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| Pamela Hsieh Rehab Revolution |
I met Michael Leitson through this blog, as he’s another young stroke survivor who sustained his injury at age nineteen. He’s been gracious enough to share his story about learning how to run again — something I still haven’t done yet (but will — it’s really from lack of trying). I am excited to offer a new perspective from another survivor to inspire the rest of us!
To our healing,
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Running, like walking, is a luxury that many of us take for granted. Admittedly, even I paid little thought to the ability to run prior to a couple years ago. Obviously, I cannot remember the first time I learned to walk, likely around the age of eighteen months, wanting to show off to my parents. I can imagine the joy that parents feel when their toddler starts to walk. I hope I can experience that joy someday. However, little did I know that I would re-experience the joy of my parents seeing me learn to walk again.From playing T-ball in pre-school, to playing a couple of seasons of soccer, and just plain old running around with the neighborhood kids, I was an active child, a true kid at heart. When I watch home videos of those days, I feel nostalgic and happy for my childhood.
But as the middle school years approached, I stopped running around. These days were filled with video games, Yu-gi-oh, and schoolwork. Needless to say, I became a bit chubby during this time. But I did participate in the neighborhood swim team each summer, as I liked swimming and became decent at the sport.
Before my sophomore year in high school, I began to experience a new love of running. A good friend of mine convinced me to join the cross-country team. I declined, saying that I wasn’t a good runner, but his rebuttal was that about half the team isn’t initially either, but then they improve. I decided to go to summer practice, despite its interference with my quest to sleep in the entire summer. Before I went to practice, I tried jogging around my cul-de-sac. The hot Atlanta days often shortened my trials to one or two laps.
I vividly remember the first cross-country practice I ever went to. I was so full of determination to keep up with the fastest runners for the entire six miles. But once practice started, I couldn’t even run a mile. Panting and exhausted, I dragged myself back to the starting point, a bit disappointed. Nevertheless, I stuck with running, as it gave me new goals. That fall season, we had approximately twelve meets; my PR (Personal Record) time improved every single meet. The first race was at a town called Sweet Apple. I’d never sweat so hard in my life, and my time for the 5k was around 27:00, but after I finished the race, I fell down from exhaustion and enjoyed a “runner’s high.” By then, I loved competing in races and wanted to live any and every running experience. By my last race, my time was 23:51! I threw up from lack of sleep the night before, as I’d eaten too many brownies. I had also believed that being involved in extracurriculars would hamper my grades, but during that first season of cross-country, I made the best grades in my high school career.
Fast forward to spring of my senior year: It was the last track meet, I was in the best shape of my life, and my goal was to complete a mile in under six minutes. I still loved to race, but by then I started finding practices annoying, especially due to the heat. I finished the mile in 5:53! I was exhilarated and relieved that I had completed my goal.
After that, I quit running for a while.
My freshman year of college came and went, while I gained a whopping freshman thirty. I had always been tall and slender but now I was tall and big, and I liked it. Although I still worked out, running took a back seat in my mind, as I wanted to give my body a much-deserved break.
In the very late hours of August 17th, 2009, right before I was supposed to start my sophomore year of college, I lay in a hospital bed with IVs attached to my arm, not sure what was wrong with me. I vaguely remember getting up one last time to walk to the bathroom; I had no idea that would be the last time in a while I would be able to perform such a mundane task that’s so easy for most of us. An hour or so later, following paralysis that had begun in my right arm, I tried lifting my right leg. It wouldn’t budge. I tried again, but it still remained motionless.
The reality of not being able to walk didn’t really hit me the first week I was in the hospital; the nurses and my parents attended to me when I needed them. But my seventh night at the hospital was the first night that neither of my parents spent the night with me, as it was also my last night at the medical hospital before being transferred to a rehabilitation hospital. In the late evening, I tried getting up to go to the bathroom, which was a mere ten feet away.
Getting there was one of the biggest challenges I’ve ever been through.
I had to grab on to everything in sight with my left hand. It was surreal; only half of my body worked. The other half was limp. I almost didn’t make it. But I finally did, and then I had to mentally prepare for the journey back to my bed. I tried going about it as I had before, but as I was about to reach my bed, I fell. I was on the floor right next to my bed and tried using the bar to pull myself up, but I failed. I tried and retried for a few minutes, but I could absolutely not get myself up. This is when it really hit me.
I couldn’t walk.
I had lost that luxury. It was so natural and easy to me last week, but that ease was gone. This brought tears to my eyes. Finally, I signaled the nurse to help me up.
The next day, I was sent to the Shepherd Center, a rehab hospital, where I stayed for thirty days. It was here that I finally learned how to walk again. My therapist attached electrodes to my leg to simulate nerve muscles. Two people had to stand me up out of my wheelchair, as I was so tall. I couldn’t believe that I had to relearn how to walk again. I took a step with my left leg — relatively easy. Then I tried to take a step with the right; I couldn’t really do it, so my therapist had to move it for me. We tried this for ten or twenty steps, but I finally got so tired that I had to sit back down again. It was humbling to have to understand that my brain had to relearn how to do something that I’d done nearly all my life.
Over time, I built up my endurance. By the time I left Shepherd, I was walking with a brace, and it was then that I started walking everywhere. Being trapped in the hospital for so long and only being able to go outside for thirty minutes a day made me restless. I had to stand up, get outside, and move around every single chance I got. I suppose I developed my love for the outdoors this way. Walking all around my neighborhood greatly improved my stride.
At Pathways, the day therapy place I went to, I learned how to walk without flopping my foot. I remember the first time my therapist made me jog down the hall for the first time after my stroke. She had to run along with me, hold on to me, to make sure I didn’t fall over. When I jogged down the hall a couple times, the days of running came back to me. I loved the feeling and eventually wanted to get back to it.
Unfortunately, I didn’t get back to running as soon as I should. I was working hard on my arm and fingers, which were of course lagging behind, in concurrence with all sorts of tests to get me back to school the next semester. When I did move back on campus in January, I took great advantage of the nearby gym. I hit the weights every day and began using the elliptical to guide my legs through the motions of running.
I first built up my endurance by increasing my time on the elliptical by a few minutes every time. Pretty soon, I was logging up to forty-five minutes, setting the level harder each time I used it. Then I moved to the treadmills, since my legs had relearned the motion of running. I didn’t stay on the treadmill for long, as they can be dangerous if you run too fast on them.
When I moved back home in May, I went running for real. I ran around Sweet Apple, less than a mile from my home, where I’d had my first cross country race, so I could relive the memory every time. I often ran one or two laps around, exhilarated by the feeling of being able to run again. Of course, my right foot didn’t hit the ground perfectly, but I didn’t care. I would work on it and still continue to work on it to this day. I began to redevelop my love for running, one that was more appreciative in nature.
This past February, I ran my first 5k race since the stroke. Since I didn’t properly tie my shoes beforehand, I had to stop and retie them often. I completed the race in thirty minutes, a little bit longer than I had hoped, so I was a little disappointed. But I did run my hardest, and by the end of the race I was exhausted and happy, on my “runner’s high.”
Although I am busier than ever with classes these days, I still try to get out and go running at least three times a week. Hopefully, I will participate in more 5ks and maybe some 10ks. I eventually would like to run a half-marathon, but that is a long way away. I love the feeling of running and wish that everyone in the world could experience the same feeling. If you have the ability to run, you have so much to be thankful for, and I encourage you to take advantage of it and always appreciate it. If you’ve had a stroke or any type of brain injury, or if you have temporarily lost the ability to run, there is still hope for you. You can work up to it, develop the necessary movements and skills, by challenging yourself as you go along. First learn to walk, then jog slowly, then jog faster until you reach your desired speed.
Believe me, I know some movements are hard to relearn, as I am having the same issues with my fingers, but I believe that with determination, anything can be accomplished. Never ever give up. Always try harder. The result of all the hard work will yield an appreciation for running that you would have never imagined.
To read more about Michael and his story, please visit the Georgia Brain Injury Peer Visitor Page.
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