June 2025 Dwight Lingley

I was born in Bangor, Maine. I lived with my grandparents right next to my parents’ house. I was a good student and had a lot of friends, but I was a pretty anxious kid. For example, I would feel sick before every sports game that I played in. As a teen my grandmother passed away and it amplified the anxiety 1000-fold. I didn’t leave my room for days. It eventually led to dropping out of school and becoming a full-on hermit. I would go weeks at a time without leaving home, just playing games online, trying to get any social interaction I could get. I went on depression medicine, but it backfired very badly and made it even worse. This scared me away from ever trying them again. So, I just stayed home being consumed by my depression thinking I’d never break free.

Fast forward to Covid, I actually ended up going out more than ever so my grandfather wouldn’t have to get food. I was still really nervous, but I made do. As Covid ended I went right back to where I was until November 30, 2023, at around 10-11 pm. I tried to get up out of my chair but had no strength in my arms and eventually fell to the floor. I yelled to my grandpa after realizing I could not get up. He called my mom, who still lived next to us and when she saw my face drooping, she called 911. I was taken to the hospital then immediately life flighted to Maine Medical Center in Portland.

I was scared, but the EMT’s reassured me and made me feel safe. When I woke up in the hospital, I was told I had a major stroke in my right hemisphere. I was only 33. The stroke left my left arm, hand, leg and foot paralyzed. Doctors said it was caused by a PFO in my heart and that the clot traveled through to my brain. I had it since birth, and it was never detected. For the first few days I didn’t talk to my mom at all, I just sat there in shock. After a few days, she put a Celtics game for me and said, “Nice shot, Hortford.” I immediately corrected her “It’s Horford mom.” She looked at me dumbfounded, after saying nothing at all, “THATS WHAT GOT HIM TO TALK,” she was thinking to herself.

Eventually they put me on a new medication for my depression, which terrified me because of my past experience, but I was already talking to the nurses and CNAs and opening up, and after I started it, I got even more talkative. We don’t know if the change was medication or the damage changing my personality, but my physiatrist said she likes to think it’s a little bit of everything. I do too. During my stay I had the same roommate for 30 days. He was 30 years older than me, but we bonded quite a bit, which was bizarre for me as before my stroke I never would have done that. I would have sat there silently the entire time.

After 34 days at Maine Medical Center, I lost 40 pounds, and I went to New England Rehab Hospital of Portland. I was nervous about getting a whole new nursing team and doctors, but also very excited to be somewhere outside of the hospital room I’ve been withering away in. My last day all my nurses that were working lined up in my room to say bye to me, which the EMT transferring me said they had never seen before. I was hoping life in rehab would be more varied, but it was rehab therapy for 3-4 hours a day and same old hospital life for 20-21 hours a day. Until I discovered I was allowed to freely roll around in my wheelchair as much as I want, which started with me rolling around the floor for 8 hours a day. I’d listen in on nurses’ conversations and roll around with my 60-something year old roommate. We had so much fun, haha.

Our nurses said they liked to stand near our room because we’d always be laughing and it was a nice change of pace for them. The freedom was a great change from being stuck in the hospital bed. Every day I’d have therapy sometime in the morning, sometimes even as early as 5 am for a shower from my OT. While most of the time was the same kind of hospital life, I enjoyed therapy. My PT would set up cones and count my mistakes driving my wheelchair then get in my chair and beat my time through the obstacle course, haha. I really loved and had fun with therapy and it was a great change of pace. I treasure memories like those. While I was only there for 2 weeks, I really connected with most of the therapists and nurses, even the ones I didn’t work with. Just from rolling around all day. I stayed there until January 17th and after 47 days, it was time to go home. Finally. I was so excited to get home to see our puppy that was only a few months old when my stroke happened.

Early home life was tough. I was surrounded by everything I used to do and couldn’t anymore. Our house wasn’t really great for a wheelchair, and I could walk decently with my cane, so I ditched my wheelchair pretty fast. I got into MCIR pretty quickly and began my outpatient rehab journey with my new rehab family. MCIR quickly became my happy place and home. As spring and summer rolled in, I was very depressed and manic. Eventually I got my meds changed as they thought I may have been going through the beginning of serotonin poisoning. I was wishing for horrible things.

My OT got me straightened out while I waited for new meds and a counselor. I was terrified of what life would be like with only one working hand. My recovery in PT was very quick as my walking and stamina made great strides. My fear over my hand settled down from my OT talking to me about life and teaching me how much I can do, that I’m not just broken and useless. I felt so hopeless and scared, and she really helped me more than words could ever convey. During the rest of that year, I got my first ever ID. My speech therapist and OT then encouraged me to get my driver’s license and my HiSET (high school equivalency diploma). I got my drivers permit, and smashed out my HiSET with no issues. Those speech sessions where we studied together will always be great memories. My speech therapist and OT push me really hard, and I love them for it. They are amazing people.

That leads us to present time. I’m far happier and hopeful about my life than I’ve been in my adult life, despite only having one working hand. I’m about to begin vocational rehab then hopefully get my first job, finally. All in all, my stroke wasn’t the end of all the good things in my life, for me it was the start.