I look at the clock and watch it tick, second by second, as I lay in the bed covered in tubes, wires, and stickers.

As I watch the sunset rise on the building across the street from the ICU room, I can’t sleep from the flood of intrusive thoughts even though I’ve once again had another stroke. ”How much more time around that clock do I have?” I wonder. But I can’t even say that out loud because the latest stroke has affected my speech. I can’t say all the things I want to say. The things maybe I should have said. All the words that are still left to be said.

This stroke has affected my speech, but it hasn’t affected my thoughts. This is an entirely new experience, a much scarier one, and the thoughts that this might be the beginning of the end start playing on repeat. The doctors have been in, explained that treatment is no longer working, and that we need to find more treatment options. But I’ve heard that before. The last time, they found Keytruda to be effective, and it worked. For a time anyway. So do I believe them or not? Who knows? 

But sitting in the bed is really wearing me down, doing this…hospital after stay after hospital stay and stroke after stroke. I’ve done really well gaining my cognitive function back every time I have a stroke or a brain bleed, but it gets harder and harder every time. Especially harder on my family. 

My greatest fear is that it will take just one more stroke, one more brain bleed, and that will be it– I will never be the same person again. And I never know when it will strike, I never know when it’s coming at what the effect will be. And seconds still keep ticking on the clock. And as it ticks, I live with my worst fear, that in the breath of a moment I will no longer be the same person and still not die. I don’t wanna live like that. I want to stay me.