On an unseasonably warm October morning in 2022, Alissa Smith was getting ready for work in her North End apartment. She and her sister, Jennifer, who had stayed over the night before, were laughing, putting on makeup, and planning their days. Ten minutes after her sister left, Smith picked up a hairbrush and couldn’t get it through her hair.
Moments later, she collapsed against her dresser. When she tried to call her sister, the words would not come out.
“I knew something wasn’t right,” Smith recalled. “But I had no idea I was having a stroke.”
Smith was 45 years old, active, and healthy. Strokes, she thought, were something that happened to older people. Yet by the time she was wheeled into the emergency room, her face was drooping, her speech was slurred, and she had lost sensation on the left side of her body. Doctors quickly found a blood clot lodged in her brain.
Because Smith had reached the hospital within the critical three-hour treatment window, physicians were able to break up the clot with medication. Within an hour, she began to regain movement and speech.
“I was lucky,” she said. “Every minute counts.”
The long recovery
Survival did not mean life returned to normal. Doctors traced her stroke to a congenital hole in her heart, a condition known as a patent foramen ovale, or PFO, that had allowed the clot to bypass her lungs and travel to her brain. Three months later, she underwent surgery to close the hole.
The months between the stroke and surgery, Smith said, were filled with anxiety.
“I couldn’t tell if the chest pain was from healing or if I was having another heart attack or stroke,” she said. “My brain and my heart, the two most important organs, had both failed me within months.”
Smith returned to her job in financial planning but carried new fears. She kept her medical records with her when she traveled, in case she needed emergency care far from Boston. Even now, three years later, she admits that a headache or chest pang can trigger spirals of worry.
“The moment in October has never left me,” she said.
Finding purpose in advocacy
As the physical wounds healed, Smith searched for community. Stroke support groups were scarce, especially for younger patients. She connected briefly with another Boston survivor, Jessica Diaz, whose story gave her comfort. But what Smith really wanted was to help others avoid the sense of isolation she felt.
She found that outlet in the American Heart Association.
In 2023, a year after her stroke, she joined the Boston Heart Walk on Boston Common. She expected to raise a modest sum. Instead, friends, family, and colleagues rallied behind her, contributing more than $4,000. The next year she raised even more. In two years, Smith has brought in nearly $10,000 for the cause, earning recognition as one of the event’s top fundraisers.
“Fundraising isn’t something I thought I’d be good at,” she said. “But when you share your story, people want to help.”
Smith has since volunteered at other American Heart Association events. She has spoken with colleagues about the warning signs of stroke — facial drooping, arm weakness, slurred speech — and encouraged CPR training at her office.
“I feel like it’s part of my mission now,” she said. “I didn’t know the signs. Most people don’t. If sharing my experience helps someone get help faster, it’s worth it.”
Looking ahead
This fall, Smith will return to the Boston Heart Walk for the third time, this time joined by her colleagues at Mayflower Advisors, who have launched their own team. She plans to continue raising funds, sharing her story, and offering the kind of support she once wished she had.
“It was just a regular morning. Nothing unusual. And then everything changed,” she said. “That’s why I want people to know — it can happen to anyone, and it’s not the end of the story.”