One night, a couple of years ago, I laid me down to sleep and discovered my foot was numb.
It was numb like Adam Sandler's chronically frostbitten foot in the cinema masterpiece "Mr. Deeds," wherein he invites people to whack it with a fireplace poker while he smiles blissfully.
An hour later, my foot was still numb.
Stroke. That's it, I thought. I'm having a stroke.
The problem with even thinking a thought like "I'm having a stroke," is that immediately you start having a stroke, more or less.