Against All Odds

I woke up in the middle of the night, needing to take a piss. As I passed by the bathroom mirror, the faint moonlight caught a glimpse of my reflection. I froze. There, staring back at me, was a version of myself I didn’t recognize. My face—something was off. I blinked, half-asleep, thinking it must’ve been a trick of the shadows. I’d be fine, I told myself, as I climbed back into bed.

But the next morning, everything changed.

Around 8 a.m., I was out on my usual morning walk, feeling the Arizona sun on my skin, when suddenly, everything went black. I woke up to the sound of sirens, the hum of traffic, and the concerned voices of EMTs and firefighters. I was lying on the side of a busy midtown intersection, people hovering over me, asking my name, asking me what had happened. But I didn’t know.

Fast forward, and I found myself in Banner Medical Center’s emergency room, a “stroke patient in 24.” The fear hit me then. Stroke? I couldn’t comprehend it. Test after test, needle after needle—hours went by in a blur of confusion and fear. Finally, a doctor approached, his face serious, and delivered the news: Bell’s palsy.

Most people would be devastated to hear they’d been diagnosed with a disease like this, to know their face might never be the same. But not me. Because in that moment, I received the greatest news of my life: the extensive test showed that my traumatic brain injury—the TBI that had ruled my life for over 15 years—was gone. Vanished. The doctors had once told me that brain surgery was my only hope, that I would never be normal again without it. But I defied them.

My entire life, I had been made to believe I couldn’t move forward. I was told by every specialist I met that I was broken, that I needed my head cut open to be "fixed." But I refused. I worked tirelessly for 15 years, dedicating myself to healing through the natural world, through the power of herbs and the wisdom of Mother Nature. And I did it. I fixed myself. 

But Bell’s palsy hit hard. I spent the first 24 hours in shock, crying, my mind a whirlwind of fear and disbelief. When I looked in the mirror again, I forced myself to stare at my half-disfigured face, tears falling as I confronted what I had become. The weight of it crushed me. But I knew, in that very moment, I had a choice. I could let this defeat me, or I could rise. 

I chose to rise.

I told myself, 'Drakovi Bloodrose', you’ve overcome something far worse. You’ve conquered a traumatic brain injury—something every doctor said was impossible. They were wrong. I beat the odds once, and I will do it again. I stood there, looking into my own eyes, and vowed to never give up, to fight with everything I have, because giving up isn’t in my nature.

Bell’s palsy? It won’t be the thing that stops me. I’ve battled through 15 years of darkness—years where doctors blamed me, where they said I was blacking out and making myself worse because I refused surgery, and that bottom line, I was causing this. I lived with the constant threat of unconsciousness, collapsing into blackouts with no answers, no relief—only the crushing anxiety and stress that followed me everywhere. For years, I was told that the only way out was surgery. But I knew better. I fought that battle and won.

Now, with a clean bill of health and a plan to manage my anxiety, I’m ready to take on this new challenge. I will embrace my slanted facial expressions, and I will conquer Bell’s palsy the same way I conquered my TBI—with perseverance, with strength, and with the unshakable belief that I am capable of overcoming anything.

Drakovi Bloodrose doesn’t quit. I will fight until I achieve maximum health. I will rise until excellence is the only thing left.