Ken Kerns didn’t just wake up from a stroke. He woke up from a 10-day medically induced coma after an AVM brain hemorrhage, facing a reality that would shake anyone’s identity: right-side paralysis, aphasia, and the exhausting work of rebuilding everyday life from scratch.

And then, because stroke recovery loves a twist, one of the nurses kept calling him Frank.

That moment might sound funny now, but in the early days of brain injury, it landed like a true identity crisis. Ken would later turn that experience into a book title: Anything But Frank—and into a bigger message that matters for every survivor and caregiver: recovery isn’t one problem to solve. It’s dozens. And you solve them one by one.

This episode covers the full story (AVM, coma, aphasia, purpose). But it also includes something many survivors are actively searching for: foot drop solutions after stroke without an AFO—specifically, a practical tool Ken found that helped reduce falls and made walking feel more natural again.

Ken’s stroke happened early in the COVID era, when work had shifted home and hospitals were under intense strain. He was preparing for a meeting when he went to the bathroom and collapsed. His wife, Carrie, couldn’t open the door—he’d fallen behind it. She called emergency services.

Ken has no memory of those moments. Like many survivors, he had to rebuild the story from what others told him.

What followed was terrifying uncertainty. A neurosurgeon reviewed imaging and initially feared a tumor (Ken had a history of kidney cancer years earlier). Carrie was allowed into the emergency room to say goodbye because it wasn’t clear Ken would survive surgery.

But in surgery, the cause became clear: an arteriovenous malformation (AVM). The surgeon removed it, and Ken was placed into a medically induced coma for 10 days.

When Ken woke, his deficits were immediate and brutal:

One of the most honest parts of Ken’s story is how confusing aphasia can feel from the inside. Ken described it like this: his cognition is there, answers are forming—yet the “path” to speech is obstructed.

“My brain works much faster than my mouth.”

“There used to be a direct path… and now that path is worn… covered by weeds.”

That metaphor matters because it reframes aphasia as a communication access issue—not a lack of intelligence.

Ken found a major turning point through a Minnesota-based communication group: Minnesota Connect Aphasia Now (MNCAN). Practicing weekly conversations (with support from a speech-language pathologist) rebuilt something more than words. It rebuilt confidence.

He went from relying on Carrie to order food or check in at airports… to speaking up again in real-world settings. And eventually, he didn’t just participate—he stepped into leadership and became president of the board.

If you’re living with aphasia, this is one of the most powerful “hidden wins” in recovery: you don’t have to wait until speech is perfect to start practicing in the world.

In the hospital, a nurse repeatedly called Ken “Frank.” It sounds like a paperwork mistake—but for someone fresh out of coma, it triggered fear and confusion: Did I die? Am I someone else? Who will I FaceTime?

When the iPad finally turned around and he saw Carrie, he cried—not from sadness, but relief.

Later, Ken’s siblings did what siblings do: they turned the story into a running joke. They called him Frank. Ken’s response became a line that carried him forward:

That phrase became the title of his book and a symbol of what recovery often is: reclaiming identity while your body and brain renegotiate who you are.

Ken also spoke candidly about emotional recovery. In rehab, he felt intense anger—then shifted into a daily question that gave him structure: “Guide my day. Show me the purpose.” Whether you share Ken’s faith or not, the takeaway is universal:

When recovery feels chaotic, survivors need a meaningful frame to keep going.

Foot drop is one of those stroke problems that seems “small” until it isn’t. It can quietly steal independence through trips, falls, and fear—especially on stairs, uneven ground, and (in Ken’s case) Minnesota snow and ice.

Ken described classic foot drop challenges:

He used an ankle-foot orthotic (AFO), which helped. But later, he discovered a product that—for him—became a workable AFO alternative: Cadence shoes.

Ken’s experience was specific and practical:

This is crucial: this isn’t “one weird trick.” It’s a tool that matched Ken’s exact pattern of movement, environment, and needs.

If you’re exploring foot drop solutions, here’s the smart way to use Ken’s story:

Ken also used another independence tool: a left-foot accelerator to return to driving while his right ankle remained immobile. That’s a reminder that “walking recovery” isn’t only rehab—it’s also smart adaptation.

Ken’s recovery wasn’t a straight line. It was many small wins, stacked over time. If you’re in the thick of it, consider this simple plan:

And if you’re a caregiver: the biggest gift is often helping your person keep experimenting—without pressure, without shame, and without rushing the timeline.

Ken’s “new way to walk” is a valuable segment—but the whole episode is the real promise: AVM stroke recovery, aphasia progress, identity rebuilding, and the meaning that can emerge after trauma.

If you want more stories like this (and practical tools survivors are actually using), you can also check out Bill’s book and support the podcast here:

This blog is for informational purposes only and does not constitute medical advice. Please consult your doctor before making any changes to your health or recovery plan.

Ken woke from a 10-day coma after an AVM stroke, unable to speak or move his right side, then rebuilt his voice and his walking confidence for life.

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