Why I built this

My name is Drew. I live in Maine. I've had three strokes. The first came when I was 28.

Nobody plans for a stroke at 28. I sure didn't. The pamphlets don't prepare you for it, and neither do the well-meaning folks who tell you how lucky you are.

Then it happened two more times.

Recovery, it turns out, is mostly unglamorous repetition. It's not a montage. Recovery is work, and the work has instructions. The loneliness doesn't.

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Recovery is work, and the work has instructions. The loneliness doesn't.

When you're young, the loneliness is most of it. Almost everything out there for stroke survivors is aimed at people decades older. When you're the youngest person in every room by forty years, "peer support" loses some of its meaning.

Maine doesn't make it easier. The distances are long and the winters are longer. Survivors scattered from Kittery to Fort Kent, most of us assuming we're the only one.

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Survivors scattered from Kittery to Fort Kent, most of us assuming we're the only one.

The name means something. After a stroke, your brain rewires itself and finds new routes around the damage. That felt about right.

I'm not a doctor or an organization, just a guy who's been through it three times and takes notes. I won't pretend to know what your recovery should look like. But you're not the only one, and I can promise you that much.

That's what Rewired Maine is for. It's small and new, and it's the thing I couldn't find when I needed it. If you've had a stroke at any age, or you love someone who has, this is yours too.