The long term prognosis is that the brain will work around these dead spots. My doc told me that I dodged eleven bullets to the brain, and to consider myself more than lucky. I do.
My list of restrictions includes: no racing, no roller coasters, and NO chiropractors. He also said no tackle football and no getting so drunk that I'd fall down.
Over and out, amigos.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
The end of the story
So, to pick up where I left off, eventually they figured out what was going on with this whole stroke business. The MRI showed eleven separate events; five more major, six less so. The five more major ones showed brain tissue death of areas ranging from the size of a large pea, to the largest at the size of a marble. The smaller ones ranged from the size of a bb to the size of a small pea.
Here's what happened: Somehow I developed a dissection, or small tear, in the right side carotid artery going from the heart to the brain. As near as I can tell, it may have happened when Cece jumped on my back at the same time I was standing up. Apparently, it doesn't take much force in a certain way to cause injury to the artery. Anyway, this little tear started to allow blood clots to form, which then would break off, float up into my brain, and get stuck there, causing the strokes. In the investigation of why this was happening, they asked me a series of questions looking for the cause. The first was asking whether I had been in an accident recently, but the second question threw me: had I been to a chiropractor? The answer was no, why? The neurologist explained that this type of artery injury, while not exactly common, can be caused by upper neck manipulation. Hmm, I think I'll stay away.
In the end, the prescription for fixing this problem is to thin my blood long enough for the dissection to heal. That means a few weeks of twice daily Lovenox injections while the regular stuff, Coumadin, gets normalized in my system. Every third day, I have to go to Froedtert for a blood test for the Coumadin until the dosing is nailed down.
All of this goes back to why I can't race this summer: thin blood. I actually rode with my doc yesterday and he said as long as I was riding with him he'd be able to plug the leaks if I crashed, but that he'd much prefer I didn't do that. It would be difficult to plug a leak inside my skull...
So try not to crash me on the Beat Down as I'll blame it on you if I bleed out.
Here's what happened: Somehow I developed a dissection, or small tear, in the right side carotid artery going from the heart to the brain. As near as I can tell, it may have happened when Cece jumped on my back at the same time I was standing up. Apparently, it doesn't take much force in a certain way to cause injury to the artery. Anyway, this little tear started to allow blood clots to form, which then would break off, float up into my brain, and get stuck there, causing the strokes. In the investigation of why this was happening, they asked me a series of questions looking for the cause. The first was asking whether I had been in an accident recently, but the second question threw me: had I been to a chiropractor? The answer was no, why? The neurologist explained that this type of artery injury, while not exactly common, can be caused by upper neck manipulation. Hmm, I think I'll stay away.
In the end, the prescription for fixing this problem is to thin my blood long enough for the dissection to heal. That means a few weeks of twice daily Lovenox injections while the regular stuff, Coumadin, gets normalized in my system. Every third day, I have to go to Froedtert for a blood test for the Coumadin until the dosing is nailed down.
All of this goes back to why I can't race this summer: thin blood. I actually rode with my doc yesterday and he said as long as I was riding with him he'd be able to plug the leaks if I crashed, but that he'd much prefer I didn't do that. It would be difficult to plug a leak inside my skull...
So try not to crash me on the Beat Down as I'll blame it on you if I bleed out.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Been a looooong time
I wish I had a good reason why it has been so long since I posted, but if anyone is still checking this page, and still cares to read it, I actually have some stuff to say today.
Spring and summer have been good for me cycling-wise. I have more miles at this time this year than in years past, the weight that I lost over winter and early spring has stayed off, and I feel like I'm riding at a pretty high level. Sometimes I can actually keep up with Aaron and Jeff...
I should (was) at this time be looking forward to Superweek and racing with my Hollander teammates, but I had a bit of a set back. A little background is in order: four weeks ago, the day after the bone ride, which, by the way, was totally cool, I had what I thought was kind of a weird neurological event where my left hand fell asleep in an instant, and I couldn't speak. I couldn't even form words at all. It was bizarre, but I just chalked it up to the stress of the bone ride and a heavy work schedule.
A week later, it happened again, in pretty much the same way as the week before. This time, I decided not to say anything to anyone and just hope for the best as I felt a bit pestered after the first time. In short order, I forgot all about it and everything was alright until last week Wednesday when it happened yet again. At that point I finally decided to call a doctor just to make sure there wasn't something seriously wrong.
Interspersed throughout these "events" as I have come to call them, I was having bouts of vision problems that came with mild dizzy spells. Those I figured were nothing more than low blood sugar ebbs, as it seemed as though if I drank some soda or had a bite to eat, they would stop. Little did I know that they had nothing to do with low blood sugar...
Anyway, back to the timeline; the one that occurred last Wednesday afternoon was followed by another on Wednesday evening during a meeting. That time, my hand fell asleep and stayed asleep; worrisome to say the least. I had to get up and leave the meeting as I was getting a bit freaked out. As soon as I got home, I called a friend who is an internist at Froedtert/MCW. She called back later that night, and while I was talking with her, I had another event where the left side of my face went numb, and I couldn't form words properly, like when you have Novacaine in your mouth.
She urged me to go to the ER, but being the stubborn Kraut that I am, I refused and instead opted for her to set something up in the morning. On Thursday morning, she called to say that she had set up an appointment for me for that afternoon with another doctor in her department, but that she had also ordered a CT scan and blood work in the meanwhile.
By the time I saw the doc, the results of the CT were back and were inconclusive. The worry was a possible brain tumor or something, but nothing showed up. He discussed the possibility of seizures brought about by stress, but ordered an MRI for Monday morning as a precaution. Little did he know how prescient that was.
My six am MRI went fine, so off to work I went. I took an easy ride at midday, and on the way back to work from the ride, my phone rang. It was another doc from the internal medicine clinic. She told me, in no uncertain terms, that I was to drive directly to the hospital, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. Why? The MRI showed that I had had a stroke. WTF? I thought, me? a stroke? As I would come to learn later, It wasn't just one stroke, but eleven distinct events; five that were worse and six not so. I assumed that they were just what is known as TIA's, no big deal. The docs knew otherwise.
After being admitted immediately, the process of finding out why started. I got hooked up and dialed in with all kinds of pipes and wires to keep track of my sh*t, and bring me back should I decide to disappear momentarily. Here's the list of tests that I remember: EKG, EEG, echocardiogram, CT angiogram and 18, yes 18 vials of blood. Vampires I say. I called the girl taking my blood that and she told me if I wasn't nice to her, she would just let me bleed out right there.
As anyone who has spent any time in a hospital knows, they're no place to be sick, much less well, and they're certainly no place to get any sleep. After reciting my story to no less than 387 doctors, nurses, med students, orderlies and anyone else who wandered into my room, I was finally allowed to get some sleep. That is between hourly visits from other various and assorted people wanting to poke and prod me. Why do they feel compelled to do that crap in the middle of the night? I think it's just because they have to be awake, so you may as well be too. Misery loves company.
Who knew that there were so many people interested in my well being? All in, there were no less than four neurologists and three internists working on my case, not to mention a few radiologists and at least one cardiologist for good measure. Ah, the advantages of a major teaching hospital. the place may not be the Taj Mahal of hospitals, but I feel certain that there is no place I would have rather been hospital-wise. I digress though, and this story is already getting too long for the attention span challenged, so I'll quit here and pick it up in the next post. Before I end this one though, I am ok. A few less brain cells, and considerably thinner blood than before but otherwise ok.
Oh yeah, The Shedmaster has a new nickname for me: Stroker Ace. Thanks Rascal.
Spring and summer have been good for me cycling-wise. I have more miles at this time this year than in years past, the weight that I lost over winter and early spring has stayed off, and I feel like I'm riding at a pretty high level. Sometimes I can actually keep up with Aaron and Jeff...
I should (was) at this time be looking forward to Superweek and racing with my Hollander teammates, but I had a bit of a set back. A little background is in order: four weeks ago, the day after the bone ride, which, by the way, was totally cool, I had what I thought was kind of a weird neurological event where my left hand fell asleep in an instant, and I couldn't speak. I couldn't even form words at all. It was bizarre, but I just chalked it up to the stress of the bone ride and a heavy work schedule.
A week later, it happened again, in pretty much the same way as the week before. This time, I decided not to say anything to anyone and just hope for the best as I felt a bit pestered after the first time. In short order, I forgot all about it and everything was alright until last week Wednesday when it happened yet again. At that point I finally decided to call a doctor just to make sure there wasn't something seriously wrong.
Interspersed throughout these "events" as I have come to call them, I was having bouts of vision problems that came with mild dizzy spells. Those I figured were nothing more than low blood sugar ebbs, as it seemed as though if I drank some soda or had a bite to eat, they would stop. Little did I know that they had nothing to do with low blood sugar...
Anyway, back to the timeline; the one that occurred last Wednesday afternoon was followed by another on Wednesday evening during a meeting. That time, my hand fell asleep and stayed asleep; worrisome to say the least. I had to get up and leave the meeting as I was getting a bit freaked out. As soon as I got home, I called a friend who is an internist at Froedtert/MCW. She called back later that night, and while I was talking with her, I had another event where the left side of my face went numb, and I couldn't form words properly, like when you have Novacaine in your mouth.
She urged me to go to the ER, but being the stubborn Kraut that I am, I refused and instead opted for her to set something up in the morning. On Thursday morning, she called to say that she had set up an appointment for me for that afternoon with another doctor in her department, but that she had also ordered a CT scan and blood work in the meanwhile.
By the time I saw the doc, the results of the CT were back and were inconclusive. The worry was a possible brain tumor or something, but nothing showed up. He discussed the possibility of seizures brought about by stress, but ordered an MRI for Monday morning as a precaution. Little did he know how prescient that was.
My six am MRI went fine, so off to work I went. I took an easy ride at midday, and on the way back to work from the ride, my phone rang. It was another doc from the internal medicine clinic. She told me, in no uncertain terms, that I was to drive directly to the hospital, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. Why? The MRI showed that I had had a stroke. WTF? I thought, me? a stroke? As I would come to learn later, It wasn't just one stroke, but eleven distinct events; five that were worse and six not so. I assumed that they were just what is known as TIA's, no big deal. The docs knew otherwise.
After being admitted immediately, the process of finding out why started. I got hooked up and dialed in with all kinds of pipes and wires to keep track of my sh*t, and bring me back should I decide to disappear momentarily. Here's the list of tests that I remember: EKG, EEG, echocardiogram, CT angiogram and 18, yes 18 vials of blood. Vampires I say. I called the girl taking my blood that and she told me if I wasn't nice to her, she would just let me bleed out right there.
As anyone who has spent any time in a hospital knows, they're no place to be sick, much less well, and they're certainly no place to get any sleep. After reciting my story to no less than 387 doctors, nurses, med students, orderlies and anyone else who wandered into my room, I was finally allowed to get some sleep. That is between hourly visits from other various and assorted people wanting to poke and prod me. Why do they feel compelled to do that crap in the middle of the night? I think it's just because they have to be awake, so you may as well be too. Misery loves company.
Who knew that there were so many people interested in my well being? All in, there were no less than four neurologists and three internists working on my case, not to mention a few radiologists and at least one cardiologist for good measure. Ah, the advantages of a major teaching hospital. the place may not be the Taj Mahal of hospitals, but I feel certain that there is no place I would have rather been hospital-wise. I digress though, and this story is already getting too long for the attention span challenged, so I'll quit here and pick it up in the next post. Before I end this one though, I am ok. A few less brain cells, and considerably thinner blood than before but otherwise ok.
Oh yeah, The Shedmaster has a new nickname for me: Stroker Ace. Thanks Rascal.
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