A Set Back

I’m thankful to be writing this blog post, because just a few days ago I was struggling to speak.

On Saturday morning I asked my parents to come home early from my brother’s house, because I felt ‘woozy.’ Something wasn’t right, and I was home alone with the kids. They came home right away, and my Mom took me to get medication. I went into the store and picked up my prescription and she went into the adjacent grocery store to get some things for dinner.

I made it back to the car before her, and sat down and waited. Something strange began to happen. I got that woozy feeling again, but this time I felt like I was going to pass out. And then my left arm began to go numb. My left fingers tingling, along with my lips and tongue. I dialed my Mom’s cell phone and did my best to tell her to get back to the car, I couldn’t breathe right. Something was really, really wrong.

I remember her getting in the car. I remember directing her to the ER. I remember nurses taking off my clothes and asking me questions. I remember talking to a doctor who said I might be having an anxiety attack. I remember telling my Mom to call my husband. I remember waking up no longer in the ER, but in a hospital room.

Everything in between all of those events is blurry. I know at times I was trying to talk, I could hear the words in my head, but I was unable to speak them. I know at times I knew I was in the hospital, and that my iv was burning, but I was unable to tell the nurse she missed my vein. I know at times I wanted to tell my Mom and husband how sorry I was this was happening, how tired of was of my body breaking down. How I felt, at one point, I was going to die.

Doctors came in and our over the course of the next 48 hours. The MRI showed an old stroke, but no new stroke. However other tests showed a new mini-stroke, or transient ischemic attack (TIA). Something that can be common with Lupus. Something that can mean a bigger, badder stroke to come.

It might have been my hormone patch, my lack of taking aspirin for the past few weeks, my CIDP, or any host of other ailments and reasons. We’ll probably never know.

I just know I remain scared. Confused. And angry this is happening to me. To my family. I felt like I was finally getting back on track. Like my health was finally getting better and I was closer to returning to work and normal life. Boy was I wrong.

Tomorrow I start physical therapy. An evaluation in the hospital showed the mini-stroke knocked me off-balance, and left the right side of my face drooping. So we will work to get me back on balance and each side of my face working properly.

I feel like we’re starting again from square one, and I fear another set-back. Mentally we’re all burnt out, and this was like a kick in the gut. I really hard kick in the gut.

I know I am supposed to be thankful I am alive, and I am. I really am. I felt, at one moment somewhere between the hospital room and the frantic car ride to the ER, like death was closer than it had ever been. I wasn’t scared. I just wanted peace.

Today I got in the car with my Mom and the kids to head to the store. I thought I felt well enough to help them grab a few things for lunch. But we didn’t make it out of the subdivision before I got scared, and asked to be taken back home. It was too soon.

I need to gain back my confidence. I need to gain back strength and believing I can get back to where I was. But being that close to death was beyond anything I can explain. I just want my husband, my children, my family close.

It was all I could do not to beg my husband to stay home from work this morning. And I spent the day hugging and kissing my kids. I don’t want to be apart from them again. Ever. Yet I know that with this disability I face the possibility of many more hospitalizations. Many more days getting treatment, undergoing therapy, and doing all the things I need to do to stay alive.

I will do it for my husband. I will do it for my children. They are worth every medication, every treatment session, and every single hospital stay.

Thank you for supporting my tiny family through this latest set back. And for encouraging me to keep going.

I can do it.


  1. Love you. And feeling helpless. But you can do it. I know you. I know you can.

  2. You CAN do it. It sucks that you have to. xoxoxo

  3. It’s ok to be sad and scared and confused and whatever else you need to be. The world will be waiting for you to kick ass and take names whenever you’re feeling up to it. 🙂

    Wishing you healing and comfort.

  4. My heart goes out to you Erin. You are so strong and I know you will kick Lupus’ ass.

  5. You you damn well can, my feisty cupcake. Love you so much. Fight hard, Erin. xoxoxoxxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

  6. Yes! You! Can! love you.

  7. Hang on, Erin. You are an inspiration, though I’m sure that you’d rather be just a normal wife & mother & PERSON again. You CAN do it!

  8. Erin, I’m sending you hugs and kisses and happy thoughts. I wish you and your family could catch a break.

  9. {{{{HUGS}}}}
    Thinking of you and keeping you always in my thoughts.
    Lupus needs to #suckit big time.

  10. If only the mind could control the body. Prayers for healing and peace for you and your family.

  11. You are all so strong, and when you aren’t, when you falter as anyone would, we’ll be here.

    I cannot fathom what any of you are going through, but I’ll be plugging along over here, ready or any request you send out. Promise. You may not remember, but I lugged sex toy paraphernalia (that leaked) through corridors and stairwells in Chicago before you knew the name of the demon you were fighting.

  12. You can do all of this. And you will. I know it sucks to be strong and to have to try so hard just to get back to where you thought you were, but know that we all believe in you and love you.

  13. Editdebs says:

    Sending every good vibe and prayer your way. You can do it.

  14. Erin, you’re in my prayers. Get well soon.

  15. I am thinking of you and wishing you extra spoons to deal with the extra therapy and all that’s needed to get better. xoxoxoxo

  16. I have a good friend that suffered a stroke and has been through a few years now of rehab. It is hard, but you can do it. You will.

  17. Yes, you can.
    You’re a special person. Many others would have already crumbled and given in. You keep getting up and continue fighting. We’re with you.
    As Winston Churchill said: “You’re going through hell? Keep going.”

  18. It fucking sucks Erin. I can’t think of any other sentence. You are such a frigging fighter and have fought this battle with a grace, courage and strength that humbles me as I’m not sure I could. Yet having said that, while watching you, you have been my mentor for the battles that I will face in my life. You are not starting at square one, simply in between bases. You are a fighter and I love that about you. I also love your openness and honesty. I had a tennis coach who told me once “if you don’t believe in yourself, then belief in my believe in you.” Well, right now you’ve got a world of peeps who believe in you, but having said that, be your honest open self that you are. We will be there every step of the way and wish (for me) I could do more.

  19. Erin, you are one tough woman and you can do this!! I am thinking of you and your family and sending positive thoughts and prayers. You inspire soo many with your bravery, determination and kick ass attitude, it is the least that we can do but offer support from afar!! Look after you and hugs to the family.

  20. You have been so much on my mind these last couple of days. As if you didn’t already have enough to deal with. So much I don’t understand, but know that you’re in my thoughts and prayers, Erin.

  21. Ah crap, a frigging typo…sorry, hate typos belief=believe

  22. You’re in the fight. Keep at it.

  23. My thoughts are with you Erin. You are such an inspiration to all of us. Keep fighting.

    Sending pixie dust your way.

  24. Oh, Erin 🙁 You’re in my thoughts. I hope things get better for you soon. Scratch that, I KNOW they will. You’re a fighter, you can do this.

  25. I know you have a power most of us will never understand. A perseverance that very few will ever know. I’m confident that you have the gusto to fight this beast that insists on continuing to rear its ugly head.

  26. The best news I heard was when you got to go home. As long as you’re with your family, everything is going to be bearable. I’m glad you’re alive and physical therapy can bring you back to pre-stroke. Just keep swimming.

  27. You are already doing it. You show your strength everyday you wake up in the morning and with every tweet and blog post you write. Things will get better.

  28. Elizabeth says:

    Fucking Lupus. Knock that shit off. Good vibes for you and your family! I’m thinking of you all…

  29. Cynematic says:

    I’m so glad you’re home, surrounded by loved ones. Take all the time you need to get better. I’m sending out an extra loud #SUCKITLUPUS to the universe tonight.

  30. I am so very sorry. Your strength is amazing! My best to you and your family!

  31. Thinking and praying and wishing and hoping and all kinds of other jazz for you and yours right now.

  32. Erin, Your strength and courage amaze me more everyday! You can do this. You WILL do this. SUCK IT LUPUS!

  33. It makes me sick that you have to go through it. You just have to trust that your husband, kids, and parents do NOT want you to give up. They would never think you are a burden. They want you to stay and fight and get better to continue to give them kisses every day.

  34. Erin. *shaking my fists at the lupus right now* – Seriously. Enough already…….you and your family and especially those adorable little children do not need anymore of this. I’m just going to focus on the future and you looking hot in hooker boots! Oh, and hugging you in person.

  35. Lady, you know I love you. I just wanted to remind you once again that you’re my heroine. xoxo

  36. Erin, you get to be afraid. You get to be down about this. It is HARD. I’ve had a few family members and friends experience stroke, and it is terrifying in a variety of ways. You are allowed to freak out!

    Not sure if you’ve already heard of this woman or read her book already, but she helped me understand what my loved ones might be going through during and after their strokes. She’s a neuroanatomist who had a stroke herself, and described the experience in this TED talk:


    It’s probably equal parts upsetting and comforting, if that makes any sense at all.

    Wishing you strength, courage, and peace.

  37. Get well soon. We are pulling for you!!! Sending you good vibes and all the positive energy possible… Maybe I should try and send Kris Draper your way to cheer you up too. I mean he is a Red Wing and he is retired now. LOL!.

  38. Love you. So glad you are here and fighting. I adore you to bits.

    SO many others do as well.


  39. Merredith says:

    I think of you all the time, and send a little prayer your way. Yes, you can do it. Here’s hoping the strength and healing come gently and easily to you.

  40. I’m so sorry that you’re scared. I can’t imagine. I’m wishing you well and would do more if I could.

  41. I’m glad you’re home and surrounded by the ones you love most and who love you most.

  42. I’m hoping you get a nice break from dealing with all of this crap-o-la. But you’ve got a ton of people sending you love and good vibes. You can do this, woman!

  43. Rachael says:

    I’m one of those sending good vibes…. Hugs, Erin.

  44. You have your priorities in the right place. Hell of a consolation, isn’t it? Love you – sending you virtual strength through the interwebs. Wishing you good luck so you never again have a moment this bad.

  45. My thoughts are with you Erin. I’m so sorry you are going through this! You are an amazing woman. Stay strong!

  46. Fogspinner says:

    One foot in front of the other, one little step at a time. You will prevail. Just remember every single step is one step closer to recovering from this obstacle. I had a medication related TIA with no residuals, but I totally understand the feeling of fear, of being out of control, of being afraid to be alone. Time will heal this wound. Just allow yourself the time and understand that it’s ONE FOOT in front of the other, one hour at a time.

    Hugs! If you need anything……

  47. Fuck Lupus. You can do this, Erin.

    Love you.

  48. not only can you, but you are.

  49. You CAN do it.


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