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After Erin Adelekun delivered her daughter Adenike, she went home with a mild headache. Her doctor wasn't worried, so she wasn't either. Erin took medication for the pain and got to caring for her baby girl.

Eight days later, the headache came back. Erin's head pounded. It was probably lack of sleep, she thought. She promised to call her doctor the next day if she still had the headache. The following morning, her head pulsed and throbbed like never before.

"You have to rest," her husband, Mayowa, told her, and sent her upstairs to bed. Erin's mother, Maria Bradley, took over caring for Adenike.

Fifteen minutes later, Mayowa called upstairs. "Breakfast is ready!"

Erin opened her mouth to say, "I'll be down in a minute."

Instead, gibberish came out of her mouth. Panicking, she ran downstairs. At the base of the staircase, she peered at her right arm – it was completely limp.

Her mind flashed to a ball she'd given her dog years ago as a toy. It was a giveaway from the ·¬ÇÑÊÓƵ she'd received at a health fair. The two played with it every day. Printed on it was FAST, the acronym for the signs of a stroke: face drooping, arm weakness, speech difficulty, and time to call 911.

As Erin, 38, pictured the ball, she suspected a stroke. But she couldn't communicate as she limped toward Mayowa, her right leg weak now, too. When he saw her, he knew she needed emergency care.

By the time she got to the emergency room, Erin couldn't walk. During an MRI of her brain, Erin's whole body began to shake. She was having a seizure. Both sides of her brain were bleeding: a hemorrhagic stroke.

She needed emergency surgery to stop the bleeding; this would include removing part of her skull to help relieve the pressure. Her hospital in Maryland wasn't equipped to handle this, so she was airlifted to a hospital in Washington, D.C.

This was August 2020 and because of the COVID-19 pandemic, visitors weren't allowed in the hospital. But Erin's doctor sought special permission for Mayowa to come. In case Erin didn't survive, the doctor wanted Mayowa to have the chance to say goodbye to his wife.

Erin was in a medically induced coma when Mayowa arrived. He held her hand, sang a song they'd made up and prayed. Then medical staff sent him home. He called the hospital at least three times a day to check on Erin.

Three weeks later, Erin woke up alone in a glass room. She had COVID-19. Her caregivers wore hazmat suits. She felt like she was in a science fiction movie.

Erin couldn't speak. Her brain bleed caused aphasia, a disorder that impacts the ability to talk. During hours-long video calls, Mayowa wasn't sure Erin recognized him. The only clue that she might have was that when Erin saw Adenike, she wept.

Erin saw a speech pathologist and used pictures to communicate. She worked her way to giving Mayowa a thumbs up with her left hand. Her right side was still immobile. She did physical and speech therapy, plus homework in her room. She told herself, "I can cry and mourn, but I'm still going to get up and do my homework and make myself better for my family," which includes stepchildren Olu and Marvelous, then 8 and 5.

She learned how to sit up and slide into a wheelchair. Two months after her stroke, she walked three steps. At the three-month mark, she went home with a four-point cane, a wheelchair for distances and a helmet to protect her head.

Erin was nervous that Adenike wouldn't remember her. A test came right away, as Adenike was crying when Erin arrived home. Erin sat down to hold her. Adenike stopped fussing and gazed up at Erin.

Still, Erin couldn't walk and hold her baby at the same time. She couldn't care for her daughter by herself.

For the next year, Erin did more physical, occupational and speech therapy and saw a psychiatrist. Eventually, she moved to a three-point cane, then one-point.

Progress has come more slowly for her speech and reading. That's especially difficult for Erin, who has a master's degree in communications, worked as a senior project manager for a financial firm and was a self-professed "born talker."

Erin felt embarrassed to talk. To get better, her therapist said, you have to push past that. For instance, as difficult as it was for her to order a pizza by phone, Erin made herself order a half cheese, half pepperoni pizza every two weeks for family movie night. Next, she ordered in person.

Erin's employer held her position for a year after her stroke. When they said they couldn't do so any longer, the news was crushing, even though Erin knew she wasn't ready to return.

Around the same time, Erin started an Instagram page – Stroke.Mama – to record her progress and share her story. The writing and editing – and reading and responding to comments – stimulated her brain.

"I thought maybe I could help a stroke survivor or TBI (traumatic brain injury) survivor through my story of healing and recovery," she said. "I do it because if I inspire or push one person, that is all I want – if Stroke.Mama can do it, I can do it, too."

Now, at 43, she's taking a writing course through the nonprofit Stroke Comeback Center to continue building her language skills. She wants to work again and is confident she will, even though work might look different.

"With my aphasia, I still struggle for words," she said. "I hate when people speak for me; you don't know what I'm going to say. You have to have patience."

Physically, she needs a brace for her right foot, which is hard to lift. She's continuing with physical therapy. Adenike is now 4, and Erin can spend time alone with her. She takes Adenike shopping and to school in an adapted car.

"Erin made very remarkable progress," Mayowa said. "It's just grace, and therapy really works. She's still healing, and we hope it's going to come back to 100%."

Throughout it all, Erin found a way to maintain her happiness. "I am naturally a happy person and a jovial person," she said. "I grieved, but I still maintain my happiness."

It's a message, among others, that Erin imparts to her social media followers. "I thought I was too young to have a stroke until I had a stroke," she said. "I want my followers to know stroke can affect anyone. And to know the signs."

Stories From the Heart chronicles the inspiring journeys of heart disease and stroke survivors, caregivers and advocates.