I thought I had a stroke on Sunday… for real. Instead of Dolly’s “Hard Candy Christmas,” it was Katy’s black jelly bean Easter.
I was getting ready for my brunch shift at Wood. The place was filled with the typical pre-opening chit-chat as we prepared for a blockbuster brunch. Since waking up, the tips of my fingers on my left hand had intermittent prickliness. The tingling reminded me of being exposed to the fiberglass in pink insulation. Nothing was visible. It was a tickle just below the skin. When I went to set down a fork on a table, my middle finger involuntarily shifted to the left. It didn’t hurt but watching it move into a makeshift Vulcan “Live long and prosper” sign was unnerving.
With my right hand, I returned the left middle finger to its original position. And to my horror, I watched it go back to the Spock salute. It wasn’t a twitch. It moved with a graceful sweep. And it stayed there for fifteen minutes. There is something so freaky about watching a part of your body move on its own volition. It was a rebel against the system. My finger was literally giving me the finger… although distortedly.
The bigger fear was that this left side phenomenon was stroke related. Randy, my manager, was quick to point out, “we are at that age (50something) when people start dropping dead.” And he also added that he needed me on my game for the mega reservations on the books. I committed to working the shift cognizant if there was another bodily un-function, I was in a cab and to the ER. I worry about being a hypochondriac but I’m all about preventative measures. I’m not going to wait until the damage is irreversible or permanent or too painful. I’m a bit of a pussy.
So, I worked my shift. Randy kept checking on me. At one point, I had a huge tray of mimosas and bloody marys and he voiced concern. I said, “If I’m going to stroke out, I’m going down in a blaze of glory.”
There was no other instance of bodily revolt. We had a huge brunch. I was error-free and on game. I was never ‘in the weeds.’ So, my mental faculties were in order. Despite the return to normal, I still went to see Dr. P on Monday. Google had me thinking it wasn’t a stroke but a vitamin deficiency. I decided to get a professional opinion before I worried my mother unnecessarily. Dr. P diagnosed it as a muscle spasm. He checked out all my vitals and confirmed I was healthy. And bonus, I got my referral for a colonoscopy. Wee!
Even though the shift kept me busy in distraction, my mind wandered back to my mortality. I am 50. I know plenty of folks that didn’t make it out of their 40s. I want to invest in being in optimal health. As a dear friend said morbidly with a side of snark, “You’ve got a lot left to give. Better make sure you’re here to give it.”
Live long and prosper.