Three days before our anniversary trip to the Maldives, I collapsed. One moment I was chopping bell peppers for dinner; the next, I was on the floor, paralyzed on one side and unable to speak.
Jeff found me within minutes. His voice, panicked and muffled, floated above me as the paramedics arrived. In the ambulance, the world tilted sideways—sirens, lights, the taste of metal in my mouth.
At the hospital, they called it a “moderate ischemic stroke.” I couldn’t move the left side of my body. Half my face hung slack. My words came out like mush. The beeping machines were merciless, and so were the thoughts racing through my head.
Still, I clung to hope. I’d been looking forward to our Maldives trip for over a year. Our 25th wedding anniversary—white sands, turquoise waters, a dream escape I’d painstakingly saved for. Read more below
