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Text and photos courtesy of the American Heart Association
Stroke Awareness Month: How One Man’s ‘Life After’ Turned Tragedy Into Purpose
On any given Saturday before Jan. 2, 2025, you could find Earvin Young cruising the roads of Northwest Arkansas on his bike, logging 40-50 miles like it was nothing. Cycling was his therapy, his reset button after long weeks in a corporate human resources office, where he’d worked for 35 years. He was in good shape. He was active. And like most people, he quietly believed serious medical emergencies happened to other people.
Then his youngest son, Tissan, found him on the bathroom floor.
“I kept trying to stand up, and my legs just wouldn’t work,” Young recalled. “Every time I tried, I fell.”
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Disoriented and unable to move normally, Young couldn’t dress himself. Tissan helped him get clothes on, guided him to the car and drove him to the emergency room — support Young said made clear how suddenly his most basic functions were taken away.
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He didn’t know he was having a stroke. His son didn’t know either. Even when the hospital confirmed it, Young still didn’t quite believe the truth. A stroke happened to older people, unhealthy people, people who didn’t bike 50 miles for fun.
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Ten days later, the second stroke arrived, this time in a rehab hospital — an episode he describes as an “out‑of‑body experience.” He could see nurses walk in, could hear them calling his name, could feel their hands on his chest, but his body wouldn’t respond.
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“I thought I was talking to them,” he said. “But I wasn’t.”
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That second stroke stole his speech, movement on his left side and — by medical predictions — his chances of fully returning. Doctors told his wife she might need to prepare to let him go.
Instead, he woke up. And when he did, he started fighting.
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Young spent nearly three months in the hospital. He went home March 31, still in a wheelchair. A week later, his employer eliminated his role and offered retirement.
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“That was never in my plans,” he said. “I wasn’t ready.”
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But life had already redrawn his map.
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Healing came in small victories: learning to sit upright without falling, learning to transfer from bed to wheelchair, building enough strength to walk with a cane, re‑training his brain to form words. He pushed every day, fueled by the same quiet resolve he saw growing up with two deaf parents.
“My mother always said the world wasn’t built for people with disabilities,” he said. “She never let that stop her, and I’m the same way. The stroke happened to me. It’s not who I am.”
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May is Stroke Awareness Month. According to the American Stroke Association, a division of the American Heart Association, stroke is the fourth leading cause of death in the United States. Someone in the U.S. dies of a stroke approximately every 3 to 4 minutes. It is also a leading cause of long-term disability, with roughly 795,000 people experiencing a new or recurrent stroke each year.
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Before Young had his strokes, he had heard of the FAST acronym (Face drooping, Arm weakness, Speech difficulty, Time to call 911), but like most people, he never imagined needing it. His son didn’t recognize the signs. They didn’t call 911. And in those lost minutes, his brain was under attack.
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Now, he is determined to ensure others don’t lose minutes that matter.
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He’s embraced the expanded BE FAST message:
B – Balance loss
E – Eye or vision changes
F – Face drooping
A – Arm weakness
S – Speech difficulty
T – Time to call 911
Every letter matters. Every symptom — even sudden dizziness or blurred vision — should be treated as a medical emergency.
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“When it comes to stroke, seconds aren’t just seconds,” Young said. “They’re your ability to walk. Your ability to talk. They’re your identity.”
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In Northwest Arkansas, a region with comparatively lower stroke rates than the rest of the state, conversations about stroke are less common. Young wants to change that. “I didn’t hear anyone talking about stroke here,” he said. “I heard about cancer. Diabetes. Heart disease. But not stroke. And that silence is dangerous.”
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Young isn’t approaching awareness like a medical professional. He’s approaching it like a communicator, a neighbor, a cyclist, a father and a man who simply didn’t know what he didn’t know.
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His ideas don’t live in hospitals; they live where people gather.
“My barber said, ‘Whatever you need, we’ll do it,’” Young said. “That’s where men talk. Not in a doctor’s office. My minister said the same thing. People share with each other before they share with their doctor.” So Young makes sure that everything he touches circles back to one purpose: making sure what happened to him doesn’t surprise anyone else.
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Young calls this chapter of his life “Life After,” not because he wants his old life back, but because he refuses to let the strokes define him. A Fayetteville program introduced him to therapeutic art for stroke survivors. His blog, www.life-after.net, began as part of his recovery process. Now, it’s part of his voice.
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“Awareness is everything,” he said. “If people know BE FAST, if they recognize even one symptom, they save time. And if they save time, they just might save a life.”