The Silent Storm: How Strokes Shaped My Life and Perspective

I was nineteen when I had my first experience with strokes. My dad, just 46 years old, collapsed in a K-Mart while shopping for motor oil. He left the store in an ambulance and was rushed to a nearby hospital, where he suffered multiple seizures and a stroke. He was life-flighted to Allegheny General Hospital. I saw him just before surgery—disoriented, growling, and struggling to move. It’s an image that will stay with me forever.

Ironically, the stroke saved his life. It led doctors to discover multiple brain aneurysms. He spent a month in the hospital. He came home on a Friday, and the next day, my sister returned from a 15-month deployment in Iraq. His head was half-shaved from surgery, but none of that mattered. We were celebrating life—his survival and my sister’s safe return.

Years later, my husband’s grandmother was found unresponsive on the living room floor by her husband. She had suffered a stroke sometime during the night. They were both in their 90s. I remember being in the hospital room with her while my husband updated his family over the phone. She stared at me silently, and as the only family member present, I signed off on her transfer to a hospital better equipped to care for her.

My best friend from high school had a stroke at just 35. Thankfully, his girlfriend recognized the signs and got him to the hospital in time. He had always struggled with his health and didn’t take great care of himself. The stroke was a wake-up call. He now lives a healthier life with his wife, foster children, and fur babies.

But the stroke that hit hardest was my son’s.

I was 34 and pregnant with my second child. Early on, I learned there was a high chance he would have Down Syndrome. The pregnancy was filled with uncertainty, but a heart scan at 22 weeks showed he was healthy, which gave me peace. Then, at nearly 37 weeks, I noticed a lack of movement. I went to the doctor on Friday—everything seemed normal. But by Monday, I knew something was wrong.

An ultrasound ended at 6 p.m., and my son was born just 59 minutes later. He had suffered a perinatal stroke in utero. My doctor said there was no way to know the cause, but if I hadn’t acted that day, my son wouldn’t be here. I was inspired to go back to the doctor because of a coworker who had lost her daughter, Brinley, at 37 weeks. Brinley became our guardian angel.

I share this story so other pregnant women listen to their instincts. If something feels off, get checked. Seek peace of mind. Today, my son is nearly six years old—healthy, vibrant, and without neurological issues. He’s my heart and soul, my little best friend. I can’t imagine life without him.

By Amanda Luffey