Facing My Mortality
Hear me out regarding today's post, I'm trying my best to not turn this into a sappy "you only live once" cliché. However, during my writing process I might steer down that road anyways. For that I say "sorry, not sorry". I hope you'll understand why at the end. Please enjoy… :)
Today I celebrate an anniversary. Not your typical anniversary filled with gifts, flowers, and cake but a milestone I will always remember and celebrate, nonetheless. On March 22, 2021, I experienced one of the most impactful days of my life. At the age of 38, I had a stroke. A blood vessel broke open in my brain.
Early that day, I had a terrible headache and it led to nausea and confusion. The next steps were a whirlwind - the rush to the emergency room, the ambulance ride to the hospital, six days in the ICU, months of recovery and therapy, and follow-up counseling to combat the post-traumatic stress and anxiety.
This experience was extremely scary. Scary for me, my wife, my family, and my friends. I have often felt that I was the lucky one of my family, because, frankly, I was out of it. I didn’t realize the severity of the situation at the time. This all took place in the heart of the COVID pandemic when visitors to the hospital were limited to only one per day.
The staff at UW Hospital were excellent. But, they simply could not diagnose the problem. The lead surgeon expressed patience and took a wait-and-see approach before operating. As much as I was craving for the quick solution to my pain, I am thankful for this strategy in hindsight as it turned out to be the correct approach and surgery wasn’t necessary.
There are not too many parts of the hospital stay I remember; the combination of pain and medication made the memory of those six days quite blurry. Which is both a blessing and a curse. While I yearned for clarity, the fog also offered a temporary reprieve from the constant pain. My ability to comprehend what staff were saying was limited. Kate was my primary visitor every day, however, COVID protocols dictated she left every night. It was at this time when the intense feelings surfaced. It’s those fearful feelings that I will never forget.
I felt lonely, afraid, and quite confused. I was afraid I would fall asleep and not wake up. Afraid I would never see my family again. Afraid of the pain from the next day of medical testing (there was a lot of poking/prodding). Staff would talk with me in the middle of the night about test results from the day but circling back to my comment about lack of comprehension due to pain/medication, I was confused whether these updates were good news or bad. Tears rolled down my face frequently that week. And I couldn’t blame allergies for the watery eyes.
Eventually my condition improved to a point where I could exit the ICU, move to a regular hospital bed, and then head home. Discharged from the hospital, I felt some hope. However, this was quickly overshadowed by new fears – how would I manage daily life? Could I ever drive again? Hold my kids? Even simple conversations with Kate felt like wading through mud. If I couldn’t do these simple daily activities, how in the world was I supposed to go back to work? How could I help support my family, if I couldn’t even care for myself? Turns out some of the symptoms turned out to be side effects of a daily medication that would cause dizziness. I had missed this information when I was discharged from the hospital, so these effects came unexpectedly.
But somehow, we made it, and I was lucky enough to have a full recovery. I faced my mortality, the people closest to me faced losing a husband, father, son, brother, and friend. I faced my worst fear and, fortunately, came out on the winning side. Especially during a time when many have not been so fortunate.
Today, I'm celebrating more than just a clean bill of health. I'm celebrating a renewed perspective. This brush with mortality forced me to re-evaluate my priorities and how I spend my time and energy. Gratitude resonates deeper than ever.
I am eternally grateful to the staff of the UW Hospital Neurology Department and my rock-solid support system of friends, family, and colleagues, and especially Kate, my lifesaver. She was the one who urged me to the emergency room, advocated for the crucial MRI, and was my unwavering strength throughout recovery. The photo above is my neurosurgeon, and he is looking at a gift that Anna made him – it was a gift to thank him for saving her daddy.
So why share such a deeply personal story? I hate talking about my stroke. It’s the last experience I would ever want to define me (i.e. “The stroke guy”). When I brought this topic up to Kate, she curiously asked why I wanted to write about this experience. She knows the terrible memories this event brings (for her included) whenever this topic is brought up. We don’t talk about it much in our house anymore.
Well, the answer is simple. In my line of work, we talk with clients about deeply personal information. Most intuitively we talk about finances, which unfortunately, our society has made talking about finances extremely taboo. In fact, there are plenty of research articles, the most recent published by Intuit that tell us people would rather talk about sex and politics instead of talking about their finances.
And frankly, money is often tied to our most vulnerable moments. What do you do when you lose your job, received an inheritance because a loved one passed away, or you need to prepare to age in a post-retirement world?
The company Kate and I are building hopes to break down some of the barriers preventing us from talking about money. It says it all in the company name "Just Be You". We encourage our clients to be unapologetically authentic. And if that's the standard for our clients, it must be the standard for us too. Openness and honesty are a two-way street.
Sharing this story is extremely challenging. I care deeply about the people I work with and have a world of appreciation to anyone who reads this essay. I recognize we all experience pain in some capacity of our life. My hope for you is to find inspiration to…
· Take the first step - Share YOUR story with a trusted friend or family member. Open communication can be a powerful tool for healing and growth.
· Communicate - There is a connection between healthcare and personal finance. In healthcare, where it can be the difference between receiving the right diagnosis and treatment, and yes, even in our financial lives. Just like a doctor needs a clear picture of your health history, a financial advisor needs a clear picture of your financial situation to create a plan that truly supports your goals.
· Find your support network - This could be a spouse, friend, family member, therapist, or even a financial professional. Just like I had Kate, having someone to advocate for you, especially during difficult times, can make a world of difference. In fact, it can be lifesaving!
· Break the taboo with Me - Visit our website at www.jbyfinancialplanning.com to learn more about Just Be You and how we can help you achieve financial wellness, one honest conversation at a time.
· Live your authentic life – Time is precious, and our bodies are fragile. We don’t have the capacity to live our lives otherwise.
So, tonight, instead of a party, well there might be a celebratory glass of champagne. But the real celebration is for life, resilience, and the importance of open communication – in healthcare, and yes, even in our financial lives.
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