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My mom has had 7 strokes. 

That’s not a typo.


She’s survived them all.

This last one though really slowed her down and she hates it!

The others were minor in comparison. She was able to recover fairly quickly but this last one has left her agitated.

We’re all grateful that she’s still here. She can still move around…a little slower than she’d like but she’s mobile.

She can’t wait to regain strength in her hand again so she can use Facebook. She loves Facebook.

Some days I can really hear it in her voice that she’s disappointed that she can’t do what she wants.

This is my grandmother’s daughter for crying out loud. And if you knew my grandmother, well, being independent and doing whatever you wanted are invaluable commodities.

I’ve watched the doctors adjust her meds because her pressure kept fluctuating.

I’ve seen her fight her way to get in and out of the car unassisted.

I’ve seen her try to resume certain functions that would have been no problem six, even five strokes ago.

My mom’s seven strokes were a wake up call for me.

I’m a woman of color, currently over the desired weight for someone my height and both parents and both sets of grandparents had high blood pressure.

It was time to do something.

But I didn’t do anything right away.

Change doesn’t come easy. Trust me I know.

I’ve learned that processed carbs (cake, cookies, Panera Bread’s bear claw) reproduces cravings for more of the same. So I’ve greatly reduced their intake. And I do mean greatly and I’m not craving the stuff anymore. This is a huge victory for me.

I’ve changed how I eat, weight train when I can remember (hey I’m being honest) and take a few supplements to help with my overall health. Iaso Gano and Total Resolution to be exact.

And you know what?

It’s working.

My home scale has been tripping so today I decided to get on the one in the store and take my blood pressure while I was at it.


My son waited patiently as I retook the measurements three times.

My blood pressure was the lowest I’ve ever seen it. When I got home, I tested myself on my machine and the two numbers matched.

The scale I’m convinced was way off. I know what my body looks like at that weight and I’m certain my clothes would fit differently.

Hey being a woman of a certain age, I understand weight doesn’t fall off like it used to.

But I’m making progress. It’s slowly coming off.

So what did seven strokes teach me?

It taught me to take care of myself.

It forced me to rethink and redefine my relationship with food. It had to be done.

Because I have lots of reasons to take care of this body and I’m determined to do so.


P.S. Mom is doing OK and is determined to completely recover.

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