Strokin'

It was just another morning until the unexpectedly heavy pockets of gravity started popping up. I was dropping everything I put my hands on. Not too unusual for an early morning, except that it kept happening.
Then gravity seemed to loosen up, and suddenly little things like the refrigerator and the wall started bumping into me. But not just me -- the cake pan bumped into me, then ricocheted (there was little gravity to stop it) and bumped into my husband's, his Kingly-ness', bowl of oatmeal. Luckily gravity still had a tether on that.
His Royal Highness suggested that I sit down before I fell down. It sounded like a good idea to me, what with the funky gravity situation and all. Then I noticed my tiara seemed to be giving me a headache, and I thought I might have a little royal lay-down, anyway.
That plan was discarded, however, when I looked down the long hallway gauntlet. What
with the furniture moving around and all, I thought it prudent to take up the throne in the living room rather than risk falling over the royal banister and landing in the dungeon.
This was when things got weird. And lucky.
For this was when my husband, His Majesty, and forever here forward known as Protector of the Queen, had the good sense to call 911. For a while, I thought perhaps he was playing the jester when I heard him say something about "my wife, 41, having a stroke." It wasn't until he said "ambulance" that I realized something was seriously wrong.
With very little rhyme or reason -- no high blood pressure, smoking, excessive drinking, weight problems, etc. -- I had a stroke.
I was blessed, and very lucky. I had a wonderful, observant, calm and quick thinking husband who called for help right away. The doctors, nurses and technicians at Mercy Hospital were skilled, compassionate, and caring. Just short of a week later I was back home, hugging my wonderful little princess and prince. There have been no lasting side effects (as far as we know).
I've tried to keep a sense of humor about the whole situation, how could anyone tell the difference between my usual grace and coordination and my stroke-stricken weaving and bobbing?
But deep down it still scares the bejezus out of me. I wanted to be more humorous about the situation, because there has been plenty of funny times. It just escapes me now.
One friend today said that when her mother had a stroke they began working right away to practice all the skills she used. They were more concerned with walking, talking and using her hands. Those are all skills or abilities that, thank God, I did not have any changes in (I'm still as coordinated as ever -- no more, no less).
I wondered about writing, the whole thinking process, finding just the right words to express just the right ideas. How best to practice that? Well, try writing something. So, here it is. Not exactly what I wanted or expected, but something.
And I'll keep trying.