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I had my SAH on May 19th this year. I got up around 9am feeling fine. Around 1015 I went to the bathroom to wash, next thing I knew, BAM! I felt like my head was exploding. I screamed with the pain and my son came to see what was wrong. He helped me to my room where I fell onto the bed screaming and holding my head. I couldn't open my eyes and my neck was painful. My son called an ambulance and when they arrived the paramedic told me I was having a panic attack and to calm down. By this time I was curled up on my bed sobbing with the pain, semi conscious. The paramedic asked me if I could walk to the ambulance and when I moaned "No", he told me "Well, either you walk or stay here; Ive got a bad back." My son and a neighbour had to carry me to the ambulance. On arrival at the hospital at 10.55am, I was seen by a junior doctor who diagnosed a bad headache and gave me paracetemol. He didn't examine me except for taking my blood pressure. My daughter told him that I had lost both my parents, a brother and a sister to brain haemmorage and he told them this was irrelevent and didnt even put it in my notes. By this time I was shaking violently and vomiting, unable to move my limbs, couldnt open my eyes, was semi-conscious and my speach was slurred. 3 hours later, the same doctor told me he would give me more analgesic and see about sending me home. Eventually, after 8 hours of being treated for a bad headache, a nurse in the A&E department took it upon herself to call for a senior doctor. He examined me and sent me for a CT scan where it was discovered I'd had a bleed. I waited a further 5 hours before being transferred to a neuro unit and underwent an MRI scan. I went to theatre to have my aneurysm coiled at 1 am. I spent 3 weeks in ICU. My family and I are very angry at my lack of treatment at the A&E.

I thought I would tell you my story after reading some of the others. It all started on Sunday 15 May this year. I had got up around 6 a.m. I am not a great sleeper so this was nothing unusual. I read for about an hour and then decided I would go to the shop for the Sunday papers and then planned to start some painting as we were in the middle of some major decorating. I looked at the clock and it was 7 a.m. I then felt the most incredible pain at the back of my head, it was like an explosion and I remember thinking to myself "oh my god what's that" I stumbled accross the lounge and staggered up the stairs to get my partner. I literally fell onto the bed, all I kept saying was "my head, my head". My partner woke up and still groggy said I must have a migraine. I felt violently sick and got up of the bed and dragged myself into the bathroom but the pain in my neck was so intense that I couldn't lean over the toilet. In the meantime my partner had brought up some paracetamol and water but I didn't take them. My speech was slurred and I think he realised this was something serious. He got me out to the car and my legs felt numb but along with the pain and nausea the light was burning my eyes and I spent the 15 min car journey with my hands over my eyes still mumbling about wanting to be sick. On arriving at the Diana Princess of Wales Hospital in Grimsby I could not stand so I was wheeled into A & E where I was seen immediately and had a scan within minutes. I can't describe how bad the pain was and luckily they gave me morphine but I also vomitted a lot. The doctor said the scan showed a bleed on the brain and they were transferring me to Hull Royal Infirmary Neurological Dept. I was conscious throughout and remember wondering why they had the flashing lights on the ambulance, it was around lunchtime I think when we got there. My partner had been trying to contact my daughter but got no answer and eventually drove to her home. After arriving at Hull I had an angiogram and was told that I had a ruptured aneurysm and they would take me to theatre and coil it the next day. I didn't sleep the whole night due to the pain despite having regular morphine injections. The next morning I was taken to theatre and had the coiling. When I woke up the headache was bearable and the doctors told me that the operation had gone well although they had found a further aneurysm. I spent the next 7 days in the HDU and was then transferred to the neurological ward for a further week. I was monitored at least every 15-20 mins throughout my stay and the care and attention I received was just amazing. My partner and daughter (who had only had a baby 3 weeks before) along with my family visited me every day of my stay and I know how much of a shock it has been for them. I am slowly recovering and had a check up a couple of weeks ago. I am due to have an angiogram within the next couple of months to check that the coils have settled and also to discuss what (if any) further treatment I may need on the other aneurysm. I am so glad that I found this site and that my side effects are "normal"!! I get great support from family and friends but like others find it hard to explain how I feel. I always say that I am getting better even though I have good/bad days as you feel that's what's expected. I know how fortunate I am, I didn't suffer any seizures/fits and am hoping that I can soon drive as I am intending to return to work in about a month and it will be really inconvenient to walk at least a mile to the bus stop as i I live 10 miles from my workplace. I too have my moments of feeling like I have a time bomb ticking away and even worry about going up to bed to sleep and spending time on my own. I guess it just takes time to get over something major as this and knowing others are there for advice and support is a great comfort. Anyway, thanks for this and sorry its so long.

Well I went surfing on a bank holiday in May 2009 to then come round 1 month later in hospital. I had a SAH in the water where, according to a family on a cliff top who phoned 999, I floated face down for about 12 minutes and then an off duty doctor happened to to jogging along the beach and saw me and dragged me out, gave me CPR and then the air ambulance picked me up. According to the family the initial prognosis was really bad with death being the most likely outcome, although a chance I might survive but be in a permanent vegetative state. After a few weeks in an induced coma they clipped the aneurysm and then I came around. I was cognitively OK all things considered, memory OK, and physically weak but operational. So I was thinking great lets just get back to life. Within a week I was out of hospital and surfing and playing tennis again and back at work 10 weeks later. So why 2 years on do I feel as though I am a completely different animal to everyone else around me. Why does the world just not make sense to me like it used to. I have various physical issues in terms of back and shoulder pain that may be linked to the SAH (any thoughts on this massively appreciated) but otherwise my life is essentially the same. I have a job I think I like (I used to love it pre SAH but now nothing is that clear), lots of sports and a good quality of life but nothing is the same anymore. I have hung onto the hope that it will 'get better' with time but now it feels as though I have gone too far down a road that you cannot return from and that 'getting better' won't happen in the sense of returning to my old self and that I some how have to learn to find some kind of way to find peace with my new existence. Anyway I have rambled on for ages so apologies, I am just soooo amazed to have found this site and realised what I am experiencing isn't unique. Thanks for reading, Neil

Nearly three years on and its about time I told my story! So here it is: 　 I got up on June 5th 2008 and was making a cup of tea as I always did at 6.30am when suddenly I had this incredible headache and started to feel very strange, I stumbled upstairs with the tea and collapsed on the bed saying to my husband, you’ll have to do something! Think you need to call a doctor! My head hurts badly! My husband said I’ll get a shower, will you be alright! Think he realised there was something wrong!, then he called 999 and explained to them they need to come. Meanwhile I was trying to access my phone to try and call a colleague that I was meant to be picking up from the station at 7.30am but with your brain going into melt down it was nearly impossible, my husband took the phone away from me as I drifted in and out of consciousness. The next thing I knew was the paramedics coming in the bedroom, asking me questions, what was my name, could I squeeze his hand?… I remember them carrying me downstairs in a chair but after that nothing. I don’t remember anything about the next 6 weeks! The only things I know are from a diary that my daughters kept for me. My husband recounts the time and says he really didn’t know what the outcome would be. I came home, my daughters and husband were fantastic, gradually allowing me to function again. the next few months are all a bit hazy. The diary helped, although I cry and laugh when I read it now! The classic quote is when the doctors ask me ‘where are you? I reply ‘where am I or where would I like to be!’ ‘Behind the Gray’ became my life line, it was the first thing I did everyday - logged on, was disappointed when there was no one to chat too! The site answered many of my questions as did some of the people on there, it was a real help and support in time of despair! I couldn’t drive, had to try out the buses! Eventually I got my license back and decided I would return to work, I had to go back even though my husband didn’t think I should, but I had to try even if I couldn’t do it - and I couldn’t! after a staged return it became obvious that I couldn’t do the job ( I was a service manger for the local education authority, managing the service which supported children with behavioural problems) so I went through the process of applying for early ill health retirement. It was very hard - having to retire from a job which had been my life, suddenly it was taken from me, all the structure was gone, my daily routine changed completely, what do I do? I felt useless, I cant potter around all day! What am I going to do! - it took me a long time to come to terms with this. I tried everything I could to help myself - Chinese medicine , hypnotherapy, NLP, anything that I thought might help. I was weak, fatigued, lacked motivation, and feeling very low and depressed. My legs and feet in particular felt numb, I was frustrated that I couldn’t move as quickly as I used to - I used to be very fit, going to the gym, cycling, swimming - suddenly I couldn’t do this anymore. I cooked and cleaned and tried to occupy myself, taking my dog out (which my family had bought for me - a black Labrador - Max). It became a reason to get up, to take him out. Then I took him gundog training, this started to give me an interest which I enjoyed. By this time I was a year on from the haemorrhage. My husband had also bought me a DLSR camera and this gave me another interest. I then contacted an acupuncturist, she has been brilliant and has treated me for well over a year, she has given me more energy and motivation and I still continue to see her regularly. When I started to see her in January 2010 I was at 1 on a scale of 1-10, now I’m at 8/9. Now three years on I feel much better, My daughters have graduated, one of them has married and I have become a grandma! that really did make me feel old! I have completed a psychotherapy course and have a diploma in counselling. I continue to study Neurolinguistic programming (NLP) and Life coaching. I am also about to start a Diploma in Photography. I also continue to take my dog gundog training and am going to get another puppy later in the year, which I hope to train to a better level for working field trials. What is important is that I now have a very different life, I might not have planned this but I am here and enjoying it!

The real, the unreal and the space in-between. By William Bentley Chapter One. Nothing is written, it’s all chance. January 15th 2005 4.15 p.m. Leengate, Lenton, just outside the rear entrance of the Queens Medical Centre, Nottingham. Leengate, where I had spent so many years working at Bell-Fruit in the old tannery during the heyday of Glam – Rock and Disco, from 1973 to 1977. Working as a screen printer, churning out glass frontages for fruit machines. I saw the Queens Medical Centre rise from its foundations to become the immense machine of human success and failure, and everything in-between, that it still is. Millions of happy, or sad, outcomes and thousands of careers corralled within the now, crumbling concrete. Corners were cut when they built it, but, for all the Machiavellian, Blue- Circle deals, it remains, a magnificent example of the 1970’s Utopian dream of healthcare for all. All those years later I was delivering metalwork to Bell-Fruit on behalf of my then, current employer “Screen-Print Plus.” The van driver was off sick, so I had volunteered to make the delivery, two hours after my shift had finished. My normal work was “Head of Print Finishing” but I had been drafted in to the metalwork division to assist with the immense workload. Had I not been involved in this overtime delivery, I would have been at home, alone and six miles from the hospital. No one would have found me until it was too late. The shelves came down with a blinding flash. A ball of light, that I thought was the sun, came through the windscreen, then through me. Pain, like no other. A five-second migraine, that announced itself as a twinge and then, like feedback from a P.A. system in the hands of useless amateurs, a squeal, and smack, so hard, I must have passed out on the spot. I was standing beside the van I was driving. I could see it was my van, but I wasn’t in it. It was wrecked. Who am I? I know, but cannot say. Who am I? I know, but it just becomes a philosophical question. Meandering away from reality and all the people who were gathering around me, to stop me wandering off. I know! and that is all I know. So many questions from so many strangers. Some seemed familiar, some from nearby offices, some policemen and then some ambulance men, They seemed to know. Back of an ambulance. “You’ll be OK” said they. “What happened to the van?” said I. Who am I? I know, but cannot say. “Check my phone, it says all you need to know, I can’t remember”. They checked, and found my name. “Bill! That’s it, Bill”. “ Tell my wife, tell my kids, tell my boss I’ll be late tonight”. P****d myself, but it seemed ok, just warm. It was as if no one would notice. A warm, liquid, waist high, portent of future morphine. But the office- girl noticed. “He’s p****d himself” and “that’s not right” and “ something’s wrong with him.” The lorry driver wanted to hit me, because my van had smashed into his. “P****d up” he observed. The office – girl stopped him, placing herself in-between, and pointed out my wet patch. “I don’t think he’s p****d” she correctly diagnosed. Just one of many correct decisions she took that day, including phoning for the ambulance, my wife and sitting me down in her office reception. I hope she wins the lottery one-day, if things were fair, she would. I just had to sit down. A little sleep and I’ll be fine. “You need to stay awake,” said the office girl. I did, for some of the time. A little sleep in the reception of the office -girl and then in the ambulance, but nothing in-between. Curtains and nurses and plain clothes doctors and uniformed policemen with breathalyser, notebook and pen and questions and more questions, until a man, with important doctor tools, said; “ You have to leave now, you can’t bag him, we suspect a Sub-Arachnoid brain Haemorrhage”. He led the policemen away and further explained, just loud enough for me to hear from the corner of my ear, “He’s had some kind of bleed, and if it’s a SAH his chances aren’t good, less than fifty percent. If you breathalyse him, he will literally blow his brains out”. With a sniff of my breath, the policeman said “good luck mate” and that was an end of it. Years later I wondered if those policemen ever thought of the incident again. How many stories must they be part of, in any one given shift? How many do they ever see resolved? They must be at the beginning of so many human traumas and at the end so few. I think that would cause me sleepless nights. Perhaps that’s why I am not a policeman. Such waves of pain, Pain like no other, until, Chris and Liz were there, (thanks to the office girl, again). They were lost for words, and I had no words, at least none of any meaning. They were in shock, holding each other, sometimes crying. Standing over me with worried brows, scared of the possible future. It seemed so quick, but may have been hours, until I was somehow dressed in operation garb, consenting to something or other and being comforted and cried over, whilst knowing that I would be ok, or not, it didn’t seem to matter which. “There’s a chance you won’t survive the operation,” said a doctor,” do you understand?” “Yes” I replied, not knowing what he was talking about. “We are going to repair the ruptured aneurysm by filling the hole with Platinum coils, there is a risk of stroke and we won’t know about permanent brain damage until several days after the operation”. I think I understood, but can’t remember being afraid. The only distress was, having to watch Chris and Liz trying to be strong for me. I lay on the trolley and began to fade into the pre-med. ”Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,” I said, unable to imagine anything but a positive outcome. Not ever waking–up is actually impossible to imagine. Like Pavlov’s dog, we are conditioned to expect a tomorrow, even when we are informed that it may not be so. It just had to be stopped, that pain that came in waves, and felt like no other. I signed the form and sank into oblivion, thinking of Leengate, then, and now. Chapter Two. A question of balance. Then it was tomorrow. Everyone was there, Chris, Tom, Liz, Mum, Dad and Linda, glad that I was. The pain was in the distance, but so was everyone who was there. Voices, like distant megaphones, then, very loud and close. Tubes and needles, nurses and family. Warm feelings from within, like a Michelin- man removed from touch. The ward lights were unbearable. Electromagnetic daggers. If I were being interrogated, I would have confessed immediately, there was no escape from the rays. Things were said – I don’t know what, but everyone seemed relieved. One minute, there were visitors, then I was alone. Didn’t remember saying goodbye. Even at night, the dim ward lights sought me out, burrowing into my head. Distant pain, small pain, wrapped up in Morphine, pain like no other. Then it was tomorrow, night. Very quiet! The guy in the next bed was in a coma. A police car had run over him, whilst responding to a call to help him, after he had been attacked outside “Blotts” nightclub in West Bridgford. It is very poorly lit down that road and they didn’t see him lying in the road. They ran over his head. I wonder if it was the same two policemen, who came to me, beginning another unfinished story? The bed opposite me was empty. When I looked again, my dead sister, Anne, was asleep in the bed. Her head was bandaged. Anne had died in 1979 as the result of a Sub-Arachnoid Haemorrhage. Surgery was quite crude in those days, mine was positively Star- Trek- Tricorder, compared to her’s. Anne was really unlucky. She was born with a spinal cyst in 1953. The surgery she underwent on her spine damaged her legs and lower body functions, leading to a lifetime of struggle. She never complained, and lived her life in a manner that makes me ashamed whenever I feel sorry for myself. She was born too soon for the hand she was dealt. She was always laughing, and I desperately wanted to talk to her. I slid off my bed and crossed the ward, stretching my catheter as far as it would go, and said, “Anne”. A nurse said, “ what are you doing out of bed? Come on, get back in.” I turned towards her, and then back to Anne, but Anne was gone, bubble burst, (both of us). “Anne,” I said to the nurse. “ Back to bed “ said the nurse. I felt annoyed because I needed to ask Anne…. Something? I returned to my bed and watched the bed opposite all night. Sometimes she was there, sometimes she wasn’t. I held her in my gaze as long as I could, and felt close to her, our common fate uniting us in sibling warmth. She did not respond, but, just for a while, I felt safe in the knowledge that I would never end, or be alone. I have never been a man of faith, but the blurring of boundaries between life and death and the promise of no afterlife are no longer so certain within me. I know what I saw, and that is all I know. Then it was tomorrow, morning. Mr McArthur (the Consultant) and some young doctors, “How are you feeling today?” “Ok” I said. “You’ve had a Sub-Arachnoid Haemorrhage and are very lucky to be alive” “ It hurt,” I said, with the medical precision that comes with experience. “ It would” he said, “it was a burst aneurysm, it’s like being shot in the head”. “That’s what killed Anne, “ I said. “Who’s Anne?” He said. I looked at the bed opposite. She was there. They looked at the bed opposite, then back at me. “Anne” I said, motioning towards her with my gaze. “You will be confused for a while now due to the SAH and the medication”. “Ok” I said, “thanks”. You have to be alive to be confused. A stream of people, whom I used to know, came to see me. Some were real and some imagined, and some of them may have been dreamed. I’m not sure how much of it was real, but after a week or so, the catheter came out and I was allowed up. The floor was much closer than it seemed. I walked, like a Cyberman, one foot, then the other, arms slightly out for added balance. I used to play like this, as a child. I was a Spitfire or a Stuka, but now I was much slower, like a heavily laden bomber at take- off, leaning one way then the other, in Kung –Fu slow motion. I felt very anxious about banging my head, as the ward furniture conspired to trap me into cranial collisions. “Very good” said the nurse, who turned out to be Clive’s daughter. “ Keep trying, you’re doing very well,” she said, as she passed, engaged in an important task. Clive (Myphalator) Smith never came to see me. Maybe he didn’t know, or maybe he did come, and I don’t remember. Clive and I recorded loads of stuff in the 1980s as the “Green and Yellow Buddies.” Some of the music would resurface later, and it’s one of Clive and my songs, that, re-worked, describes the D10 ward experience. I walked to the shower and then along the ward. “I’m not bothered about the shower” I said, or thought. “ I can’t smell anything,” (still can’t very much). “You need to start walking, it will stop you getting pneumonia”, said nurse Smith. “Ok” said I, “I don’t want that”. I’m not sure how many days I spent on D10 but it seemed a long time and it became a comfortable routine of sleep,food, Radio 4 and showers. The food was rubbish, apart from the ham salads, they were great. I think it was the texture of the lettuce, because there was no taste, (still isn’t). Comfortable institutionalisation. My old friend, Phil Bolton, came to see me and arranged for me to be given a private room on D10 ward. I had no idea that Phil had become so important within the NHS. He was head of maintenance or something and said I would be safer in this private room where the MRSA couldn’t get me. Phil was the first person I met when we moved to Nottingham from Chorley in 1963, and though I rarely see him now, I will always regard him as one of my best friends. You can’t have too many friends in high places. It is my belief that new synapses had formed. So much that was accepted as reality was suddenly changed. Life was what I perceived, and not what everyone else perceived. Medically, of course, this is nonsense, and cannot be proved, just as hereditary aneurysms are not proved? Nevertheless, that’s what I believe. I began to see things for what they were, stripped of moral or cultural associations, removed from threat, shame or embarrassment. It was truly liberating, like an old man in a middle-aged man’s body. Free to say anything I felt, with the knowledge that I would be forgiven in my present state. For example; I snuck off the ward to bum a fag outside. The first person I asked gave me one, just to make me go away I suppose. A security guard asked me if I was all right. “Yes thanks,” I said. “It’s just that you’re in your pyjamas, with no shoes on, and its freezing.” With touching concern, he added, “Don’t you feel cold?” “No” I replied “ but not wanting to be a burden, “I’ll finish this fag and go back inside”. “Which ward are you on?” he asked. “D10” I replied. “That explains it “ he smiled, “ come on, back to bed sir”. What a nice young man, and so knowledgeable about nutcase wards. I walked back to the main entrance, and noticed that everyone was staring at me. It just didn’t matter, I would never see them again, and what did I care what any of them thought? I knew I would appear in many bar-room anecdotes and would be the proof of Care- in- the-Community’s ignorant wisdom. That, was the moment of realisation! The embarrassment had gone, the shame and the fear had gone. I strolled back to the ward, smirking at passers bye, saying hello to strangers and helping myself to a paper in the shop. No one said a word as I walked out without paying. They saw me, but did nothing. You can get away with anything when you’re nuts. The security guard shadowed me back to the ward. Maybe, he paid for my paper. What a nice young man! I was very dependent on the medication being delivered on time and would become quite distressed if it was late. The thought of the pain returning was my only fear and I would stand by the nurse’s station like a seal at feeding time, shamelessly, first in line. Even with the medication, the pain came to get me, small pulses, in time with my heartbeat. Then, like a reverse echo, stronger with every repeat, until it was unbearable. I bit the pillow in agony and screamed for relief. Usually, they came straight away, but on one occasion, no one came, and I ended up smashing the phone at the abandoned nurse’s station, demanding relief. Security were called, and I got my relief. It was a different guard, but equally understanding. Another nice young man! The hallucinations were, first, bizarre, then, quite humorous. I stood on the corridor outside D10 and clung like a limpet to the wall, as processions of Welsh rugby players passed bye in jocular banter. Fast forwards, tiny scrumhalves and all their followers. Maybe they did, but I doubt it. There were insects crawling all over the ward, not like an infestation, but working, for the NHS, busily cleaning things and checking things with their antenna. One of them gave me a bed bath, very strange, but I took it like an Englishman and thanked her. Aggressive youths in the A &E department were causing people to gravitate away. I could see it for what it really was, frightened, monkey behaviour, shrieking and advancing on people, only to pull back with arms waving, daring anyone to advance. Suddenly it was all amusing, and I just had to laugh. They said something rude to me, but I carried on laughing, and they seemed puzzled by the response. The security men seemed to think I was part of the problem, maybe I was, so I left. Even yobs don’t fancy an encounter with an irrational man. If you’re immune to threat, what else are you capable of? Why I was in the A&E department in the first place, I don’t know, but that’s how it was. Just wandering around, being nuts, I suppose? It was as if the new connections had presented me with a form of enlightenment that killed the fear and replaced the man I used to be. I was through the looking glass, and I was Alice. The Q.M.C. was my playground as I wandered around observing everyone else’s medical adventures. Sitting in the WRVS café drinking some abandoned beverage and talking to anyone who would listen. Informing the staff that my mother had once been the head of their organisation in Nottingham, only to be met with, “are you going to buy something? Only we’re very busy”. I didn’t have any money and I wasn’t going to buy anything, but I just thought they should know. It seemed important at the time. I would return to the ward just before visiting time, so no one would know what I had been up too. Hospitals are full of people in various states of consciousness and, after a while I blended in with the Cuckoo’s nest, Looking glass, Wonderland souls that are everywhere, if you look for them. Chapter Three. The shelves, and everything on them. I say the shelves came down because that’s how Mr McArthur described it. All the memories and experiences that, together, make up all that we are, line up in a formal, linear, pattern. Everything is dated and catalogued in sync with everyone else’s memories. A series of book shelves, everything in its place, locked, forever in time and space. In other words, everyone’s shared reality. On January 15th 2005, the shelves came down. All that I knew or had experienced or had imagined lay spread across the lining of my brain. Everything was there, it was just all mixed up. I still knew what I knew. I just didn’t know how to express it in terms of linear memory. Things that happened thirty years ago were, as if yesterday. It was a removal from immediate reality that was not disturbing, because it all made perfect sense at the time. The only confusion was when people visited me and tried to connect with their own share of my past. Only the application of time, as we know it, caused any distress. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I must have seemed insane, and was aware of hiding my true thoughts by just remaining silent or pretending to be asleep. More than one visitor turned to leave with a worried, knowing glance at my wife. With this new perception, came a clarity that was truly exiting. It was like being a child again, but with the benefit of an adult education. So much to relearn and remember, but it all seemed fresh, and new. Tinitus, and lack of balance were the physical problems. Constant, bell-like after ring in my left ear and terrible judgement of the speed of moving objects. Something had changed forever. I mentioned clarity because that was the overriding feeling. It was almost God-like at times, a feeling of superiority that I knew I had to hide and suppress. All the fear had gone. If I had survived this – I could survive anything. I saw the insects, going about their business, patronising me, oblivious of my superiority, like a Midwitch Cuckoo heralding the coming man. The figures from Mr McArthur swam around my head. 50% die on the spot, 25% die the next day from subsequent bleeds, 12% recover enough to work in stress free jobs and 12% recover completely. I did the maths and thought, what if I am the missing 1%? Maybe I can come out of all this, improved. I would like to hear from other SAH survivors to find out if anyone else experienced the euphoria. Maybe it was just enough damage, maybe it was because mine, was the rear-connecting artery, maybe it’s because nothing is written and it’s all chance. What if the metals in the blood short circuited the thinking process and left me able to start my script from new? Like the incoming tide wiping out messy footprints in the sand, leaving a pristine surface, pure and ready for new prints. When the hallucinations faded, (Anne, Rugby, etc) and the pain echoes receded, I was told I could leave hospital, but only when my bowels were working. This took another week. Dry, biscuit- turds, painful and perfectly round. They would not have been out of place in the Tate Modern. Ironic works of art for a man who has battled with alcohol- related diarrhoea for most of his adult life. On the way home, Chris and I called in to thank the office- girl. We gave her a bunch of flowers and a box of chocolates, in gratitude for her presence of mind and prompt actions. We told her she was a great first-aider, and she said she would consider taking the course. She glowed with the feeling that she had done a great thing that really made a difference. How many of us can truly say that we have done the same? I hope she wins the lottery one day, Karma says she should. Then I was free! D.W.P, daytime T.V. and lots of cold friends coming to visit me. Day after day of tiredness on a grand scale, sleeping, in-between routine tasks and taking all day to dress and eat. On one whimsical day I went to the dog sanctuary and bought a rescue dog, on the pretext of having a reason to go out for a walk everyday. Not all my decisions were nuts during this time, as “Todd” is now my hairy, bear-faced, second son. Chapter Four. Thin Veneer and re-writing the past. July 2005, Mark, Adam, Sahala and me began work on the album,“Thin Veneer” and came up with the name of “Aethertrip” for the band. I had so much time on my hands and was picking up speed on my drinking. My wardrobe was beginning to bear witness to the bizarre, inner- nature of the world I was inhabiting. Chris was great,forgiving my lack of domestic contribution, whilst allowing me to drift from day to day, on the pretext of recuperation. But something had changed. All the songs and poems that I had scraped away at for years, seemed, suddenly childish and shallow. My new thoughts mocked my previous attempts and like the first day at a new school, every thing was fresh and anything was possible. I started recording radio signals from my old “Blaupunct Sultan” radio, placing chords beneath the waves and poly- rhythms above. Sahala, who was not yet fifteen, was a friend of my daughter and I was fascinated by her haunting voice. It was so mature for one so young and seemed to suit the stark nature of some of the tracks. Writing- joined- up and converting half- baked ideas into the songs that would eventually make the album “Thin Veneer”, we jammed through session after session in my attic studio. As we came to the end of the recording, in September 2005, the next set of ideas were forming. Too many to keep up with. It was all becoming too much to control and when Adam went back to University, Mark and I took our foot off the collective accelerator and sat back to survey what we had done. Most of the “Thin Veneer” tracks were laid down live, with overdubs added later, mistakes and all, so it really captured that summer of clarity, drinking and recuperation. (www.myspace.com/aethertrip) As 2006 approached, the lack of money and abundance of time was beginning to hang heavy. For some reason- maybe the seeking of the oblivion I had been denied by survival- I began to really drink. Never before nine, it used to be, but slowly and inevitably it became eight then seven then tea-time. One bottle every two days plus a few pints at the pub. Then it was one bottle a day with, always, one bottle in reserve. My G.P. warned me that there were many types of alcoholic and I was becoming one. He ordered me to stop drinking all together. I was never very good with orders. My Dad was deteriorating with Alzheimer’s disease and I was the family member with all the time on my hands, so I had to take him out most days. You see, my Dad was a high achiever in his youth, surviving Atlantic convoys in the war and forming the companies that would become “Argos” and” Experian”. He made his first fortune by buying the rum- ration from tee-total fellow matelots and selling the watered down product to New York bars and anyone else who would pay. By the time he was twenty, he had nearly four hundred pounds saved (Enough for a house in Chorley in 1944) but all this was swallowed up by paying for his Dad to have a Harley Street operation for throat cancer. The operation was not successful and his Dad died. (My Granddad). He left the Navy with very little in 1945 and became the strong, driven man that I remember. He didn’t know there was anything wrong with him, apart from forgetting the odd thing. He just wanted to go to the pub every day, as he had done all his life. If I couldn’t take him he would become argumentative with my Mum, and insist on taking a taxi. He couldn’t see what the problem was, even though he had no idea of how long he was out or how much he was drinking. People would take advantage of him, thinking it was funny to engage him in betting scenarios, whilst knowing he would not remember the bet. I n his heyday, he was the consummate gambler and it was heartbreaking to see him still trying to gamble, but without the memory and statistical homework that made him so successful as a younger man. The bookies got their own back in the final eighteen months of his life. The amounts of money being lost left my Mum at the edge of a nervous breakdown. My mum was the world’s first re-cycle guru, never throwing a plastic bag away or wasting on ounce of food. Lack of money in her youth had given her a focus on waste that remains to this day, and gambling was waste. I took him whenever I could, just for the sake of domestic harmony. I t was like Groundhog- day, same pub, same people, same conversation- everyday the same, for eighteen months, and when I arrived home, every- night, the same bottle for me. We kept on recording, sporadically, through all this, and Adam’s enthusiasm drove us on until Adam left university, lost contact with his musician –friends and lost momentum. Without his drive Mark (who was as fragile as I was, for different reasons) and I came to a grinding halt. 2007 was the real low point. Dad had just died, the bottle –a –day regime was firmly entrenched, the money was short, the creativity was deep and dark, but nothing was being recorded. Something had to change. The high point of my week was the pub- quiz with the MWFC (Mick Walker Fan Club) pub quiz team. Ged, Tex, Keith and Dickie were a ready- made audience for my drunken buffoonery. Dressed in increasingly bizarre clothing, I would turn up to the quiz, sometimes drunk before I got there, and contribute ***-all but they tolerated me and were an anchor of normality when I needed it most Time was everywhere. I had never had so much to spare. Things would be put off and ignored because there was always tomorrow and lunchtime became my morning. It was only when my G.P. suggested that I went on a course of antidepressants that I realised I was depressed. I was not taking care of my health or my appearance and I resolved to try and put some structure back into my life. I was aware that if I succumbed to antidepressants I would have to disclose this to any future employer, so I decided to think my way out of depression. I thought I was smart enough to council myself and strong enough to ride out this temporary trough in my mood. This was the big mistake. My long, dark tunnel of depression was lubricated by alcohol and denial and given the choice again, I would accept the help and damn the employers prejudice. The net result of my self imposed care plan is a social- life- destroying fear of social drinking that makes me appear, to all who know me, like a miserable killjoy, afraid of casual, normal, after-work drinks, in case it becomes a “session” that I cannot control. Only the pub quiz offers me the safe, constricted time frame, for sensible drinking. I’m on the wagon, but I just wish it would stay still, so I don’t fall off so many times. It’s the price I pay for smart-**** self-medication. Chapter Five. Every Cloud. (This and That) In September 2007 I started volunteering at New College Nottingham just to get me out of the house and give me a reason to wash. My surviving sister Linda, who was in charge of the Pre – Entry programme, suggested that I could use my recording skills with learners with learning difficulties. I was allowed to teach non- exam related creativity to young adults with various syndromes. It was the perfect platform for my music and poetry skills and played an enormous part in rebuilding my self-esteem and confidence. By Christmas 2007 I was part of the teaching team and had enrolled on the Preparing To Teach in the Lifelong learning Sector (PTTLS) course. I had done all this without many people knowing what had happened to me. It was on the course that I met Steve and Carey. Government legislation had decreed that all people teaching in further education had to have a teaching qualification, so Steve and Carey had signed up for the PTTLS course as well. Our shared interests of music, amplifiers, instruments and poetry, lead, very quickly, to us becoming friends,(known as the Three Musketeers). We must have seemed quite powerful to the others on the course, as we supported each other and backed each other up in all the classes and assignments. We sailed through the first year and comfortably entered 2008. Teaching hours had increased and benefits had stopped. I was halfway back to the income I had before the haemorrhage. All of a sudden I was a wage slave again. At one point I had the opportunity to remain on benefits forever, but only if I gave up my teaching hours. I decided to teach. I think I should have done it years ago, but it had never occurred to me. In many ways teaching is like performing stand-up comedy or being in a band, it’s the same thing, and equally draining. The second year of teacher training, DTLLS, (Delivering Teaching in the Lifelong Learning Sector) was much more rigorous. Writing at level five, which came naturally to me, but was quite a step up for Steve and Carey. Throughout the year the three of us soldiered on, dragging each other through every assignment and helping each other through lesson observations in such a conspiratorial way, it defies belief. When one of us was down and lost in despair, the other two would rally round and drag the spent corpse to the finish line. Luckily, two of us were always up, when one was down, and between us we got to the end by doing what we, as a species, are supreme at, Co-operating. The final part of 2008 presented us with increasingly difficult assignments, which we dispatched as much with tenacity as with ability and research. By the summer of 2009 we were facing the final hurdle of teacher training. We camped in the CPD (Continual Professional Development) centre for days on end, until we had met all the criteria and eventually, after many referrals, we were informed that we had passed. I think they were glad to see the back of us in the end. There was an audible sigh of relief when we announced “we’re finished” and “that’s it, we’re all done”. There was a definite feeling of “well done, now clear off” although no one actually said that. So much had changed since the shelves came down. A new life, new friends, new career and finally graduation and a new profession. Who knows what is written for anyone? Who knows what cards will be dealt? I know that nothing is impossible, and however close to the brink you may find yourself, whether it be through drink, drugs or medical mishap, there is always a way out. You may need to change your life completely. You may decide to spend your life on inadequate benefits, but this will only lead to deeper depression. The effect on yourself and your family is inevitably negative, no matter how understanding they are. Lack of self-esteem and purpose will spiral into paranoia and fear. Dependency will grow into a self –fulfilling lifestyle that undermines the soul and, eventually, irritates everyone connected to you. I know that not everyone has the good fortune to be surrounded by a tolerant, supportive family or to have a G.P. who is brutally honest with you, kicking down your excuses and trampling your self pity. My GP told me to see it for what it really was, a life changing event that offered new possibilities and that every cloud has a silver lining. (He had survived two SAH events). All these circumstances had aligned by chance and constituted the hand that I had been dealt. My reality, for what it’s worth, leads me to understand the following. However you may find yourself, whatever the circumstance, one thing is universally true; When you’re in deep, dark water, you have to learn how to swim. Simple as that, you sink, or you swim. There is always choice. This I know, and that is all I know.

I had an SAH in October 2009. I believe I have done very well in my recovery, but still do have a lot of niggling health problems. With a friend's encouragement I looked again for an on-line support group and am pleased that this has a positive and supportive feeling about it. My SAH happened suddenly with a bad headache. I was with family and visiting a mountain area. I told my partner I had a bad headache and decided to test whether I could still drive with the headache. I drove a short way and then stopped and asked one of my family to drive me for help. I said I thought I needed my blood pressure checking and we agreed to go to hospital. That was a good call! I have had a few family members who have had SAH and 2 of them died on the spot. So I seemed to know instinctively that it could be that. I had 2 weeks in intensive care and after release to a general ward asked to go home after a day, which I did. So, tough old me went back to work after 4 weeks off and I worked full-time for all of 2010. I was tired all the time and often came home and slept after work and 2 1/2 hrs travel each day. I finally realised that it was too much this year and am working this year 3 days per week until June 30, 2011. I have been trying to get my resiliance and strength back and this is working bit by bit. It's tough working in a competitive environment and not wanting to divulge too much at work about how difficult it is for me health wise. I do feel lucky though and believe I have come through quite well. My health issues are annoying and my body feels quite strange and different to how I was before the SAH. I will be looking online to see if anyone else has jaw problems, dizziness, very stiff neck and back, tiredness (still), lack of strength (but I was a slob last year), hair loss, memory problems and general ditsiness. I am happy to be here and hope to find some support online and hopefully offer a bit too.

Hi, I was really happy when the Physiotherapist told me on her next visit she would take me for a walk in my garden (last Thursday).. I thought things are looking up (Help at last)....so Thursday came I got ready early, woke the whole house up, 10 am came.... No Physiotherapist.....11am shoes on ...she is just running late she will come. My daughter rang the offices, no answer.......12 no PT ....no one in the office. Tears started falling, bottom lip trembling and tummy was rumbling (hunger pains)...I was so down I want to walk again so much. My daughter kept ringing, then at 4.45 she got hold of the Physio who told her she had a meeting but forgot to let us know....I am the one who is supposed to be forgetful! Well I was so upset, but I am not going to feel sorry for myself so just giving vent to my anger to BTG Grrrrr! ... swear words etc., ... Phew I feel a lot better regards, WinB

Hello, Let me thank you all for a forum which I have just discovered but has made me feel a lot better to read stories so close to my own experience. On January 23rd 2011 I suffered a SAH whilst at work. It came on as a headache at the back of my head which suddenly became the worst pain in my head that can only be described as my head was about to explode. My husband works with me part time so I told him to call an ambulance, being a person who has to be forced to go to the doctor my husband new there was something serious and called them straight away. I had passed out at that point and according to my husband as he was told by the emergency services what to do I had stopped breathing, he kept shouting my name and I could here him as if he was a long distace off, he said I took a long deep breath and then I came too. When the ambulance arrived they tried to talk to me and get details, At that point I was sick. I was walked to the ambulance and taken to A&E at Tameside hospital and given Paracetamol for the pain. I was then left for 4.5 hours before being sent for a scan. My husband was then told to get all next of kin to the hopital as I would probably die as I had suffered a big stroke. At that point my husband passed out with shock. I was transferred to Hope hopital (Salford Royal) where I recieved the best treatment you could get in the world. I had a coiling the following day and was out of there after 10 days. On the 9th of March I had to go for a check up and my specialist was suprised how well I looked. Being one who like to keep active I asked about going back to work which he said I could but part time. This is where my problem starts. I am the stewardess of a social club and eveyone tells me to take it easy and not do to much. my husband has been covering my shifts as well as working a further 8 hours a day at his full time job. I get tired quickly but also get bored easily and feel like I should be doing more. This has stared to depress me and I am feeling low and have found that people are annoying me by telling starting to tell me not to do to much to quick after such an operation. I know they are probably right but I am not the type of person who sits back and feels sorry for myself. Sorry for the length of this story but has anybody else gone through the same feelings and how do I cope with this? I can't wait to get back to full time work.

Hi All I had my SAH in September 2010. Firstly I must thank everyone on this site. I have been 'watching from afar' since I discovered this site in October/November last year but have been too insecure to join until now! I'd had a very busy day at work and had loads more to do the next day. My neck had been aching while working on the computer but put that down to stress and tenseness. I had a bath in the evening. I got out of the bath relaxed and bent over to pick my nightie off of the floor (where it had fallen to). Whilst bent over this enormous headache took over. I called my daughter (my husband was in the shower). I struggled to put my nightie on when my daughter arrived. my head and neck were both hurting so badly. My daughter helped me into her bedroom, which was closest, and I laid on the bed in absolute agony. My husband arrived and then rang the doctor. He got the out of hours doctor who rang him back. The doctor insisted on talking to me, even though I was holding my head and neck in agony. He told me he thought it was a migraine. i told him I didn't get migraines so he said that they can come on suddenly. I really was in so much pain I just remember thinking what a fool the doctor was!! He suggested that I go to his surgery in Reading (10 miles away) just to check. Consequently I didn't - I knew it wasn't a migraine but had no idea what it was but thought it was a trapped nerve! The pain subsided slightly so my husband helped me into our bed. We went to sleep. At 11.30pm the doctor rang us. My husband told him that he was taking me to our own doctors the next morning. This we did and my doctor told me it could be a bleed on the brain (shock)! We went directly to Royal Berks Hospital, Reading CDU where my doctor had rung through to book me a bed (joke!). Well no-one seemed to believe that I had an SAH! It took from 10.00 am until 5.00 pm when they finally gave me a CT scan. I had spent 3 hours in X Ray dept on my own waiting for CT scan! Suddenly there was activity and I was given a bed (had been chair hopping with other people all day).Then I was transferred to John Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford - arrived there at 8.20pm. Overnight my condition deteriorated and started vomitting. Superb at JR Oxford. By 9.30 the next morning, I was having my coils fitted!! Spent 10 days in JR then home. It hasn't been easy. In fact it has been hellish but I know I shouldn't moan - I'm still here thanks to the fantastic staff at John Radcliffe. I am self employed so therefore my income stopped immediately. I have had to go through some big hoops and major trauma to get my employment support allowance and with my lack of concentration really struggled with the appeal but managed to succeed. I am now trying to get back to work but my brain feels so sore that I'm finding it difficult to get back. The consultant at the hospital said it would be at least 3 months before I went back to work. I tried to aim for this but had wobbly brain syndrome and sore head. I thought I would be the exception to the rule and be back to where I was pre SAH but it has yet to materialise!! I always did push myself too hard but I am getting so frustrated that I can't do what I used to be able to do! Outwardly I look the same but inwardly I'm a pickle!! I don't like crowds (so towns are out and anyway don't have the cash!!). I find big stores too much for my brain scanning the shelves looking for things makes my eyes go weird!! Anyway- thought I'd just write a little bit and have waffled on out of control!! Thank you all, once again. This site has been and is still, an inspiration to me.

On the 28th March 2010 I was at my boyfriends and I suddenly felt really strange. My hands had pins and needles in and I had a strange headache, like no headache I had felt before. Apparently I then had a fit. When I came round I remember sweating and then I was sick loads, so my boyfriend took me to the hospital. There I continued to be sick and my head was still throbbing, I have never felt a headache like it. I remember thinking, 'I'm dying' but it felt so surreal. The last thing I remember is being taken into a consultation room and sitting on a bed. Apparently I had another fit, and when I was hooked up to the heart monitor, my heart rate had dropped to around 40. The doctor tried to send me home saying I had a migraine! Personally I’ve never heard of having a fit when you just have a migraine. Luckily my boyfriend argued this point and they gave me a CT scan in which they discovered I had a SAH. So I was rushed to Oxford hospital where I was operated on in the early hours of the morning and was in intensive care on life support. The doctors told my parents if I was lucky to survive the night I would have an operation 2 days later to clip the artery. On the Tuesday I had the operation to repair the damage, and remained in intensive care for a further 7 days. I went to HDU for a further 10 days where they made me walk and eat for the first time in 3 weeks as I had lost a stone and a half. I remember nothing. I then got transferred to my local hospital on the stroke unit and was surrounded by 80 year olds which was difficult being 21. This is when my short term memory started to come back. I was home within a week and my short time memory got better everyday but it took months before I realised how serious it had been. I had my good days and my bad days and slept an awful lot, between taking painkillers every 4 hours for headaches. I got a rush to the head every time I stood up. I suffered with bad anxiety and the sight in my left eye was impaired, I had a haemorrhage in my eye which was causing my vision to be blurred, I was partially blind but slowly over time it has corrected itself. Being so young my friends struggled to understand what i was going through, I looked ok so what was the problem. In November, 8 months after my SAH, things started to look up. I got my driving licence back, and returned to work part time. It felt like I was finally putting everything behind me. Until one snowy day in late November when my legs started to feel heavy. I though it was the weather which had turned cold due to the snow. But a week later they seemed to be getting heavier and people were commenting on my walking. I couldn’t understand how this could possibly have anything to do with my SAH, but my mother insisted on taking me back to the John Radcliffe. After hours in A&E I was seen by a doctor who examined me thoroughly. He stuck a needle into my stomach, legs & arms. The only time I could feel it was in my arms. Panic rose within the room and I was sent for a CT & MRI scan. After staying over night I was greeted at 8am by four surgeons who after examining my scans, explained that the bleeding from my SAH had scarred my spine, which had now reacted and was pressing on my spine, causing my walking to be effected. I would need a laminectomy to remove part of my spine to create more room for the scaring. So on my 22nd birthday I had the laminectomy on my cervical spine. Sitting up the next day was agony, but within a week I was more than ready to come home. My walking was still a little slow but the doctors were happy for me to return home for Christmas. Nothing could have prepared me for what was to come. I was put on steroids so Christmas was spent eating much more than usual! I was waking in the night just to eat. However, over the next few days my walking deteriorated and i returned to John Radcliffe once more for another MRI. The first operation had been successful, however more work was needed. So on January 4th 2011 I had another spinal operation. It’s been 3 months now and I have to walk with a frame, I can't walk far and its hard work. I don’t know what the end result will be and right now everyday is a struggle. Fingers crossed this week I am going to stay at a rehabilitation centre for intense physio. I'm sorry this is so long; my story is not a simple case of a SAH.

Its a relief to be able to write this without the fear of boring someone about your experience and how you feel. I suffered a SAH on the 19th August 2007 completely out of the blue. I had just started to make the evening meal when I had the worst headache I have ever experienced, went into my husband asking him to call the doctor, then it felt like someone was trying to break my head and shouted for him to call an ambulance and to please not let me die - everything then went black and I cant remember anything until the Wednesday morning when waking up in hospital. Apparently I passed out, the person on the end of the phone thankfully guided him as to what to do until the paramedics arrived and he put me into the recovery position and I was sick. From the time he rang 999 until the paramedics arrived it was only 7 minutes and only 17 minutes to when the ambulance arrived. As my symptoms were classic SAH diagnosis was fairly quick which probably saved my life. I was awake in the hospital but I cant remember this and I did sign my own consent form for the operation to coil the aneurysm which was carried out the day after. Fortunately I did not suffer from a stroke but I was left with double vision for about 2 months (it just gradually got better by itself). I was in hospital for 3 weeks. I had a follow up scan 6 months later and then again a year later, the consultant explained to me about the coiling and said that there was a residual aneurysm but that it wasnt anything to worry about, but of course it terrified me and I was worried that it would burst again. I received a letter in 2009 saying that they did not think I needed anymore scans and this really did worry me I liked the idea they would be keeping an eye on me. In August last year I started getting more headaches and at the insistance of my husband and children went to the doctor who got in touch with the consultant. He asked me to attend in September for a cerebral angiogram and they found that the aneurysm had grown again. He suggested more coiling and in October I had another two coils added and two stents - I was absolutely terrified as they tell you all the risks but I am now fine and thankful that my family insisted I see my doctor. The consultant said that the people who have further ruptures are those that are not monitored, so from now on I am going to insist on being seen on a regular basis. There is not a day when I do not think about having the SAH, it has made me very appreciative of the little everyday things in life but it has made me very aware of how quickly your life can be over. Headaches still terrify me and I hate being alone for very long. Sorry this has been so long - hope I have not bored you.

First of all, thank you for putting up this site. I have been lurking since December and I finally decided to join the group and share my story. I am 31 years old and I suffered an aneurysm last December 10, 2010. I am no health buff but I would say I am pretty healthy. I do not smoke and I do not have hypertension. It was very shocking to say the least. It was a normal busy day for me. My husband and I went grocery shopping after work and then went home. He had a cold so I volunteered to shovel our walk while he brought our groceries from the car to the house. Then it just hit me the worst headache of my life. It hit me at the back of my head with pain down my neck. I screamed calling my husband for help. Due to the intense pain I sat down the sidewalk. He dragged me inside the house. I was very scared and was screaming and crying in pain. He called 911 and I was brought to the nearest hospital. My memory ended there with me throwing up. They had to transfer me to another hospital where the neurosurgery department is. I woke up at the hospital not knowing what happened after that evening. Friends came pouring in that the nurses had to "ban" visitors for the first few days. We emigrated to Canada so we have more friends than family. My husband would patiently tell me what happened that evening and after that. My aneurysm was coiled. I suffered no neurological damage. I did not really fully understood what happened until 2 weeks after I was being discharged. I liked the hospital. The nurses were very nice. I felt that as long as I was at the hospital I was safe. I felt sheltered. I felt I did not have to deal with anything as long as I was there. The challenge was when we got home. The vasospasms were so intense.

At last I can reveal what happened to me. Be ready for a long read.... In Feb 2004, on a Monday, I was hit on the head by a ball of ice thrown at me with force, in a laboratory, by a pupil. I had a severe headache for the rest of that day and went home early. He was made to apologise, which he did with a smirk. Tuesday and Wednesday after the event I still went into work with this headache that nothing would move and came home early on both those days. On the Wednesday I cooked tea, ate it, made a phone call and then my head seemed to explode. Hubby dialled 999 and I was rushed to the local hospital where it was found I had suffered a brain haemorrhage. I was then blue lighted to a specialist neuro unit in Sheffield where apparently I spent several days on life support, I had the burst coiled, then developed hydrocephalus and had a shunt fitted. I was in hospital for about 5 weeks. All I have said is from what I have been told as I have no memories whatsoever of that time or for a couple of months afterwards and then only vague memories. The haemorrhage and ensuing hydrocephalus is what left me disabled due to brain damage. My union rep told me to claim compensation some weeks after I had been discharged which the union took up. No compensation was paid from County as the report I made of the incident “went missing” conveniently. The solicitor then took the case to the Criminal Injuries Compensation Panel, I went to one tribunal in 2006 and they wanted more medical evidence so they got a report off a neurologist. To another tribunal in 2008 and the preceding events had been ignored in their medical report. This tribunal said that I had been the victim of a crime of violence and decided to contact the neuro who did their report with evidence of the blow to the head. This they did and after 2 years of waiting my solicitor chased them up. No reply had been received from the CICAP specialist so my case had been ignored. I had to have yet another medical report done and the last tribunal I attended on Tuesday 15th March, this year. I actually had 2 medical reports that said that the aneurism, which I didn’t know I had got, would have changed dynamics after the bang on the head. They totally disregarded that evidence. This is the tribunal that failed. The reasons given were 1) That I didn’t go to the doctors with the headache. Would you and be laughed out of the surgery? 2) I had carried on working even though I came home early each day. 3) The school was being shut and merged with another and no one could be sure of their jobs and that I thought it was a way to get some money. Bearing in mind there was no way I could have worked anyway after my illness and it happened before jobs were allocated, so I didn’t know at that time if I would be out of work, which I doubt because county had a redeployment policy. I really felt as though I was being called a liar and that really hurts. In the case of me having no job I would have got my pension enhanced anyway, so there was no problem. My barrister said that the result was very harsh. I came away feeling as small as small and even now I feel so upset that basically I was called a liar. Yes I agree, the money would have been useful to help me with my disability but what you have never had you don’t miss. At least, after so many years there is closure. All I can do is thank the union for funding all this.

Hello everyone. I am so relieved to have found this website support group and reassured by many of your articles relating your experiences post your own SH. I must admit I was developing a bit of an " is it me syndrome " I had my personal SH on the 3rd January 2011 and received excellent care from everyone at the Walsgrave hospital in Coventry. I was discharged into the care of my girlfriend on the 8th January 2011 with what seems to be the usual assurances that a recurrence of my SH was extremely unlikely. Since then i have returned to Walsgrave for a further MRI scan and I am due to meet with my consultant this thursday ( 17th March 2011 ) for a discussion on the long term prognosis. As I like to think of myself as a rather robust character I have tried to confront a number of the challenges that I see as signposts that I am recovering not the least of which was my first night back in my own home on my own. I am not too proud to admit it scared the life out of me and that since then I have experienced many sensations such as fuzziness, dizzyness and the headaches which have frightened me. It is simply the not knowing - is this normal for someone recovering from a SH ? Should I be worried and racing back to A & E ? I assume as no one rang me following the last MRI scan to say you had better get back in here a.s.a.p that the medics regard everything as ok so I am a little more reassured. It is great to know there is somewhere I can go to share my experiences with Yorkie

On the 13th November 2010 I collapsed at home with a horrendous headache, I had a stiff neck and was vomiting, I thought that I had meningitis. My family called 999 and I was taken to my local hospital. At the hospital I had a ct scan which showed that I had a bleed on my brain. I was then transferred to Hurstwood park Neurological hospital. The following day I had an angiogram which showed that I had an SAH and that they would fix it by coiling it. I was in ITU for 9 days in which I can only remember parts of it and on the ward for 5 days when they let me home o recover with my family. Nearly 4 months on I am due another angiogram but I am really worried about the what if.... I am 34 years old and have 4 children, I have never felt so helpless... all I keep hearing is how lucky I am to be here, but no one knows how I feel, how low I feel and the worry if it happens again. My headaches went for a couple of weeks and are now back with stabbing pain on top and to the back of my head, all I have been given is strong pain killers by my gp.

Hi, I am new to this site and I found it whilst looking for some answers and support. My Mum died on 6th December 2010. She was 60 yrs old. I really hope I do not upset anyone at all. I am just looking for support that will somehow help me cope with what has happened. My mum had an aneurysm. This was discovered almost 2 years ago. We were assured that everything would be fine and that the doctors would monitor my mum and If this got larger they would take steps to operate. You just accept what the doctors say and never think the worse. My Mum never got any follow up appointments to check the size etc. Does anyone know how often this should have been looked at? Also my Mum was recently in hospital for an issue with her heart. The Doctors had to re-start her heart to get a normal rhythm back. They also gave her Aspirin to take, one per day. However, my Mum was not on a blood thinner due to her aneurysm. She was released from hospital on 6th November and died on 6th December. I just feel somehow this has added to the pressure in her brain and perhaps had an effect on the aneurysm. I'm also thinking that surely if a patient is being treated for any issue the doctors should still take into consideration, that said patient has other medical conditions. i.e will this affect her aneurysm?... and if so, lets keep her in and get a scan done to be safe. I found my Mum at her home, after trying to contact her for over an hour I thought something was wrong and I went to her house, but sadly it was too late, she had already passed away from the rupture. I had only seen her that same day around 4pm ..... I found her just after 9pm the same night. I can't begin to even think, how I can possibly pick up the pieces and carry on without her here.... She was my life, I need her and I'm struggling so much without her. The fact that it was so sudden does not help. I keep having flash backs of finding her, if I'd gone around earlier could I have saved her? The funeral, being given her ashes, having to clear her house out and then.......nothing... Just left with this huge emptiness that can never be filled. All I watch, is the seconds tick by and I know my life will never be the same ever again. I pray I have not upset or offended anyone. Kat x

Like most people who've had a sub-arachnoid haemorrhage, the first I knew there was anything wrong was when I had 'the worst headache of my life' in September 2006. I also had a really painful neck and moving my head was pretty much impossible. Hmm, thought I, I've badly pulled a muscle......So, staying in bed with a bag of frozen peas for company, I drifted in and out of sleep, or so I thought, but for for sleep read consciousness. However, starting to feel a bit better after a couple of days I got up and pottered around and all was fine apart from feeling ever so slightly 'removed'. A day later I got an even worse headache of my life and don't remember too much more for a few days. Initially taken to to the local A&E where I understand I spent a day in a corridor, I was eventually moved to Stoke where Mr 'Magic' Brydon clipped an aneurysm using his newly invented keyhole technique. He also found a second aneurysm about which I'd have to make a decision in the not-so-distant future. It's a strange feeling, waking up from God knows where, to find your entire family around you whilst you're lying in a very comfortable bed listening to I Don't Feel Like Dancing (too right!) playing in the background. It was quite some time before I could take in what had actually happened, just going with the flow of hospital life. Coming home was difficult, sitting in the back seat of my partner's car and flinching every time a car passed us. As we had to drive along the M6 there was a lot of flinching going on! Recovering from the surgery was hard as I really couldn't accept what had happened - it took three years before I came even close to that, the psychological bit is the hardest. I made the decision to have the second aneurysm clipped a year later, same procedure, same Mr 'Magic' Brydon. The three times the operation was cancelled was cruel to say the least but eventually, on 30th October 2007, it was done. Was it a good decision? In some ways I don't know. It has changed my life in more ways than I could imagine as my partner left a year later feeling, amongst other SAH-related stuff, that the second op had affected my personality. I do know, though, that I couldn't have walked around with that time bomb in my head. Yes, it was difficult recovering and I'm sure I changed a lot, but now I feel pretty much normal again and life has certainly been put into perspective. I'm back to working full time and enjoying life as I know I'm lucky to still have it. My ex and I are still the best of friends, I couldn't have got this far without them, and I have an amazing family and friends, many of whom I met here, who have been with me all the way. My memory is pants, tiredness is always just around the corner but, hey, life's good! And just who the chuff is Brian Pills? Well, fellow SAHers, you know those little pink tablets we had to take religiously after the SAH, the ones to prevent AVM? I'd put a 4-hourly brain pills alarm on my mobile. 2am one morning, pink pill time, the alarm went off and my partner, still half asleep, said, 'who the chuff is this Brian Pills that keeps texting you???'

In March 2010, I left Australia for the UK with 2 of my closest friends to catch-up with other friends in London, ski in France, visit Italy and then come home via New York. All started well with all of us meeting up in London and skiing in France. It was our last night the 2nd April and we all went out for dinner and on our way back to the lodge to collect our taxi to the train we all went different ways. However I did not make it back to the apartment, instead I collapsed and thankfully for me my friends became concerned and one of them found me in the snow. I had suffered a subarachnoidal hemorrage, no headache, no warning signs - so to my suprise I woke up in hospital several days later. I can not remember much of the first 4-5 days other than my friends, my mother and aunty coming into ICU to visit me. They coiled the ruptured aneurysm and ten days later once moved to high dependancy they coiled a 2nd aneurysm. Over the next week my friends returned home after sacrificing our holiday to stay in Grenoble, France with me and my family. Next my aunty returned home once she knew I would be okay. 3 weeks of rehabilitation, learning to walk again and building my strength my Mum and I along with a Dr returned to Australia. It was challenging being in another country where english was not the first language - but the care I received was amazing. I then spent 6 weeks at home regaining strength prior to going back to work part time and now I have moved into a role that allows me to work 4 days a week. This allows me to have a little more down time, as 8 months on I still suffer a level of fatigue and my memory is definitely not as good. But I have worked to get my physical fitness back to a reasonable level - running the 5.7km run on the day of the Melbourne Marathon. Physically I had lost about 10kg and my hair. Today if you did not know me prior, you would not know what had happened this year. But I'm still learning things all the time about what occured - treatment, doctors, my reaction to medication. Apparently I questioned one of the doctors about if he really knew what he was doing!!! (The Dr put it down to medication and strength). With Christmas on the door step I feel very fortunate that I have been so lucky and have had such a good recovery. And I'm very fortunante to have friends and family that supported me. But on another level I feel quite alone with not having contact with people that have had similar experiences. I worry when I get headaches, which I get more frequent than ever before. I feel that my memory is not quite what it was with forgetting what I was saying in mid sentence (maybe this is just age). I have been given the all clear by the specialist and will be on a 12 month MRI review plan to ensure nothing goes wrong in the future. So all in all I'm very fortunate. I have had great support from my friends and my family are still healing from the experience. I am wondering when you will go through a day when you don't think about what has happened?

It's hard to know whether to write this, as I don't want to upset anyone but it seems this may be the only place in the world right now, that understands what's happened to my Mum and me and my Sister. Please feel free not to read this as it's quite sad and I don't want to worry anyone. My Mum died on the 13th of November 2010, just coming up to three weeks ago. Six weeks prior to this my Mum was taken to hospital after collapsing at work from a crashing headache. When the ambulance arrived she started vomiting everywhere. It was her boyfriend she called, when she came round, but she had no idea how long she passed out for. She was taken to the Royal Surrey and after a bleed was shown from her scan, she was blue lighted up to the Atkinson Morely where the specialist doctors could shed more light. They did two angiograms, both of which showed the bleed, but with nothing else, no aneurysm, nothing. They put it down to chemical Meningitis and my Mum was to go home and rest, not work, nothing, just get better. So she came to stay with me .... she stayed in bed and was very tired and emotional. After a few days, I felt she wasn't looking good at all, she wouldn't eat and vomited frequently. My mother never even complained when she had skin cancer five years previous, so I knew this was bad. She decided to go home, have her boyfriend look after her, as my little girl and dogs were not helping her headaches and slowly she recovered. Even after her follow up chat at the Atkinson Morely hospital, with the top neuro surgeon, he told her to go and live her life, there was a million to one chance of this ever happening again, he even put this in a letter. We all felt the relief. Six weeks later mum collapsed again in the garden, we have no idea how long she was there as after she managed to call her boyfriend he arrived and she was covered in mud, her rotary washing line bent over where she must have fallen into it, her glasses in the plants. She vomited up the painkillers he gave her and phoned for and ambulance, again to the royal Surrey, a scan showed a fresh bleed. She waited for a bed at the Atkinson Morely and was bluelighted up there 12 or so hours later when one became avaliable. The angiogram showed an aneurysm, the first scan she had, six weeks ago didn't detect the aneurysm as blood had clotted inside it, so the dye from the angiogram bypassed the aneurysm showing healthy vessels. During the six weeks the clot dispersed letting blood in causing a bleed that now required surgery to clip the aneurysm. Mum was very scared and upset. Instead of being in theatre four hours she was in there 6+ This scared me and I knew something was wrong. Me and my sister went to see Mum in intensive care. My strong mother looked like a tiny child with wires everywhere. I was shocked beyond words. We spoke with the surgeon. Mum's aneurysm was surrounded by so many vessels, some as fine as hair, the aneurysm was so large they had to clip it in three different places possibly causing damage. We had to wait for her to regain conciousness. That was the following morning, and God bless her, how could that have been Mum? Paralysed down the left side, writhing about in pain, unable to speak, I couldn't believe what my beautiful Mum was going through. The doctors wanted to see if Mum could move the left side which at times she did move her arm and they prayed she would prove us all wrong and regain movement. The psychological damage wouldn't be realised until she regained health. Me and my Sister went for a tea in the hospital cafe... I was immediately called back, Mum had had a massive stroke at that moment, a scan showed that the left side of her brain had died as a result and would never be repaired. We sat dumb founded as a surgeon told us that they expected the rest of Mum's brain to die overnight, then the brain stem, declaring her brain dead. I could not believe what was happening. I walked over to Mum's bed and I will not go into detail of how my Mum looked, but she physically looked brain dead and that affected her face and I've never felt the darkness I felt then. I held her hand and cried on her shoulder, watched my Sister kissing her head and her boyfriend will her to get better. During the night her pupils stopped dilating, a sign that the brain has died, at 11:02 the next morning they performed the tests to see if there was any brain activity, there wasn't. Mum had died and her heart was beating because of the ventalator. We said goodbye. Mum's funeral was last Friday and I recieved her ashes yesterday. I used to call my mum at least three times a day, it's why my phone bills are awful!! we were so close in the last five years and regularly spent time with her and my sister with my daughter that my Mum adored. I came to this site as I felt like no one could help me, the doctors want to scan me and my Sister and I'm distraught with fear that this will happen to me. I pray I've not upset anyone by writing this but I needed to get the words out. Wishing you all good health and love, Joanne.x

In Jan of this year I was diagnosed with four(!) cerebral aneurysms, one of which was 10mm on my right mca, one 3mm right next to it and one 5mm on the left mca and one 2mm at basilar tip. My neurosurgeon wanted to operate straight away on the 10mm and the 3mm because they were right next to each other, so I was booked in in July for a craniotomy, as the big one was the wrong shape to coil and because I am only 51 and was fairly fit and active, the predicted outcome was very favourable. Unfortunately, I suffered a stroke during the operation, which affected my left arm and leg,but after some intensive neuro rehab I am walking again and hope to get my left arm going enough, to ride my horses again! I am very much aware of how lucky I have been, as my memory is intact and my speech is only slightly affected and I am on the long arduous road to recovery.

I just found Behind the Gray and I have to say that it's definitely encouraging to see that I'm not the only one in this boat. My Mom was admitted to the Foothills Hospital on September 18, 2010. She had just got home from work and complained of dizziness while her and my Dad were doing the laundry. She passed out and stopped breathing. My Dad called the ambulance and administered CPR. She was initially taken to the Rocky View (non- trauma). When they got her to the hospital, she was sitting up and responding but very lethargic. They took her into CT and this is when they found the SAH. After CT she deteriorated and had a second bleed. She was rushed to the Foothills Hospital and this is when my Dad came and got me from work. We got to the hospital and were rushed right into things. I have never been so scared in my life. It's so crazy that she was laughing and being her busy self and the next she has tubes shoved down her throat and requiring machines to keep her alive. The doctors came in and told us what had happened. We looked at CTs of her brain and they told us that we had to decide if she would want to live with severe deficits. I thought that the craziest decisions I was going to be making this year were what courses I would be taking in my first year of university, not choosing if my Mom was going to live or die. However, my Dad and I decided that we needed my Mom around to see me turn 18. They put together a fabulous team of surgeons and Mom was taken to surgery at 11:30 pm. That was the longest night of my life. I sat awake in the ICU waiting room, just praying and wishing I was with her. I did manage to count the dots on one rectangle of the ceiling. 11, 220… At 8 am we still hadn't heard anything from the doctors, so my Dad called up. It turned out that she was in the ICU and the surgery had went well. They managed to go into the left side of her brain and clip the aneurism with a titanium clip. The next few weeks were absolutely crazy. My Mom battled pneumonia, was on multiple medications, had severe vasospasm and suffered a stroke. She also had to have a craniotomy to remove part of her skull to give the brain more room to swell. The doctors had told us that there would be lots of ups and downs and that was definitely the case. The day of my 18th birthday was September 28, ten days after the incident. This was the first day that she started opening her eyes. I could not have asked for a better present. I guess this was the day when things started turning around. She was moved out of the ICU about 3 weeks ago and is now in the neurological ward. She is doing very well with recovering and is blowing all the doctors away. The doctors told us that she would not move her right side; however she has now started to move her right leg. They told us that she would not speak again but she is beginning to get some slurred words out. They told us that she would not get her skull back on for 3 months and it went on last week. They told us that she would have a feeding tube for 6 months and she started eating solid food yesterday. She is going to physiotherapy every day and is doing well with it. She even stood with bars yesterday! She is also starting speech therapy today. My Mom is the strongest person I know and I am so proud of her. She is so tough and I can already see some of the old her shining through. She is stubborn and I have never been so grateful for that quality. On the weekend, we got her outside in a wheelchair for the first time. She got to see her puppy and that made her so happy. I have been up at the hospital every day after school. It's been tough dealing with my first year of university and this whole situation, but I am doing well. My Mom would want me to keep up with my school work. I believe that my Dad and I have a great support system and that is what is keeping us going. It's been tough, but I believe that everything happens for a reason. I can't wait to proceed with recovery and see how much my Mom can prove the doctors wrong!

Hi there, Been trying to do this for days ... it all began whilst I was taking a shower, I'm one of those people that like to lay under the shower on warm days. Just as my head touched the bath pillow, I got this terrible pain! When it hadn't gone after a few seconds, I knew something was wrong. Now, I live alone, so had locked the door and left my phone downstairs. Getting out of the bath/shower was quite a struggle. I couldn't get my head above my shoulders without the pain getting worse. Managed somehow to get my leg over the side of the bath and fell head first into the wash basket! I was there for a while and eventually got on all fours. I got my shorts on and deciced to tackle the stairs leaning on my right side. I got down and went into the living room, found my phone and called my sister when my brother in law answered. I tried to speak but it wasn't me ... this slurred voice was talking to him but he didn't know who it was. Managed to get my name out and they came ... soon as they saw me dialled 999, paramedic was there in minutes. I started being sick and heard him say "I think he's had a SAH" I hadn't a clue what this was and he said I should get checked at Peterborough Hospital. By this time my daughters had arrived and somehow I walked to the ambulance, got on the gurney. My eldest daughter got in with me, until I started being sick again and she was almost sick as well! (takes after her dad)... so decided to follow in the car..."don't worry I'm okay" I slurred. Arrived at the hospital after lots more sick ... taken to admissions room "who was I, where was I, who was the Prime Minister" ...how bad's the pain on a scale of 1 to 10?" ... 10 and the lights are hurting my eyes" After two shots of morphine, I promptly had a seizure and woke in Addenbrokes, Cambridge to be told that I had indeed had a SAH and would need coiling. I've never been in hospital before...I was even born at home, so this was a rude awakening for me... prodded and poked every hour the same questions over and over.... strange could answer sometimes and not others. The surgeon came explained everything to me, although for the life of me, can only remember bits of it, this was Sunday, the day after I'd had a scan at Peterborough ... went again for another before the operation. After no sleep, no food and no drink for almost 4 days, they took me down ... it was Tuesday 3.40 pm. I woke at just after midnight in the HDU... there I lay for 15 hours, in and out of consciousness. Taken back to the ward and told that everything had gone fine. After 6 more nights of sweats and prodding, I was discharged and allowed to stay with my sister until the course of tablets was finished. I consider myself to have had an easy time of it compared to some of the people I met in hospital and some of the stories I've read on BTG ... I know in my own mind, how painful it was and can't thank the staff at Peterborough and Addenbrookes enough, for what they did for me. I didn't know that I could have died and cried when they told me how lucky I was. Thanks to the skill and dedication of everyone at both hospitals and the love with which my family and friends showed me, I'm still here and on the mend... not what I was before ... that's to be expected.. slight headaches, forgetfulness, tiredness and eyes a bit iffy ... aside from that, I'm doing fine. Thanks for listening.

Sunday 20th December 2009 started as a normal day, five days before Christmas and wrapping presents. It was around 3 o'clock when I decided to ring my Mum. She told me she didn't feel well she had a pain in her head, down her neck and into her shoulders. She asked me could I come around and I said I was on the way. As I drove the short distance I knew something was wrong but stayed really calm for some reason. My sister rang on the way and said she'd spoke to Mum and that she sounded like she'd had a stroke. I got there 5 minutes later and found her sitting up on the couch; she told me she had been shopping, had come back and felt like she had been hit by a ton of bricks. I sat with her and got her a drink - she told me to ring an ambulance. The ambulance arrived 10 - 15 minutes later and did some tests on Mum. They took her in the ambulance and she started to vomit. 10 minutes later we were at the hospital. We were told they were going to take Mum for a CT scan and we went and waited for her. As we walked back in the nurses face said it all, she ushered us into the family room and we were told the doctor was on her way to talk to us. We were told my Mum had had a bleed into the middle part of the brain but that she had been accepted into Walton Neurological Hospital who would help her. An ambulance came to take her at around 7pm and we drove there to be with her. She was told they would investigate more the next day and we were told to go home to get some sleep. The next day the doctors explained that Mum had a ruptured aneurysm, it was in an uncommon place and they would operate the next day as an intensive care bed was not avaliable that night. The next morning Mum had the aneursym coiled they told us the operation had gone well but there was some problem with eye movement. For the next few days, we visited her in HDU. She was conscious, but in pain and very tired. Boxing Day came and she had been moved onto the ward. We visited her and she seemed very tired and was unable to speak to us. We told her to sleep and we would be back that night. At around 5pm, we had a phone call from the hospital. Mum had developed hydrocephalus and was rushed to surgery to relieve the pressure that had built up in her brain. She was now in ICU and sedated with tubes everywhere. The next day she was taken off sedation and showed good movements in her arms and legs but was still on a ventilator. On the 30th December, she had a second bleed and doctors could not understand why this had happened - the coiling had looked fine on the CT scan. Due to more complications (including a collapsed lung) the doctors were unable to investigate what was happening and before they could get a chance to find out she had a third catastrophic bleed on 2nd January. She passed away on the 5th January 2010 aged 63. It has been 9 months now and I still can't believe she has gone. We miss you everyday Mum, R.I.P xxx

I am writing this as my first article on this website. It is great to read stories and experiences from others who have experienced an SAH too. I live in Australia and suffered a SAH in August 2010. It is now seven weeks and I am still experiencing a few severe bouts of headache, quite a bit of tiredness, some blurred vision (not bad though) and I am now tending to drop things quite often. I am not sure if all of these are the 'normal' progress after a SAH or not. I have had three angiograms, two MRI's and one CT scan and still no indication of where the bleed originated, I did not have an anuerysm so therefore no coiling or clipping needed. I have been told I cannot drive for three months and that I need to take it very easy. What are others experience with time frames ie; returning to work, driving, drinking (alcohol) etc..? I certainly know I do not want to experience this again! Thank you to the person/organisation who set up this website for facilitating such a forum. Best Regards, TAG

Sorry it's a long one. Here goes - I am a 45 year old healthy man, never had any real illness. The last week of July 2010 I had my Subarachnoid Haemorrhage but of coarse did not know it at the time. I was at home when all of a sudden it felt like someone was kicking me in the back of the head. I felt like passing out and throwing up. Next I lost all feeling in my right leg and really started to worry as I had never experienced any thing like this in the past. I managed to crawl to the sofa to lay down and thats where I probably passed out. The next couple of days are a total blank to me as I was so spaced out so the following is my wife's account. She came home to find me on the sofa, I woke up or came round and constantly complained of a terrible headache, tension in the back of my neck, blurred vision, was vommiting from time to time and also talking a load of nonsense. All this happened on Thursday and of coarse I was no better on Friday and by now my wife was getting concerned as she could tell this was something more than just the usual man flu and so telephoned for a doctor to make a house visit that evening. The lady doctor arrived some time later and was visably put out at having to make a house call on a Friday evening. She had forgotten to bring her stethoscope so was unable to take my blood pressure and concluded that I had a flu like virus and was to take plenty of fluids. And so it was for the weekend, me totally spaced out and my wife trying to get me to drink lots of water. On the Sunday my wife said she would phone my work to let them know I would not be in the following day but apparently I was adamant that I would do it myself, so she agreed and went to her work. Monday morning a colleague was phoning to enquire of my whereabouts. Thats when my wife knew there was something very wrong as I am always very organised when it comes to my work so she telephoned my father for a lift to the doctors. By this time I could not stand on my own two feet and had to be helped into the surgery. The doctor I saw did not really know what was the matter with me but was not happy with what he was seeing and so admitted me to the local hospital for tests. I stayed there for three days while they did all the tests. When eventually they found out what was wrong with me I had to be taken to Cardiff hospital which is 50 miles away. My wife and I spent a very uncomfortable night there and the following day everything was explained to my wife and what procedure urgently needed to be done but unfortunately the person who does the procedure was away and so I was being taken to Bristol hospital another 20 or 30 miles away. The ambulance arrived some time that night to take me as an emergency to Bristol. When I arrived we were told it was too late that night for the procedure to be done. Now I must say at this point that all the staff at Bristol were amazing. Anyway I finally got my anni coiled on 13th August 2010. I made a really good recovery following the procedure (you all know the drill being in a high dependancy unit). Five days later I was taken back to Cardiff hospital and then on 20th August after some nagging from myself I was allowed to come home. I was very weak for some time and needed constant care from my wife and family. Now I am much stronger and able to do things by myself. The downside is all the emotions I find myself going through, fear, sorrow and anger. When I left hospital I was not given any information on what to expect such as the emotions, the fear at every little pain in the head, the joint pains or being unable to sleep. Sorry to go on so much but that is basicly my story.