Stroke Survivors Club

My father had a stroke in 2012. He survived but the trauma has taken away almost everything he loved. 

Two years later and my father is still really weak; He can barely speak or move. He can't eat or drink, play guitar or harmonica. His friends come over every weekend and play for him, he smiles and taps the banjo. He is still 100% present. He understands everything and he is always listening. He is stronger than he looks and more resilient than anyone ever imagined. He is fighting to survive and he's beating all the odds. The doctors told my mom not to call 911 the next time he gets pneumonia. My mom keeps calling because my dad will decide when he's too tired to keep going. It isn't his time yet. 

After spending five weeks in the intensive care unit with my dad and family, I had to return to Nouakchott to finish the school year. I asked my dad for permission before I left, he squeezed my hand and told me he would never want me to give up my life for him. I know my dad well enough to know that he wants me to follow my dreams. 

In Nouakchott I learned that one of my close friends had a stroke. I went to visit him and was happy to see that he getting stronger everyday and had nearly recovered all movement. He resumed teaching a few months later. Last year one the father of one of my best friends had a stroke. I didn't get to visit him but I still keep him in my thoughts. He is recovering well and has nearly gained back what he lost. The last time i was in Kaolack I visited a friend of a friend in the hospital. She was only 32 years old and it was her second stroke. She was laying on the bed and her eyes betrayed no spark of personality. It looked like she was in a coma. I spoke to her and although she couldn't respond I knew she heard me because I asked her to squeeze my hand if she understood. Her grip was strong. Tears streamed down my cheeks because I knew she was there. I could only imagine how scared I would be to be in her place. The sour smell of the room, shared with five other women. Imprisoned in a body. I spoke to her for a while and asked her to please keep hope alive. I assured her that her children were taken care of. She passed away the following day. 

It has been a terrible experience to watch my father suffer through brain damage and persevere through a broken health care system. It has been incredibly painful to see my mom maintain her dignity despite the heart-break of losing so much. Yet we are all still here, as survivors of this disaster. Whenever I hear of someone who suffered through a stroke, brain damage, or illness I feel a strong connection to them. Many people I haven't spoken to in years reached out to me to share their stories of becoming care takers for their children, parents, husbands, wives, friends. We share a bond that no one wishes to share. We became experts of subjects we never wanted to study. We are all part of a club we never wanted to join. 

My father's immense network of fans and friends have rallied around him. He had no idea how loved he was. I believe this has been the source of his strength - the number of people cheering for him and the depth of the love around him everyday. He wants to recover for them. My father is selfless, even in his most weakest position, when he can barely speak. I will listen hard to his quiet, childlike words, and he will be saying, "do you have a ride home?" He is worried about others, while he is filled with tubes and connected to a vast network of machines. Yet through it all- we have become stronger versions of ourselves. We get back up and we keep going. Every breath my father breathes is an act of rebellion against the odds. We will not surrender. 

Solidarity is strength. Thank you to everyone who has helped me get through this. I hope that one day I can help others as much as they have helped me.