The doctors ran their tests and got back to me two weeks later. They assured me that though the symptoms were similar, what happened to me wasn't technically considered a stroke. Instead, what I experienced was merely the normal side effects of upgrading Android.

Though the doctors' news confused me, I only had one question for them: if I hadn't suffered a stroke, then who had?

You see, it is a habit of mine to read on my phone at late hours of the night. Being a Californian, I naturally use a blue light filter on every single light bulb in the house after 5pm Pacific. And it goes without saying that I use one on my phone also. 

In fact, when using my phone late at night, I also dim the brightness of my phone down to zero. By zero, I mean Kelvin. To give you an idea of how low I set my phone's brightness in the evening, just know that if possible, I would read by sonar.

I have only myself to blame for what happened. I had been an arduous defender of Android version when-I-bought-it, but the phone had been nagging me incessantly to upgrade it to Android version when-bought-it-point-two. For years I held my ground, refusing to upgrade under any circumstances. By sheer strength of my will, I held out for years. But sadly, I suffered a severe lapse of judgment and clicked the "upgrade now" button instead of the "remind me tomorrow" button.

And that's when my troubles began.

They ended about 15 minutes later, when the phone finished upgrading.

But little did I know, that my troubles were just about to begin.

Later that evening, I clutched my side in pain as my wife drove me to the hospital. "Drive faster!" I shouted at her, fighting back tears. "I'm going as fast as I can!" she replied. It's worth noting that it has been scientifically proven that there is no car in the world that can get her to drive 5mph above the speed limit.

In the ER, I explained to the doctors what happened.

"I normally dim the brightness on my phone at night," I told them. "Only this time, it didn't go as planned."

"Tell us what happened," they said.

Fighting back tears of trauma, I continued recanting the tale only under the assurance that more morphine would be administered upon the story's completion. Fortunately for me, the tale was actually a six-part miniseries.

To summarize for the reader, the important part is this:

"It was late at night, and pitch-black in my room. I clicked the button to turn off the automatic brightness setting on my phone, but instead of opening up the brightness settings, it turned up the brightness to MAXIMUM!"

The doctors recoiled, audibly gasped, and nearly fell backwards out of their seats.

"We have heard of this occurring in other hospitals, but until now, we thought it was only an urban legend,"  they explained. "We will have to run more tests to be sure, but we hope to be able to reassure you that you did not suffer a stroke."

"If I didn't suffer a stroke," I told them, "then who did? Who in their right mind would put the 'settings' button RIGHT NEXT TO the 'maximum brightness' setting?"

They looked at each other solemnly and agreed. "No one in their right mind would do this," said the wisest among them. "In all my travels I have only come across one individual who would design UX so poorly, but he does so intentionally, to cause harm to those who use his products."

"Who is this individual?" I asked.

After a long pause that seemed to drag on forever, intensifying every instant with anticipation of the wise one's response, another doctor prodded the wisest one awake.

"His name," the wisest doctor said upon waking, "is Colin Robinson."