I Didn't Think I'd Travel Again After My Stroke. I Was Wrong.
I was standing on our back deck watering flowers. It was 8:20 in the morning on June 9, 2012, shaping up to be a gorgeous Chicago day. Midwesterners live for these days.
It was a normal morning. Nothing unusual. No warning.
And then I had a stroke.
An ischemic stroke on the left side of my brain — the part that controls communication.
After that, I developed aphasia.
Aphasia is a disorder that affects how you communicate. It can impact your speech, as well as the way you write and understand both spoken and written language.
Which, in simple terms, means: I know what I want to say… but getting the words out is hard. Sometimes impossible.
I Was a Communicator. Then I Lost My Words.
Before my stroke, I had a career I loved. I worked in marketing at Andersen for 25 years and Deloitte for a decade. I did my undergrad at Georgetown, got an MBA at Purdue, and then a second Masters at DePaul. I went back for a masters in accounting not because I had to, but because I figured if I was going to do marketing for an accounting firm, I should actually understand how it worked.
So yeah, that's the kind of person I was. All in. Always pushing to know more, do more, be more useful.
Communication was my entire professional life. Leading teams, presenting strategy, building relationships. That was the job. That was me.
Image: Frank L. Buttitta, Deloitte Services LP
After the stroke, I couldn't go back.
Not because I didn't want to.
Because I couldn't communicate the way my job required.
I didn't end my career on purpose. It was ended for me.
And that's something people don't always understand unless they've been through it. It's not just about losing a job. It's about losing a version of yourself.
Who Am I Now?
The identity shift of suddenly being a person with a disability was jolting beyond imagination. One day I’m planning a corporate meeting (an LGBTQ event, no less) and the next I’m unable to speak or move like I did yesterday.
Life really can change in an instant, it’s not just a cliché.
First, there was the hospital. And then rehab.
So. Much. Rehab.
There were moments where I felt untethered. I was still the same person inside, with all the same thoughts, the same knowledge, the same ambition – but trapped behind a wall I hadn't built and couldn't tear down.
If I'm not that person anymore… who the heck am I now?
Getting Back Up
I started at Northwestern Memorial Hospital and then moved on to the Shirley Ryan AbilityLab, one of the top rehabilitation facilities in the country. I participated in stroke studies and worked on getting my mobility back.
Long days. Slow progress.
Learning to move through the world in a body that didn't respond the way it used to.
Image: Frank at Shirley Ryan AbilityLab stroke study
I also started working with Corey Emberton, a neural studio advanced practitioner who specializes in working with people with mobility challenges. I refer to him as my personal trainer, and he’s helped me so much. If you are recovering from a stroke and thinking about travel, this is one of the best things you can do. Build your stamina before you go. Travel takes more out of you than you think — just getting through an airport and onto a plane is a workout.
I played pickleball. I learned how to sail, and I kayaked on Lake Michigan.
I kept showing up.
What I can tell you is that I kept moving. That was my mother's voice in my head, the one I kept replaying — something she drilled into my sister and me our whole lives.
"You get up and keep going. You don't stay down."
Image: Frank and his sister Lonnie, July 1959
So I did. I volunteered. I stayed connected to my community. I joined The National Aphasia Association that I love and where I now serve as an ambassador. We practice communicating in new ways. I learned that communication doesn't have to look the way it used to and I needed to understand what was possible for me.
I communicate in a variety of ways. I use an app now, Speech Assistant, that speaks for me in short phrases as well as using my Notes app for written communication. I also use Google Maps to show people where I've been, or where I want to go. I gesture. I've even picked up a little sign language. It's different. But it works.
And slowly, my world started to expand again.
My First Real Travel After the Stroke
My husband Edwards and I had always traveled. It was just part of who we were together. But after the stroke, it felt different. Riskier. Like I was attempting something I no longer had the full equipment for.
Our first real trip back was to Cancun and Nicaragua. October 27, 2013, seventeen months after the stroke. We didn't pick these destinations randomly. We'd been to both before. We knew the rhythms, the neighborhoods, the general feel of things. I felt most comfortable going back to destinations I already knew.
If you're reading this as a stroke survivor thinking about getting back out there, that's my first piece of advice: start somewhere you already know. Give yourself one less unknown.
But even though our first trip was to familiar places, everything was harder than I remembered.
My legs weren't strong yet. I didn't have my walk aid yet, the device that sends electrical impulses to help my leg muscles move the way my brain can no longer tell them to. At the airport I used a wheelchair for long stretches, something I'd never done in my life, and the exhaustion arrived earlier than I expected.
Image: Frank wearing the Bioness Medical L300 Go Lower Cuff device.
Everything took longer. Things that used to be automatic now required deliberate thought.
And then there was customs.
Before my stroke, I handled everything when we traveled. Especially in Spanish-speaking countries. I'm fluent in Spanish and Edwards’ Spanish is not good at all. No bueno, for real, no matter how hard he tries.
I was usually the one who took control and talked to the cab drivers, charmed the waiters, navigated check-in, and asked the right questions. It gave me a role and I liked being the one who was “in charge” and competent in Spanish speaking countries. It gave me a kind of quiet confidence.
At customs on that first trip, I stepped up to the window and Edwards stepped up with me. The agent tried to shoo him away but the truth is, he had to be there. He spoke to the agent, explained our documents, answered their questions. I stood next to my own life and watched someone else narrate it.
Edwards had to communicate for me. "I'm here to assist," he told them.
Four words. I'm here to assist. I had never needed anyone to assist me through a border crossing in my life.
It wasn't just customs. It was a cab. It was the restaurant. It was every moment where I used to be the one who moved things forward. Now I sat in the back seat while Edwards sorted out things with the driver. I pointed at menus. I waited.
And the thing that hit me hardest wasn't any single dramatic moment. It was something small. Before my stroke, whenever Edwards was getting ready, and he takes forever choosing his outfits, I'd head out on my own instead of being bored or hurrying him.
I’d go for a coffee. Find a pastry shop. Explore a little. It was my thing.
But now, I just waited for him in the hotel room. I wasn't ready to be out there by myself yet.
Edwards put it simply:
“Frank was still figuring out his new life. He was unsteady and worried about falling on that first trip, still building the confidence to do things, just in a different way than before.”
He was right. That's exactly what it was.
There's something Edwards says when he explains aphasia to people that I think is the most accurate description I've heard. He says it's like moving to a different country where you don't know the language. You know what you're saying — but they don't know what you're saying. And vice versa. It can be so frustrating! You have to learn a whole new way to communicate.
That's what those first trips felt like. Not just traveling with a new body. Traveling with a new language. One I was still learning.
We ate well. We saw things that mattered. We came home. And I started to understand that the goal wasn't to travel the way I used to. The goal was to figure out what travel looked like now.
How I Travel Now
I didn't stop traveling. But I stopped trying to travel the way I used to. And that was a big shift.
I plan for how I feel, not just what I want to see. Before, I could pack a schedule to the minute. Now I build in space, because I've learned the hard way that if I'm tired, overwhelmed, or rushed, the experience isn't enjoyable anyway. So I plan days that breathe.
I prepare more, and that gives me freedom. I research restaurants, transportation, cultural events, and accessibility before I go, not to control everything, but because preparation reduces stress in the moment. I make sure my hotel room has a walk-in shower. Small things that mean I can relax and trust the trip instead of white-knuckling through it.
And I go deeper instead of doing more. One of my favorite memories is walking into a restaurant in Hong Kong – the place was full of locals. When we walked in, the other diners actually turned and stared at us, like, how did you find this place? I mean, you could hear a pin drop! Once they recovered, they were all very nice and happy to have us. That's the experience I care about now. Not seeing everything. Really experiencing the culture of a place, far beyond what the average guidebook includes.
Image: Frank eating pizza in Rome
I never traveled on big bus tours and tourist traps before my stroke, and I wasn't about to start just because I had a disability.
Why I Started Depth & Discovery Travels
Over time, friends started asking me how I managed it. How I planned trips with aphasia. How I navigated airports and restaurants and new cities with a body and a voice that work differently now. And I realized that all the extra thought, all the adjustments, all the trial and error – it had turned into something useful. Not just for me.
I didn’t set out to be a travel consultant with a focus on people with disabilities.
I started this business because I knew I wasn't the only one trying to figure this out. Because there are people with mobility issues, with strokes, with disabilities of every kind, who have quietly wondered whether that part of their life is over. And I wanted to tell them: it's not. But I also wanted to show them — with actual, firsthand, hard-won knowledge of what works and what doesn't.
Things you wouldn't know, like which cities have cobblestone streets that are do-able, and which ones to skip. Antigua, Guatemala for example, has sidewalk curbs that are very, very tall. Edwards had to help me step up every single curb and on those streets he even had to wear thick boots every day for walking. We wouldn’t recommend it. Whereas Mexico City is extremely accessible and we recommend it for all types of travelers, including those in wheelchairs.
You'll Meet Edwards, Too
When we work with clients, Edwards is part of the process. He travels with me, and he joins client calls. I handle the planning and do all the research, the structure, the details. Edwards helps facilitate communication so everything flows smoothly between us and you.
We do it together. Because that's what works.
If You've Been Quietly Wondering…
Travel might not look the same as it did before your stroke, your diagnosis, your injury. You might need more planning, more flexibility, more intention. You might have moments where things feel harder than they used to.
But that doesn't mean it's not worth doing. In many ways, it becomes more meaningful. Because you're choosing it.
And you don’t have to settle for a frantic bus tour with surface level stops at landmarks and an alarming focus on don’t forget to stop at the gift shop! just because you have a disability.
As one of our clients put it, comparing my approach to a traditional travel agent’s, "It's like the difference between going to the “factory store” for a winery to bring home an ‘authentic bottle’ versus actually being at the vineyard, talking to the growers, smelling the earth, seeing the process, and tasting the batches. You don't just stumble into that experience. But Frank knows how to find them."
If you've been thinking about traveling but aren't sure how to make it work — let's talk. https://depthdiscoverytravels.com/pages/contact