As I was preparing for the new season of Grey's Anatomy, I watched an episode from last season on Hulu.com that brought me to unexpected tears, and by tears, I mean ridiculous sobs. It was from Season 7 of Grey's that a musical number used as Callie's song was Snow Patrol's "Chasing Cars." For those of you that don't watch Grey's, the plot was simple enough: Callie, a doctor at Seattle Grace hospital, was thrown through the window of the car that she was riding in when it collided with a semi. Callie narrated the episode and began saying that the brain acts in funny ways, especially when it is badly hurt. Callie was seriously injured, and the experiences that took place in the first few minutes of that Grey's Anatomy episode shook me to the core, and I flashed back to the feelings that flood me every time that I relive what happened with my stroke.
When I was admitted into the hospital where my CT scan showed the actual damage that my stroke had done (as opposed to the hospital that failed to diagnose me three days earlier), my "golden hour" was long gone. The doctors had expressed their concern over whether I would make it through the subsequent 48 hours. After they rolled me into my room, I don't really remember much that happened during the next few days/weeks. I have a snippet here and a snippet there, but no real lengthy memories. I just remember being so tired, and the one other thing that I remember was this:
My song was "Breathe," by Faith Hill.
I was never a huge country music fan. Before my stroke, I knew the country songs that played at the bars that I went to, and those that my friends' bands played, but my top 5 favorite songs (thank you, Mr. Cusack) were all alternative and new wave hits.
This is what made the song that was on constant loop in my head, the chorus of "Breathe," that much more bizarre. About 3 months later, I realized that the reason for it being the chorus was that I didn't know the words to the rest of the song. Yet, this was my salvation song. This song allowed me to sleep and not to feel alone; to remember to "Juuuuuuust breathe", even when having an MRI or two. I felt that it was a divine presence, but I am sure that my neurologist would just tell me that some neurotransmitter was just on hyperdrive or something.
It was the similarities between what happened to Callie and what had happened to me, on a superficial level, felt so close that it was like I was back on a gurney and unable to move half of my body or speak again. I felt her song like I felt mine: deep within my soul.
My family never let me feel alone, for which I can never thank them enough. My advice for any families that have someone who have had a stroke: have someone there as much as possible, and perhaps make a mixed tape for their room of their favorite songs, so that if their brain cannot come up with a song, one is there to soothe their internal pain.
My song reminded me to "Just Breathe."
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