The Mild Stroke of Ramon Santos

March 28, 2025

Today, I stand at a crossroads. It is possible that I will be discharged from the hospital, leaving behind the confines of this room where I have spent an extended period. Though I have moved around within the space—getting up for the bathroom, shifting positions—I have not yet taken the opportunity to walk down the hallway, largely due to the precautions placed on me two days ago. The nurse, concerned about my stability, has been hesitant to let me attempt it, fearing I might falter.

Yet, I walked into this hospital on my own two feet. On the first day, I walked despite slight unsteadiness, without any loss of balance. But then, something shifted within me. Fear took hold—fear of hypertension, fear of a secondary stroke, fear of a heart attack. ‘Dr. Google’ reinforced my anxiety, warning that such events could occur within three months post-stroke. And so, I immobilized myself. But I know that recovery requires movement, gradual but deliberate. The swelling in my brain should subside within five days, and by then, healing will begin in earnest. In my profession, I never discharge a patient until they can walk at least 200 feet. Now, I must take my own advice. It is time to start, carefully but with purpose.

The challenge is compounded by my worsening sinus congestion, a lingering effect of past nasal drip exacerbated by my time in this room. Movement must be slow and deliberate—I cannot afford recklessness. The key to recovery is pacing myself, listening to my body, and honoring its needs during this acute phase. My focus now is on essential self-care: rising from bed, using the bathroom, changing clothes. Perhaps today, I will attempt a simple wash, but showering remains an ambitious goal for another day.

My primary objective is simple yet critical: make it from this hospital to the car, then up the three steps into my house. Rest. Check my blood pressure. Monitor my blood sugar. Relax. Sleep. The brain, already assaulted by this stroke, must not be further burdened by unnecessary exertion. It is not wise to push through when my body signals the need for rest.

A fundamental realization has emerged from this experience: it is time to slow down. The compulsion to get up, to walk, to test my limits—these impulses must be tamed. The word "must" has no place in my vocabulary now. In my profession, I have always encouraged patients to pace themselves. Now, I must heed my own advice.

This anxiety, this relentless drive—these are lifelong patterns I have built. I have lived under the weight of obligation, always thinking ahead to the next task, the next goal, the next achievement. But life is not meant to be a relentless pursuit. Look at the animals—they move when necessary, then rest. Even Rocky, my faithful companion, plays only when he feels inclined. For the most part, he rests in his corner, as nature intended. The older an organism becomes, the slower it must move. That is the natural order of things.

One discipline I must now master is the art of stillness. "Be still, and know that I am God." I have spent my life placing God on standby, treating Him as a presence to call upon only when needed, rather than as the guiding force of my existence. That thinking must change. My survival, my well-being—these are in His hands. If I am meant to live, then let it be for the purpose of enjoying the fruits of my labor, as He intended.

What, then, is true joy? Is it found in the admiration of others, in social media validation, in meticulously following the rules of health? Or is it in the quiet moments of meditation, in reading great books that bring comfort, in conversations with God? I believe I know the answer. Joy is in stillness, in communion with God, in the simple pleasure of reading and learning. Social media, with all its illusions of importance, no longer holds the power it once did. Gone are the days of anxiously tracking likes and views, of seeking validation from a digital audience. There is no real gain in it—only vanity, a fleeting illusion.

This hospitalization and my decision to leave my job have granted me a newfound perspective. My purpose now is simple: to live as God intended, to find contentment in the present moment.

Ecclesiastes 5:18-20 resonates deeply:

"This is what I have observed to be good: that it is appropriate for a person to eat, to drink and to find satisfaction in their toilsome labor under the sun during the few days of life God has given them—for this is their lot. Moreover, when God gives someone wealth and possessions, and the ability to enjoy them, to accept their lot and be happy in their toil—this is a gift of God. They seldom reflect on the days of their life, because God keeps them occupied with gladness of heart."

This passage encapsulates my new philosophy: let God take the lead. Let Him guide my steps, my thoughts, my path. My task now is to relinquish control and embrace the peace that comes with trust.

Despite this newfound clarity, anxieties persist. This morning, my worries fixated on insurance issues and out-of-network doctors. Discharge logistics remain uncertain, and in the past, I would have let such concerns consume me. But today, I choose to surrender these worries to God. Our relationship, one that has endured since I was 14, remains my greatest source of solace. Friends and family may come and go, but He is always there, ever-present, ever-accessible.

I look forward to my days of rest. To waking up without obligations. To lingering in bed, conversing with God over morning coffee. To a quiet existence filled with reading, writing, and creative endeavors—when my body allows. Perhaps I will embrace the slow, contemplative life of a retiree, sitting at a café and watching the world pass by. It may not be my usual style, but I will adapt. The goal is simple: to live in alignment with my body's needs, to maximize joy, to cherish the blessings I have been given.

No longer will I exhaust myself for the sake of others. My body is my priority now. Stillness, relaxation, and quietude will be my guiding principles. No more chasing after social media validation, no more unnecessary exertion for the sake of appearances. The stress, the anxiety, the constant striving—it is all behind me now. I once thought I found happiness in these pursuits, but now I see the toll they took. I have heard the stories of people who lost themselves in the pursuit of digital validation, who sacrificed their well-being for content creation. I was never that extreme, but I, too, lost precious time to distractions that did not serve me.

The stroke was my body’s final warning. For years, I pushed myself too hard—early morning writing, hours of exercise, long workdays, additional activities like fishing. From 4 AM to 3 PM, I was constantly on the move, believing it was all necessary. But it was too much. My body endured until it could no longer keep up with my demands.

Now, it is time for a cool change.

Home at last, I feel the difference immediately. The nasal congestion that plagued me in the hospital dissipates. Yet, exhaustion sets in. My blood pressure spikes—anxiety’s cruel trick. The moment I step into my house, my mind shifts into worry mode. It is automatic. But what, truly, am I afraid of? Perhaps it is time to consider sleeping aids. Melatonin, maybe. Watching television. Anything to keep my mind from feeding the monsters it creates.

Sleep will not come easily tonight. Perhaps I would have been better off in a nursing home, surrounded by people, never alone with my thoughts. Did I take my blood pressure medication earlier? My anxiety is real, and I must find ways to manage it.

Today has been the most active day since Monday, when I naively attempted a three-mile walk despite my symptoms. Thank God I went to the ER. Now, after three days of being mostly bedridden, my body is reacting to sudden mobility.

The first priority is rest. In the hospital, I could sleep easily, comforted by the knowledge that I was in good hands. Now, I must learn to find that security within myself. Anxiety is my greatest enemy, but with God, I do not face it alone.
2025-03-30 15:47:06
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