Portrait: Lindsey
The afternoon of July 16, 2018, I went to the gym to run and lift weights. This was a workout routine I had done hundreds of times over the past few years, and nothing seemed particularly different that day...
A little bit about Lindsey (she/her)
I am a licensed psychologist, fierce advocate for trans kids, and part of an Active Duty Military family. My husband is a neuropsychologist who leads the Traumatic Brain Injury clinic on base. Together, we have two kids. Ezzy (she/her) is 12, a competitive swimmer, and a lover of the arts. Charlie (they/he) is 15, a rock climber, voracious reader, and promising young activist.
Lindsey’s trip to the gym
The afternoon of July 16, 2018, I went to the gym to run and lift weights. This was a workout routine I had done hundreds of times over the past few years, and nothing seemed particularly different that day.
While doing an overhead press, I felt something “pop” in the back of my head. I didn’t feel pain but immediately felt like I was underwater. My vision began to swim, my ears were plugged, and I felt panicky and mildly confused. For a few minutes, I considered pushing through the feeling to return to my routine; however, once waves of nausea hit and I was unable to turn my head, I realised I needed to leave immediately.
By the time I reached my car, I had begun throwing up in the parking lot. My husband had texted me to call an ambulance and I reluctantly agreed.
In the emergency room
While much of my time in the hospital is hazy, I know that ER doctors were initially unconcerned and believed my symptoms were due to migraine because I was fairly young, athletic, and generally healthy. My husband, however, repeatedly suggested that I needed imaging, as my presentation was new and concerning to him.
Eventually, I was taken in for various scans – a CT, then a CT with contrast, and ultimately an angiogram. During the angiogram, I remember a singular crystal-clear moment where I suddenly grasped the gravity of the situation. I asked a nurse if I needed to say goodbye to my kids, who were with a neighbour and unaware of my situation. I remember the entire team pausing, looking around at one another. Then, someone said, “Not tonight.”
A ruptured aneurysm requires surgery
The diagnosis was a ruptured basilar aneurysm in my brain with a corresponding subarachnoid brain haemorrhage. I needed surgery immediately but was forced to wait until my blood pressure was at a safe level. I was sent to the ICU, where I remember exactly nothing while my husband watched my numbers.
In the morning, my husband said goodbye with my medical team warning him that I may not make it through surgery and would likely have notable impairments. In other words, I was unlikely to be the person I was before the haemorrhage.
Thanks to my amazing neurointerventionist, things went well. He was able to stop the active bleeding with platinum coils that were packed into the aneurysm through my femoral artery.
The next 10 days are critical
My surgeon explained that most people would have died in the parking lot where I called the ambulance or during the initial surgery. The fact that I survived this far was impressive. But now, I was up against vasospasms in my brain, which, as a 42-year-old woman, could be lethal.
While in the ICU, I had daily ultrasounds to monitor my brain’s healing and the spasms. While there were some close calls, my brain healed and I was left with no lasting impairments. My aneurysm was in a particularly lethal spot, but it’s duck-like shape sprayed blood away from my brain stem, which probably saved my life.
After about 2 weeks I was discharged from the hospital. I spent a few weeks recovering at home before I had a second surgery to place stents in my arteries.
Against all odds, a survivor
Thankfully, my second surgery went well. I’m now the proud owner of a good 60K+ of stents in my brain. So, what did I take away from my experience?
First, healing your body and mind from physical and emotional trauma isn’t a linear process and takes a lot more time than anyone would want. It’s ok to not be ok and it’s definitely ok to not feel grateful for the experience anytime soon, if ever!
Second, trauma unsettles folks and you might be surprised by who shows up (and who doesn’t). I was particularly amazed by and grateful for those who reached out many months into my recovery because they knew that once the initial trauma ends, the real work begins. Most people go back to their lives and forget that you may be flailing or worry that they may remind you of something you want to forget, not realising that it’s always living inside of you. It was powerful to find folks in my life willing to continue asking questions, listening to my answers, and loving me throughout the healing process.
Finally, our time here is short and there are no guarantees, even if you think you’re doing all the “right” things. Post aneurysm, I spend a lot more time being extraordinarily moved by daily life with my family and nature. I try to say the things I need to say and routinely remind my people how much I love them. I also push myself to show up and speak out for causes I care about. “We are powerful because we have survived, and that is what it is all about – survival and growth (Audre Lord).”