On the other end of the phone, I heard a voice that I would recognize anywhere. 

Restraining my emotions, I tried to tell her that I'm alive and everything will be fine.  

From that moment on, I began to try to talk more; to ask the medical staff any questions about the weather or the news. The most important thing for me was to try to talk. Four days passed in intensive care with hundreds of repetitions of tongue twisters, unscrewing and twisting bottles, lip warm-ups, etc.

Headed toward a new phase of recovery 

The day came for the doctors visit: I hoped that they would see a positive trend, and I would be transferred to a regular ward. The doctors slowly started making rounds. The neurologist came first and asked about my wellbeing. I said I was as well as I could be - good! She was surprised, smiled, and said that I hadn’t wasted time and had done well. Then there was an assessment to determine the functioning of my hands and feet. The right side of the body still required a lot of attention, but both my arm and leg heard my brain and wanted to work. Later, a psychotherapist said, after talking to me, "you need to be calm, not nervous and everything will be fine.” At that moment, emotions overwhelmed me: the nurses who were with me in the intensive care unit during these days and who helped me, they stood behind the doctors, gave me a thumbs up, and rejoiced that I was improving and being transferred. As my wheelchair left the intensive care unit for the general ward area, the next stage of my "new" life was beginning.

Check out Dmitry's Telegram channel here.