“I was at the soccer game and the ball hit me in the head.” I’m lying in an ICU bed at the University of Alberta Hospital, my head wrapped in bandages, tubes running through each arm. My friends laugh. Obviously, they know more than I do. It had been three days since I walked into the kitchen to tell my roommate a weird shit in the back of my head before I passed out on the floor. June 2022 marks the 35th anniversary of my waking up in that Edmonton ICU bed. It’s been 35 years with headaches, strange sensations on the right side of my body and lost words. Thirty-five years since a soft pop on my head changed the course of my life. As a 20-year-old, I had just graduated from high school and had no direction or ambition. I was content to work in a hotel and live to party. After my brain aneurysm ruptured, I became a woman determined to prove that my brain still worked and that I had a lot to offer. Instead of settling for a wasted life, I wanted a life worth living. Beaubien celebrated her 18th birthday in Edmonton. (Submitted by Roxanne Beaubien) The day of the aneurysm—before the three-day gap—was a glorious early June day in 1987. A big sky day in Alberta, cloudless, bright, and oh, so blue. An eight-hour shift behind the desk at the Convention Inn, then off to party with friends. Another typical day. Typical, except for the pounding on my head on the way home to Sherwood Park, and the odd need to paint my toenails before hitting the freeway back to Edmonton for a night of drinking.
“I’m going to be late,” I said to my friend Patty, explaining my need for nail polish through the receiver of the telephone taped to the kitchen wall. “I have no idea why, but I have to.” The pale pink polish matched the color of the bathroom sink that my foot rested next to as I began to paint. In retrospect, it wasn’t a spectacular moment – ​​there was no stabbing pain, no stars in my vision, nothing but a soft pop in the back of my head. “Sit down, I’ll get your shoes.” My roommate, Joan, was calm when I walked into the kitchen and told her what had happened. “Let’s go to the hospital.” And then blackness. Blackout until three days later when I found myself talking about a football game that never happened. I learned that the soft little pop was the bursting of a blood vessel in the circle of Willis—a junction of arteries in the middle of the brain that supplies blood flow to the front and back of the brain. During those three days in the dark, I underwent emergency surgery for a ruptured cranial aneurysm—a form of intracranial aneurysm that causes blood flow to the brain. An aneurysm occurs when a section of the artery wall weakens, causing it to widen or balloon outward. While most are small and can exist without causing symptoms, the Brain Aneurysm Foundation lists symptoms for which immediate medical attention should be sought. If a brain aneurysm ruptures, it will prove fatal in about 50 percent of cases and cause permanent brain damage in about 66 percent of survivors For 17 days, I was in the ICU, surrounded by machines dotted with lights like strings on a Christmas tree. They beeped incessantly and screamed periodically, like when I had convulsions that left me unable to move half my body and speaking in a strange jumble of words. I can only watch as nurses and doctors push, prod and administer drugs. I could only watch in utter horror that this moment would be my last. Just as I struggled to learn my doctor’s name — “Just say ES-pin-NOSE-a,” the nurse explained — I struggled to understand what had happened. Aneurysm is a word I’ve never heard before and still struggle to spell. I was told that some people like me will die, some will have permanent neurological damage or disability, and some will just go away. I fell between the last two. I walked away but I was never the same again. Six months after the brain aneurysm, Beaubien enrolled at the Northern Alberta Institute of Technology and graduated with a business degree in 1991. (Submitted by Roxanne Beaubien ) For months, sentences were garbled, words out of order or missing when I needed them. Even now, when I’m stressed or exhausted, the battle with words resurfaces — ironic, given that today my career involves stringing words together into proper sentences. But I am one of the lucky ones. I had the opportunity to build a life that wasn’t focused on my next night’s party. My father and stepmother welcomed me back into their home and took care of me. I will be forever grateful for their love and support during a time filled with pain, confusion and frustration. Beaubien, pictured interviewing Canadian politician Jean Charest during the 1997 federal election campaign, struggled with language skills after her aneurysm. (Submitted by Roxanne Beaubien) Six months later, I started night classes in the business program at the Northern Alberta Institute of Technology, where I got involved in student government and developed an interest in media. After that, I got a degree in communications from the University of Calgary and then a master’s in journalism from Western University, which eventually landed me a job at the Free Press in London, where I was a reporter for five years. I later became involved in corporate communications, mainly in the policing and charity sectors. In June, as I began a graduate program in creative nonfiction writing, I couldn’t help but think about the impact of this gentle pop. Thirty-five years ago, I was a mess with no direction or future. Today I am grateful for what turned out to be the kick in the butt I needed to build a life. Do you have a compelling personal story that can bring understanding or help others? We want to hear from you. Here is more information on how to submit to us.