The morning I found out my husband had suffered a stroke, I was in a hotel room in Los Angeles. It was 6 a.m., and I called Alan the way I always did when I was out of town. No matter where I was, I liked to hear his voice before our days got busy.
I was there recording the audiobook for Iron Will, my book about healing, resilience and rebuilding a life after adversity. I had spent years thinking about what it means to survive hard things. I had written about it, spoken about it and built a message around it.
His voice was faint, slurred, not right. I kept trying to understand what he was saying. Then I heard one word: “ambulance.” I told him, “Don’t worry.
I’ll call 911.” From Los Angeles, I explained to the dispatcher that my husband was alone at home in Wisconsin and needed help. Within a minute, I was routed to emergency services back home. I also called a neighbor, who went to the house but couldn’t get inside.
Looking through our family-room window, she told me she saw Alan lying on the floor. When she knocked on the glass, he lifted his head and waved. Paramedics eventually had to force their way through our door.
I was hundreds of miles away. I remember booking the first flight home and feeling the terrible distance between where I was and where I needed to be. By the time I reached Wisconsin that night, Alan was in the hospital.
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