The first few days after the stroke were hellish, for me and for my loved ones. My departure from the local hospital was alarming for us all. I remember a high-speed dash on a trolley along the myriad corridors; my family remembers bidding farewell before the journey to the bigger hospital, not knowing whether or not it was for the last time. There was some talk of a risky procedure to try to dissolve the clot. It might not even work. I decided to go ahead with it; after all I wanted to get back to normal as soon as possible. We had so many plans for the days and weeks ahead. As it happened, the procedure failed, there was no instant improvement, and an angiogram of my neck and head showed not only the clot but also the bad state of some of the vessels supplying my brain. It seemed that I was doomed.