14 January 2017 - On March 18, 1991, my life changed. I was an 18-year-old student at a community college in southwestern Virginia, working out at the gym, when I got a headache. A thunderous pain shot through my head and I thought, “I am going to die now.”

One month later, I woke up. Two brain surgeries lasting a total of 22 hours repaired the ruptured blood vessels that had caused a massive stroke. Luckily, I had health insurance through my part-time job. After years of rehabilitation, I fought my way back into college — earning a master’s degree — and into the workplace.

I became a homeowner, married and got a dog. For many years, I worked as a social worker — my way of giving back to the world and honouring the doctors, therapists, nurses and social workers who had helped me reclaim my life.

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