A poem by Robyn Bellospirito 1/19/23
A salt lamp’s amber glow lights up my darkened room
before the dawn, before the sun has risen
and I lie in bed thinking of that day almost a year ago
when I was struck a blow that left half my body paralyzed.
It happened quickly, I was alone, and my roommate was away
but I managed to make a call to her while my body was beginning to fray.
I knew she’d understand my slurred speech and where I was
and would be able to send help my way.
They carried me out the door, out into the cold, into nineteen frigid degrees
so my roommate kindly placed her warm woolen red plaid scarf over me.
They drove so fast, I knew the way, sirens blaring, they got me there that day
to the help I needed, to where I had to be,
to where I’d be restored, to where they saved me.
I had a choice, the doctor said, of the drug that they could use.
Nothing appeared on the scan just yet, but likely it was ischemic
and if they were correct, the powerful drug had a chance
of restoring my abilities, so I said yes, without a doubt in my mind
even though there was a chance I could bleed out and die,
a deeper faith than I already had said to trust,
so I did, and within hours I could smile, move a finger, a foot
and as movement slowly returned, tears streamed down my face.
I had fallen, was helped back up, and in a state of gratitude and giddy grace.
That night in the ICU, my room had a painting on the ceiling
done by artists from Splashes of Hope who had painted the tile for a reason.
The colorful sunset on the beach hand-painted in the most beautiful way
brought me great comfort and a sense of the promise of a brand new day.
The next morning, I sat quietly in my sky blue room with the sunlight streaming
onto my hand, which was now gracefully ‘hand dancing’ in the air.
A miracle had been given to me, after having been struck down the day before.
I have been restored, a birth of sorts, taken for a walk down the corridor.
For six days, everyone I met along my journeys from room to room,
who wheeled me from my bed to tests and back to my bed again,
through doorways and hallways on many floors, elevators up and down,
were from everywhere, all over the world, and even from my home town.
Helpers with clip boards and kindness, expertise and many chores,
keeping cool through the chaos, they managed to hold the balance
as they handled me with care and delivered me to safer shores.
Now one year later, gratitude still fills my heart.
I’m brought to tears when I think of what could have been,
I was a lucky one, and Blessed I say. I was carried that day.
Though I am restored, I’m not without my losses –
a stroke a perfect word for what it was – I was hit hard, and
though I can move, still not quite back into my groove.
Walking with a cane, balance off and talking with apprehension,
aphasia stops words in their tracks, delays comprehension.
At least I am moving forward with each day of precious life
and I am so grateful to the helpers, Blessed are the helpers,
the deliverers, the care giverers, the drivers and readers of tests,
Medical pros who are in service by the profession they chose.
Awe struck at their strength and willingness to run, to save, to heal.
That day was the day I passed from one life to the next,
to the one I am in now, not quite knowing who I am now, yet.
With gratitude at the forefront of my heart, always –
for this and for every moment of every single day.