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It wouldn’t be an understatement to say that it had been a stressful few months. We’d moved back to Cheshire from Buckinghamshire at the beginning of September 2006, settling in to the farmhouse with Dad as my Mum had died suddenly in June, then started the remote/commute work routine which was going well. Barn renovations were eventually underway, after we’d negotiated a few planning problems, which should enable us to move in in April, having a place of our own again. 21st September saw a reunion of the drama group to which I used to belong and we were going to renew acquaintances. I was trying to get ready whilst Fiona was on the phone trying to get some sense out of our potential (but eventually ditched) house purchaser. I say trying to get ready because I was having a rather large problem with the side zip of selected trousers. Giving up in despair I sat on the bed then felt the biggest explosion behind my right eye followed almost immediately by a severe headache and then an incredibly painful and stiff neck. Thinking I’d trapped a nerve through abortive zipping I spent the rest of the evening and most of the next day in bed, unable to turn my neck or move my head without feeling pain or nausea. My eyes were also, oddly for a trapped nerve I thought, sensitive to light. Gradually the stiffness began to ease thanks to Fif’s ministrations of a trapped nerve cure and I spent the rest of the weekend with Fiona and my daughter, Hannah, doing barn-type things - gingerly. Monday’s alarm rang all too soon, I stretched pre-get up and, wham bam, same thing happens but even more severely. This time we decided to call the doctor but, half way through the call I asked Fif to ring the ambulance. Don’t know why, just knew that things were not at all right. Everything then begins to get a bit hazy. I do recall very strongly that I was in spasm, kind of curled inwards with my arms bent and locked above my chest and I was somehow over, under and around a huge aura of pink light that seemed to be emanating from a trough where my torso normally is…….so weird but not unpleasant. And really deep inside my head I felt absolutely fine and dandy, just not sure what was going on outside! I recall a paramedic putting a stiff, plastic collar on me and trying to get needles into my arms; being slid onto a stretcher; being lifted high in the air, down the stairs and outside into the ambulance; more attempts with needles and, eventually, extreme bumping down the drive. All the while I was living quite comfortably and rationally inside my head, I couldn’t open my eyes and don’t recall pain as such, just an inability to do anything and a form of paralysis. Drifting in and out of consciousness on the journey to Leighton Hospital I vaguely remember being taken out of the ambulance and then nothing at all until waking up at North Staffs Neurological Hospital a couple of days later. Pre-op memories from there are extremely fragmented. I do remember seeing numbers flashing immediately in front of my eyes, like a timebomb ticking down, and a kind, friendly disembodied voice asking me if I could feel anything warm in my body. I could, but thought it should be near where the numbers were and, as the warmth was around the groin area, thinking I’d wet myself. This amused Mr Kind Friendly Voice somewhat. Don’t know which hospital this was in. I recall two surgeons coming to visit me, offering me three choices of surgery (for a trapped nerve?!?) and me eventually glibly saying Fiona and my sister, Penny, would have to decide as the medical men were throwing numbers and stats around in a very confusing manner. It never even dawned on me that I was asking my partner and my sister to pick a card, any card, as long as it was the card for life. When the decision was made I remember one of the surgeons coming back to my bedside to tell me I’d made a huge mistake and that I should let him operate, not the other surgeon. I remember this distressed me a lot as I think he was waving his arms around and banging on the wall and I was on my own. I remember, the night before the operation (still not knowing what was wrong with me just that I might not survive), thinking that this might be the last night I spent on earth and, the next morning being taken to theatre, thinking that I might never wake up again and my last sight of this world would be a hospital corridor. It was upsetting, of course it was, but equally I was so out of it that there are fortunately just fleeting recollections of those feelings. My eyes snapped open and all I could see was a yellow wall, with the instant, lucid, thought that I was alive and absolutely fine, then being wheeled along a corridor and opening my eyes to see Fiona, Hannah and Tom (my son) sitting at the bedside. It seemed that each time I opened my eyes there was another family member there. The two visitors to a bed rule had gone out the window! As I became more compus mentus I could feel the drips and drains protruding and dangling from every limb, head, neck and hands with beeps from the machinery behind my extremely comfortable bed. It was here that I discovered I’d had a sub-arachnoid haemorrhage caused by a ruptured aneurysm which had been clipped using the keyhole Somic procedure (I think they must be referring to the Westminster Abbey keyhole!) and that I had a second aneurysm which will need to be assessed later this month on the first post-op hospital appointment. A couple of days later I was moved from the High Dependency unit to a four-bed ward from where I was discharged a few days later. Since then I’ve been learning to live with a brain-under-repair and come to terms with the close shave. Given the stats I know and appreciate just how lucky I’ve been - immensely lucky - and so grateful to everyone for the prayers, healing and love that has been sent (not to mention the magic surgeon and his pioneering skill). I really don’t know how to begin to thank my family - Fiona, Penny, Dad, Hannah, Tom and all the others - for their love and support and for having to put up with the current me which I know isn’t always easy……and everyone at both my workplace and Fiona’s workplace for their support, patience and constant encouragement. Hannah did try to fill in the gaps from the pink and yellow times but I couldn’t take it in then. I’ve been avoiding asking Fiona as, knowing what not only I, but all the family, went through will really show up the vulnerability of life. But I also need to know and I think I’ll be ready to find out soon. In the meantime it’s onwards and upwards - with, no doubt, some steps backwards - until it’s magic surgeon time and we can see which direction to take. Finding this website has been a great help. Knowing I can communicate with others who have experienced SAH, that I’m not alone. The hospital aftercare has, to date, been non-existent although my GP has been very sympathetic. I really don’t know what to expect when I go for my first post-op appointment on 23rd January but I do know now how fragile and precious life is and that nothing is more important than appreciating what we have.

My name is Keith Belton and I’m 46 years young. I live in Basingstoke, Hampshire, UK. This is an account of my life threatening subarachnoid haemorrhage (SAH) and subsequent recovery 6 months on. At 0230 on 28 August 2006, I woke up to visit the bathroom, and whilst there, I had a sudden severe headache (worst of my life) followed by vomiting, collapse and paralysis. My wife and 12 year old son Daniel tried to help me. My 7 year old son Jason thankfully slept through the whole ordeal. Up to this point I was conscious and able to respond to people, but I was a bit drowsy (who wouldn’t be at that time of the morning?) I was taken by ambulance to the North Hampshire Hospital in Basingstoke, where following various tests and investigations, I was eventually diagnosed as having had a severe migraine. I knew this was wrong, as it felt nothing like migraine that I had suffered in the past. The doctor also organised for a lumbar puncture to be performed later in the day “just to be sure” that I had not had a bleed on the brain. I now know that I had suffered a subarachnoid haemorrhage (bleed on the brain) caused by a ruptured aneurysm. I was transferred to the medical assessment unit for observation and to await the lumbar puncture. After about an hour, still with quite severe head pain, the headache suddenly got worse and now extended to the back of my neck. It was then realised by the medical staff that my condition was a bit more serious than just a migraine. In fact, I had just had a second bleed. At this point things get a bit hazy, but I vaguely remember being given a CT scan, although I don’t remember anything much after this until I woke up 2 days later in the neurosciences intensive care unit at the Wessex Neurological Centre, Southampton. I have one vivid memory of briefly “surfacing” and thinking “This is it. This is the end” I was eventually moved to the High Dependency Unit where I was told that I had suffered a subarachnoid haemorrhage and the artery concerned had been blocked with platinum coils inserted through a catheter from the top of my leg, a procedure called “endovascular coiling” or “coil embolisation”. My SAH was classed as grade 4 which is the highest grade according to the initial CT scan and my wife was told following my coiling operation that there were no guarantees about my recovery – or even if I would recover at all! After being on a neuro ward for a few days, I was transferred to Basingstoke hospital on 07 September 2006 and discharged on 11 September 2006. I do not remember much of my time at Southampton except the head pain and fleeting memories of things such as when I came off the ventilator and was able to breathe for myself. My wife told me later that I was either asleep or half awake and talking gibberish. I left hospital 2 weeks post SAH and the early weeks at home were very tough with almost constant severe headaches and fatigue. Even simple things like getting dressed or having a bath would drain me completely. I was taking only paracetamol for the headaches up to now, and still the headaches were ever present. Sometimes, the pain killers seemed to make no difference. I received fantastic support from my wife and children which was the biggest factor in speeding my recovery. They probably took the most fallout from what was the biggest event of my life. One particularly bad day about a week after leaving hospital, I had a particularly severe headache that would not ease. It was almost as bad as my original SAH headache, so I returned to Basingstoke hospital by ambulance. Following several hours of investigations including a CT scan and discussions with the doctors at the Wessex Neuro Centre, I was given the all clear and sent home with some stronger pain killers, codeine phosphate. I used these in conjunction with paracetamol to help alleviate at least some of the pain. As well as the headaches, I would experience odd twinges of sharp pain in my head, particularly above my right eye. My speech was also very hesitant and I would have to hunt for words. It was so frustrating because I was very aware of my speech difficulties. For the first 2 weeks at home, I couldn’t read very much, use a computer or listen to music as any of these activities would trigger an increase in the severity of my headache and fatigue. I could, however, watch TV in small doses. Even that depended on the TV programme. Anything noisy or busy and I would have to turn it off. I was partially deaf in both ears, but even so, any random noise from the TV or the kids would drive me mad. I had been told not to drive (not that I could anyway at this stage) and I informed the DVLA (Driver and Vehicle Licensing Agency, for non UK readers) about my SAH as required by law. My sleep pattern (if you could call it that) was all over the place. I was going to bed very tired in the early evening, often waking in the early hours of the morning, unable to get back to sleep. I slept most afternoons for 2-3 hours. I tried to get out of the house on most days. At first I would go for a short walk with my wife or a ride in the car and then have a rest to get over it. I would only go out in the mornings knowing that I would have the afternoons to rest or sleep. There is a lot of talk about listening to your body and resting when it tells you “that’s enough”, but I believed that I had to make some effort to get out and do something, however bad I felt. I think my belief was justified, because each day I got stronger and going out was less of an effort. My first visit to a supermarket was not good at all. The general background noise and the bleeps from the tills were almost unbearable. I had to get out into the relative quiet of the car park before I passed out! After about 2 weeks at home, I was able to use the computer for short periods and found a whole load of frightening statistics about SAH on the internet which made me realise just how lucky I was to (a) be alive and ( not to have suffered from any serious disability. I was also fortunate to find behindthegray.net where I learned that I was not the only person in this situation and I took great comfort from reading experiences of others and their advice. I also felt I could give something back by helping others in the same situation. I really believe that this helped a great deal with my recovery. It was during this time that I paid a short visit to work. My wife drove me the 22 miles there as I was still not able to drive. My employers were very supportive and put no pressure on me to return to work. I was also fortunate that that I did not lose any pay. I have heard that many people suffer financial hardship as a result of SAH and I’m glad that I did not have to go through that. During the next couple of weeks I grew stronger and the headaches started to ease, although I still had almost constant headache and I slept most afternoons. My hearing had returned to normal, and I was able to watch TV and use the computer for longer periods. The supermarket trips were still a bit traumatic, but not nearly so bad. At about 6 weeks post SAH I attended a SAH support group meeting at the Wessex Neuro Centre in Southampton, where a consultant neuroradiologist gave a presentation on coiling. It was interesting to find out what the doctors had done to fix my aneurysm and to meet and talk with other SAH sufferers. The meeting was during the evening when I was not at my best, so I was really tired when I got home. Soon after this, the headaches started to ease a bit, and on some days I began to feel almost normal. I still suffered from fatigue and had the odd bad headache, but I did not have to take pain killers every day. I suppose that was a sign that my recovery was progressing. In October 2006 - 8 weeks post SAH - I had a cerebral angiogram at the Wessex Neuro Centre, Southampton, to check on the coils. For those reading this who have not experienced (or can’t remember) an angiogram, it is a procedure where a catheter is inserted into an artery at the top of the leg and navigated up past the heart into the arteries in the head. A contrast agent is then injected and a series of x-ray images are taken to view the blood circulation in the brain. This allows the neuroradiologists to check if the coiling has been successful. It is the same procedure that is carried out following SAH to locate the position of the aneurysm and to decide on any treatment. Coiling itself is an angiographic procedure. About 2½ months post SAH, I started to have more good days than bad days and I got bored being at home with little to do, especially the good days. I contacted my employers and suggested that whilst I was not yet well enough to return to work, perhaps I could do something at home as and when I felt able. My job as a project engineer for an industrial automation company often involves meetings with clients and site visits, so I was asked if I could design a new web site for the company. This was a new departure for me and occupied my time at home when I felt well enough. I had a follow-up appointment with my neurosurgeon at 3 months. He was pleased with my recovery and the results of my angiogram looked good. He said that I would not have to see him again, but I would require further follow-up in the form of MRA scans at 6 months, 18 months and 3 years. I received a letter from the DVLA telling me I could continue driving and I returned to work on 12 December 2006, three and a half months after my brain haemorrhage. In the 2 weeks up to Christmas, I only worked 5 hours per day, but I took a step backwards in my recovery. The tiredness and fatigue returned, and I was having more headaches. The 40 minute drive each way to and from work did not help. I slept for a couple of hours most days when I got home from work. It was bearable, so I stuck with it until the Christmas holidays. I had a peaceful Christmas with the family, but the headaches, whilst fairly mild, continued. I returned to work full time in January 2007, 4 months after my SAH and for the first couple of weeks I felt very tired towards the end of the working day. Towards the end of January, things started to improve once more and I felt “normal” most days, almost like nothing had happened to me. I went back to Southampton for a MRA (magnetic resonance angiogram) at the end of January and have yet to hear the results of that. During the last month, I have felt that I am fully recovered most of the time. I’m still more prone to headaches now than I was pre-SAH and tiredness still affects me occasionally, especially if I overdo it. I have a different outlook on life now. After a big event like SAH, I realise that life can be very fragile and can be snatched away without warning. It also affects family members and friends. I’m very thankful that I can enjoy life with my wife and two sons. Keith Belton February 2007

I suffered a SAH in march 1996 at the age of 27, I was stood in the kitchen washing pots and my 7yo daughter was playing in the garden when i heard an almighty bang in my head and got a weird noise which i can only describe as when you put a shell to your ear? also got a terrible pain down my neck, my instant thought was that something had gone seriously wrong and that i had better get my daughter inside the house in case i collapsed? I phoned my parents (always ring mum in a crisis?) as my partner was at work and told her something was wrong, she said we”ll come round and fetch some paracetamols? i started crying and told her it was much worse than that to which she started balling too? When i arrived at A&E with my father i had to wait 2 and a half hours to be seen?(was just a bloke with a bad headache?) Eventually a doctor came by which time i was vomiting heavily and shouting out with the pain from the headache(as you well know?)i also had photophobia and the doctor was doing tests for meningitis( apparently the symptoms are very similar?)anyway along came his superior and he looked at me for a while and concluded that i just had a severe migraine and could go home with some strong pain killers? the doctor who saw me first then said he thought that i should be admitted overnight for tests ie; CT scans etc. the doctor in charge agreed to this and i personally think if it wasnt for the first doctor overruling his boss i probably wouldnt be telling my story now? The CT scan revealed a burst aneurysm and i was transferred to hallamshire hospital in sheffield 20 miles away(the ambulance was going about 20mph to avoid any bumping and barging it seemed to take an age to get there?)on a monday and the surgeon came to see me the next morning and explained that i had to wait until the bleed had settled and clotted so it would be the following monday before they could operate? During this time i never lost conciousness at all but did sleep a lot and suffer badly with the photophobia & headaches? id not eaten for the whole week of being there and when i came out of surgery ( 10 hours) the first thing i said to my mum was “im hungry”?. I had to remain on my back for another 2 weeks and be bathed and changed by the nurses(what a joy! for me not for them maybe?) on the third week they sat me up for the first time(what a weird feeling?)and after another week started giving me some physio as my brain knew how to walk but my legs had forgotton how to? Eventually i was discharged after 6 weeks and on my day of departure i was sat alone waiting for my parents to come pick me up when my surgeon came and sat next to me and asked if id got any questions to ask him about my 2nd aneurysm (WWHHHAAAATTT??) I couldnt believe what i was hearing-apparently my family had been told and were gonna break it to me gently but you know how surgeons are? He explained that i would have to come back at a later stage for an angiogram(not another?)and take things from there?. When i arrived home i felt very vunrable for some reason, i would stay up until all hours on my own(maybe used to it in hospital?)and the worst side-effect i noticed was if i was sat halfway between two noises ie; telly in one ear and noise from kitchen in another it used to send me crazy! Luckily i stopped smoking and still have 11 yrs on! Went back for the angiogram and was operrated on for a 2nd time 7 months later in oct 96. In total i had 13 months off work, got full pay for first 6 months then half pay but got some help from social security to make up the wages and had the mortgage covered thank god? My recovery was slow but no problems whatsoever!, I used to walk a lot-take my daughter to school, I went from 11 stone to 18 and a half stone but i think that was a lot to do with me stopping smoking and lack of exercise in early stages? luckily the weights sorted out now(back to a happy 15 stone?) About 2 years after my 2nd op i felt i was back to my best and got in touch with my doctor and asked about the chances of me playing football again??(i know youre probably wincing at this point but football was the only thing i was any good at and it ruled my life before the ops?) and he said to just go and lead a normal life? so i got myself pretty fit again and got back into the team i was playing for before? I must admit that every time a cross came over i volleyed it instead of heading it and all the other lads used to laugh at me until one day the ball came over and i thought this is it-i just closed my eyes and prayed that i heard no bangs! anyway nothing happened except the ball went in the opposite way to where i wanted it to(never was my strong point heading?) and im still playing 8 years on? To be honest i never even think about my SAH unless prompted! I know mine is a happy story with no side-effects and i do feel for all the SAH victims and their families who arent as lucky as me and boy do i know how lucky i am? I have since met a new partner 4 years ago and we have a beautiful boy named ALFIE who is two yrs old and my daughter who is 17 now(and dont i know it?)

Hello, My name is Joy on July 27,2007 My Mother was struck with a Subarachnoid Aneurysm(rupture). She had three of them, only one ruptured. We are at 60 days now and WOW what a ride so far. I can only imagine what mother is going through????????? I wish I could crawl into her brain to see. She also suffered a stroke as well. She is alive and we are grateful for that. She has a great team of Neurosurgeons, from UMPC Presbyterian In Pittsburgh PA. They are the best. The top of the list. They didn't have much hope to begin with, they said it was the worst they have seen. they have clipped 2 and are "watching" a little one on the left side of her brain. The larger 2 are on her right side. She is in a skilled nursing Hospital now and they are going to move her to MaGees Womens Hospital Monday. She has to get alot of PT, OT, and ST. She has a Trac but can tolerate it capped, and hope it will be gone soon she has to many secretions. She has paralysis on her left side , and has failed swallowing test. She has good and bad days and this week she had a break through seizure. She does commands, writes on a dry easel board , we think her perception is off. She gets confused and sleeps a lot (I understand this is normal) Any information would be helpful To our family, so that we might know what going on in her head. She does not talk yet. Thank you for reading this and any information.

In February 1983 when he was 46 years old my darling husband, Brian, had his first SAH. On investigation it transpired that he had and still has a mass of abnormal blood vessels in the brain. An operation was out of the question due to the location of these vessels as it would mean that Brian would lose his speech and he would be completely paralysed. Although his speech was rubbish the swear words were always perfect! He has severe weakness on his right hand side with either none or very little feeling. Brian works very hard each day with his exercises and has never given up and always has a smile. It took him two years of practicing to fasten his shoelaces until he eventually managed it. That was one of the many ‘mountains he has climbed’ over the years. Brian had managed to drive again, talk and walk but would never get back to work. In December 1993 he suffered his second subarachnoid and was offered the chance to have interventional radiology at the Radcliffe Infirmary in Oxford. During April and June the following year he underwent this treatment and continued to slowly improve bit by bit. They were able to seal off the ‘gushers’ but some of the ’seepers’ were inaccessible. In December 2001 Brian had yet another bleed. This time it was not in the same area but more towards the base of the skull where the main stem starts to divide to form the ‘tree’, his right hand branch is blocked off, hence the left hand branch is trying to do all the work. This was pointed out to us using his x-ray. The area looked a bit like ’spaghetti junction’ and we could also see the glue spots from his earlier treatment in Oxford. We were told that the doctors can do nothing more for Brian and ‘go home and have a good life’. I told them that we had been doing that for 19 years and we would just carry on enjoying ourselves. We are now at over 24 years of living with this illness. He has had many mini-bleeds over the years and there is still nothing that they can do. He still has a severe weakness on his right hand side and since 2001 his speech has deteriorated and his movements are slower. Brian now sleeps anything between 11 and 15 hours every night. Anything Brian can do around the house I let him do it. He tackles the simple ironing jobs and clearing away after meals and washing up. He will be 71 in September 2007. We possibly have a better lifestyle than many able-bodied couples. We go out about 5 nights a week and go out in the afternoons also. We go abroad regularly for wonderful holidays. He is the most perfect husband. He is much more understanding of my needs than before he was ever ill. We talk about our feelings much more and after 34 years of marriage we are more in love than ever. Brian has gone through so much, the highs have been great but the lows are dreadful. We have both shed many tears but more than anything we have laughed and made jokes about life. This has been our way of getting through this marathon. I could, and possibly will, write a book about our life together but meanwhile we are too busy getting on with our lives and no time to stand still. Two quotations come to mind… Sometimes we turn to God when our foundations are shaking only to find out it is God who is shaking them. Anon. Life is not always a matter of holding good cards, but sometimes, of playing a poor hand well. Robert Louis Stevenson. I want people to realise that it does not have to be all doom and gloom when something catastrophic like this happens. We have had to adapt to make a good life even better.

My partner has a condition that I can’t spell, which is usually a bad sign. I really don’t like to think of anybody I love having anything with a Latin name unless it is some kind of pasta. You all know far more about this than I do. I know it’s called something like Arachnid Haemorrhoids or something. Lesley has the condition. I do not. Even if I did, I still couldn’t pronounce it. The thing is, it appeared like a third element in our relationship, like a pet dog. One can no longer assume we can do this that or the other without taking it into the equation. I must admit, when she was first diagnosed with it, I went into shock. I thought, ‘Oh my God, what will I do?’ I ordered pizza, for a start and got myself a season ticket for visiting at the hospital. I felt helpless. What can you do when someone you love is in pain, and you have to leave them at the hospital. Each time I left, I felt as if I were abandoning her and it cut deep; it ached as such things do. What can you do though? Climb back in your car and carry on with life as normal, while the world is oblivious to your worry and the grief that hovers and gnaws away at everything you do while you wait on a loved one to recover. I remember thinking, on the morning of Lesley’s operation, that she is in hospital and yet the kettle still takes its time, the traffic lights still favour the other drivers and leave me stressed and agitated, and thanks to my pizza, I am now constipated. But, thank God, the operation was a success. She is one of the lucky ones, or should I say one in four; and that makes me one of the lucky ones too. I can’t claim to be the most observant of the two of us, which is why I fail to notice when she has her hair done (sorry) and sheknows about the cigarette burn under my desk which I diligently hid with the leg of my chair. She mainly looks out of one eye since the operation, but seeing as, like most women she has eyes in the back of her head, it hasn’t been too much of a problem as far as our relationship is concerned. In fact, it has some benefits. For example, we are now in Wales sitting near the beach. At least, I presume we are because I can hear the sea. A blanket of fog sits on the car like a duvet, taken straight out of a fridge, and all I can say about the view is that the windscreen looks lovely from here. There is a woman, nearby, looking for her dog. The dog is actually on the end of a lead. That’s how foggy it is, but anyway... Lesley has an eye-patch on her right eye. This means, as she sits in the passenger seat, she has no peripheral vision. So, as we drove all the way to Wales, I could do all those things that men do when they are alone and unobserved in their cars; I can scratch, retrieve my shorts from a certain crevice, stick a cotton bud in my ear and have a good rummage. I keep that in reserve for traffic jams. It has a downside, too. Sometimes, because I am not touched by her peripheral vision, I feel like I am sitting alone; locked out of her perspective; as if she sits on her own in whatever confessional she finds herself, in the quiet moments when I see her like that. She often, now, seems to be in a little world of her own, the right side constrained and confined by a little white gauze and a black patch. I am very surprised by how strong the connection with another is, purely by being within their field of vision even if it is only to one side. Perhaps it is because it’s the side where the heart is; who knows. She is due to have a MRI scan at some point, and on the way down to Wales she told me that in some parts of the country, other people do not receive the same level of care. I think we are lucky to live in a place where there are facilities for the scan. I don’t know what we would do if we lived in a place that was isolated and there was no scanner nearby. I guess I could pop her in the microwave for ten minutes and see what happens. To be serious for a moment though, I am told that the scanner can be a tad intimidating. It is long, like a cannon and makes a clattering noise. I may be wrong but it is my intention to accompany Lesley when she goes for hers; especially after hearing the word cannon; all it would take is someone accidentally pressing the wrong button and she could end up in Bournemouth, slightly scorched and with a ringing noise in her ears. What is it, I wonder, that started off this bleed in her brain? One likes to make sense of these things and pin down a cause for the effect. There was one time, I recall, when we went off to the Lake District. We were walking through a sunlit glade, dappled and happy, carefully clambering over mossy rocks by the side of a stream running down from the hills. I was ahead of Lesley, pointing out places where she might have slipped, pushing aside branches that could have caught her, and it was such a delightful day. There are days like this when you breath the sunlight that warms your skin. We came to a large tree, with a low branch that I ducked under. I was going to say ‘watch out for this branch,’ but I didn’t. It was so big I never dreamt she would not see it. It was as thick as an elephant’s knee. I moved on, and then behind me I heard a loud, dull ‘thunk!’ It was like someone hitting the tree with an axe. Lesley cried out and I whirled around as she fell to her knees. I leapt over her to stop her slipping down the embankment. She was in severe pain; almost throwing up with the shock of the blow to her head, having introduced it to the thick, unyielding low limb of the tree. That, I think, was the day that started the bleed. Or perhaps it is genetic? Or unlucky; the tree certainly thought so; last thing I heard it was still receiving counselling for shock and had an appointment to see a tree surgeon. Even now, when she walks past the flowers in the garden, they flinch in case she head butts them. I know, it’s unlikely, but one can’t be too careful. And speaking of being careful, one thing I have noticed about Lesley’s condition, is that her coordination and depth perception are not quite what they used to be. A few days ago she reached out to tenderly touch my cheek and inadvertently gave me an interesting new nostril courtesy of her fingernail. It was an accident; or at least that what she says; if I am found one day with a toaster embedded in my neck, check to see if she has upped the insurance on me in the last twelve months with a clause in it involving random household appliances. Her short term memory isn’t quite the same either, or so she says, but she seems to remember if I say I’ll take the rubbish out and then don’t. I don’t dare forget her birthday just in case she remembers it and forgets to tell me to duck next time there is a frying pan heading for the back of my head. And oh yes, she is a little short tempered at times, but then again so am I. She had the patience of a saint to start with. I also had the patience of a saint; in my case, however, it was a St Bernard. So, even though she apologises regularly for sometimes being a little short, which is more than Napoleon ever did, I have to say I am still amazed at how remarkably calm she is; most of the time. Visually, the effect of the ailment is quite interesting. Sometimes she holds her right hand up against the eye-patch and the brow bone above, applying a little pressure as this eases the pain somewhat. However, it looks like the gesture of someone who has slapped a hand to their head in the process of saying, ’Oh my God!’ or some such expression of alarm. I feel somewhat alarmed by this, because when I seriously screw up, this is the same expression she uses, so I spend most of my time with a vague feeling of being in trouble, like the time she caught me drinking out of a glass vase. It was a very clean scrubbed glass vase I hasten to add. I had put a yoghurt and milk in it, not being able to find a large enough receptacle to quench my thirst, but I think she was under the impression that I had first eaten the flowers and then was drinking the water; she had the same expression one reserves for when you find the dog drinking out of the toilet. Also, whilst I remember, she has a tendency to get her words mixed up since the haemorrhage. This doesn’t happen too often, but I have noticed it. The other day, when I came in from the garden, instead of saying, ‘my, you do look handsome, and I’m so in awe of your manly and virile presence, darling,’ it came out as, ‘oh for f***s sake! I’ve just washed that floor and you’ve trodden mud all the way through the house.’ Still, as I say, she’s usually very even tempered so I can forgive the odd slip of the tongue, and the doctor is quite confident about removing her mop from my rectum. Having a mop thusly placed seems no stranger a thought, than the one which involves Lesley having a coil in her head. When the doctor first told me he was fitting her with a coil I thought, yes well, that’s all very well and good but is this really the right time to be thinking about contraception. To be fair though, I have now got used to the concept, and actually find it quite useful. Now, when we are out shopping, if I lose her, all I have to do is take out an industrial strength magnet and in no time at all she flies through the air, knocking shoppers asunder like skittles and clunks onto the end of the magnet. It’s sort of like one of those extendable dog leads. And also, if I tweak her ear I can pick up Radio Four. It must be confusing though, for someone who is a bit psychic, to have such a coil fitted. There you are, tuning into the ether, wanting to channel the voice of your Aunt Matilda, when you get the shipping forecast. Actually, the coil is not obvious, as you know, not unless you put a pair of hangers in each ear to improve your internal broadcast of The Archers. What is obvious, and I know Lesley is somewhat self conscious about, is the eye patch. As for me, I think it suits her. Despite this, as I say, she feels self conscious, like a female pirate. I deny this assumption of hers. In no way does she look like a pirate, and if you don’t believe me, just ask her parrot. In closing, I must say, I still feel somewhat traumatised by the rapidity of it; the illness that is, not the mop. I think, though, that the speed with which all of this happened was a mercy, because to spend any time, such as that before the operation was unbearable; to think I could have lost her because of some stupid tree, no offence Pinocchio, or through life’s game of chance on the roulette wheel of an operating table... the thought of it is too vast. It swallows me whole and I disappear into a void, an emptiness that can only be filled with grief. So, now I jest because I can and that is my way of defusing any bitterness at how bad things happen to good people whilst, to be quite frank, complete and utter bastards slip under the wire. I shall not think on it, even though I know the self survives the loss of the body and we are more than flesh. Instead, I am happy to sit here typing this, in the car while she sleeps. We are no longer parked up by the beach, lost in the thick, damp fog that rolled in from the cold sea. Here we are, by the side of the road, parked up on a grass verge. The air is clear. You can see for a long way; the blue sky melts into purple, slips into the softness of the distant horizon and thence into the deep waters. Quietly she slumbers. Softly she breathes. I notice I’ve parked us beside a bright yellow sign on a fence that says, ‘DANGER: QUARRY WORKINGS: KEEP OUT.’ We are on the safe side of the fence; I presume, but I wonder for a moment or two, if we are in any danger from explosions here. Oh well, At least we’d go together...

Hello to everyone on this fantastic site. Thought I'd jump in (though feel a bit shy!) and introduce myself. My name is Lesley C and I live with my long term partner, Paul in Hyde, Manchester. I discovered this site a few weeks back and spent many a long hour reading all your stories which have helped me enormously in coming to terms with what has happened to me. This is my story: 8 Sept 07 I had a dizzy spell and fell and fractured my left wrist. Whilst my left arm was still in plaster in early Oct 07 I had an episode of a thunderclap headache (though didn't know it at the time, just that I'd never felt pain like it and felt sick and faint) when I was trying to wash my hair over the bath with my right hand. Went off to the local Casualty with my partner, Paul, sent home with 'might be a migraine - come back if it gets worse' advice. Had progressively worse headaches (developed a serious paracetamol habit!) and a stiff achy neck over the next few weeks. Had a few fuzzy/double vision moments in my right eye on a few mornings which would then clear..... 8th Nov my sister, Louise persuaded me to go for an eye test as she thought this might be contributing to my bad headaches. (Never suffered from headaches in my life before and hadn't had a proper eye test for years). So phoned Asda and asked for their opticians. Got a cancellation that very afternoon - I will never forget: 3:30 pm! The locum (1st knight in shining armour in this saga!) who examined my eyes, thought there was something wrong behind my right eye and told me I had to go to the Eye Clinic in Royal Oldham Hospital, like NOW! He gave me a letter for my GP and told me to go to the surgery immediately. I drove my car around to the surgery (about 300/400 metres) and as I parked up, my head exploded with pain and I thought I was going to pass out. Anyway, managed to stagger (its dark by this time) across the car park and into the surgery. My GP was on holiday so gave the letter to the receptionist and told her I had to see a doctor quickly and explained (she must have been blind and deaf not to notice as I was howling in agony) something awful was happening to me. I was taken in to see another GP who then phoned the Eye Clinic at Royal Oldham and spoke to a specialist and arranged for me to go straight there. He had to get hold of my partner, Paul as it would have taken too long to wait for an ambulance as we were now in the middle of the rush hour. Whilst the GP was making these phone calls I'm still howling by the way and obviously trying to keep my skull on by holding it tightly with both hands! The GP (1st pantomine villain you can boo here!) then refused my request for painkillers and insisted that I leave his office and go and wait in the waiting room for Paul and so off I went unaccompanied and cannoned off walls and somehow managed to get down the corridor and back into the waiting room. Everyone was looking at me as I waited for my partner to arrive (approx 15 minutes) as I was moaning in agony. I'd tucked myself into a corner seat by a window and was frightened I was going to wet myself or be sick or something. The receptionist (1st pantomine villainess - feel free to boo here too!) gave me one or two 'Oh my God don't some people make a fuss' and raised her eyes to heaven looks, over her desk in my general direction, the rest of the time studiously ignoring me! When Paul arrived off we went up the motorway to Royal Oldham Hospital (me howling and trying to keep my head on with my hands all the way) and thankfully once there I was taken seriously, although they weren't sure right away what had happened to me. Poor Paul, by this time he was as white as a sheet and shaking himself! I was given very strong painkillers and some special tablets (haven't a clue what they were, but they were for my right eye). Spent a weird weekend at home propped up on the sofa, but in not as bad pain and went back to see an eye specialist (Mr Nolan - 2nd knight in shining armour) at Royal Oldham on the Monday, 12 Nov, who looked again behind my right eye and more or less said ' lay down on this stretcher, don't move a muscle, I'm just going to call an ambulance'. He made arrangements for me to be taken to Salford Royal (Hope) Hospital and off I went with a wonderful SRN called Bridget Murray off E2 ward (absolute heroine - you can cheer and clap here) who stayed with me until late that night and held my hand throughout (I will never forget her kindness), as I was taken first to Casualty at Salford Royal, examined by a neurosurgeon and then for CT scans. Results were: right posterior communicating artery aneurysm and small aneurysm in the right sylvian fissure arising from the middle cerebral artery and slightly prominent vascular structures at the foramen magnum of uncertain significance. (Sorry haven't grasped all the acronyms for all this medical stuff yet). Next morning I woke up to be told by Dr Hughes who was to perform the operation at 8:00 am that they were waiting for Paul to arrive as he was stuck in rush hour traffic. He made it clear to me how serious the situation was and how even surgical intervention might be fatal. We waited another hour for Paul to arrive during which time the doctor and the nursing team were virtually hopping from foot to foot as they had everything set up to perform my operation. When Paul arrived, Dr Hughes took him aside and I saw Paul's legs buckle across the room, as the gravity of the situation was explained to him, but bless him he tried not to show me how scared he was. By this stage, I personally felt totally at peace and unafraid, literally just going with the flow. With hindsight I wonder if the body secretes a chemical or hormone or something that calms people down when they are virtually at death's door? Would love to hear your comments. Would just mention that the anaethetist was a lady called Sheila, who was an absolute hoot, made me laugh as they were rushing up the corridor with me to the theatre! They performed a CTB angio of the larger aneurysm (coiled). When I came round later that day I had a couple of intense shaking sort of fits that lifted me off the bed, just arms, legs and trunk though - didn't lose consciousness or anything like that. The following morning I managed to thank Dr Hughes for operating on me successfully and everyone seemed very pleased with the outcome of the operation. Have been left with a strange triangle of numbness on the front of my neck from my chin to my clavicle on the right hand side (getting better I noticed this morning - feeling coming back), tightness in the chest when I'm tired, feel better slightly raised up on pillows, strange taste in my mouth like blood sometimes in the mornings and like Karen, a third nerve palsy of the right eye. Karen would welcome some input on how long it took to get your right eye up and running again. Its mostly 'patched off' as the double vision and light sensitivity makes me feel nauseous. I can't begin to praise the nursing care I received at Salford Royal enough, they were absolutely fantastic both in ICU (special mention of my namesake, SRN Lesley!) and on B7 and B8 wards. Oh, the delight of being back in the land of the living and that first cup of tea in a baby's feeder cup! Discharged on the 23 Nov, although initially I wasn't keen on the idea of going home, felt safe in the hospital I suppose. Went back to the eye clinic at Royal Oldham, last Monday 14 Jan to see the wonderful Mr Nolan (who lets face it, saved my life!) and he thinks with time we can sort my right eye out, mentioned special glasses with prisms, but leaving it well alone until 10 March when I'm to go back. The bad aches/pains, mostly confined to the sinus area - brow bone over the right eye - are getting better day by day. (Can't really call them headaches, more just localised aches/pains). Still having problems with a stiff/painful neck though (on occasion feel like the whole artery that runs up the right hand side of my neck, over my head and behind my right eye feels painful and 'stretched'). I also suffer from terrible tiredness, its literally like the bottom falls out of my world when I've been active for a few hours, and I just have to lie down on the sofa and go to sleep for an hour. Managing to keep the house (I split the tasks over 5 days) do the shopping (Paul takes me in the car) and do the washing/drying etc. Also do most of the cooking (not Paul's strong point) and washing up. I've always been a busy bee and would go crackers if I couldn't do anything. Paul is trying to build up his own business and has enough to do. Its weird not having to go to work though, and truthfully don't think I'll bother going back to work full time when I recover sufficiently, I'm 60 now and worked full time for nearly 40 years so I've done my bit. Will do some volunteer work I think and have more time for walking, travelling and my passion: gardening. Don't like too much noise and too many people around either. Feel specially tired on return from a supermarket shop or if I've had a friend visiting and been chatting intensely for an hour or two, also long telephone calls. Suppose the latter two come under 'concentration' issues. Go back to Salford Royal on 30 Jan - must try to remember to ask them what they intend to do about the smaller aneurysm which hasn't been coiled and what does 'prominent vascular structures at the foramen magnum' mean. No mention of a CT scan on the appointment letter re the 30th though, so expect its just a normal appointment to check how I'm getting on. Also need to ask them if I can have a crown replaced at the dentist, don't know if it was whilst I had the thunderclap headaches, but I have broken off a crown completely and broke the top off another tooth. My dentist said she doesn't want to give me an anaesthetic unless the hospital give the go ahead. Find it difficult to find words that fit when I'm talking to people sometimes, and come out with hilarious substitutes. Like right now, I know there is a word for this, but can't for the life of me remember what it is. The other day I told a friend on the phone I was 'going smoking now' instead of 'going shopping now'. Its strange when you are in mid flow and suddenly stop dead in the middle of a sentence, not so bad with family or friends but out and about people look really puzzled and you feel really stupid. To finish must thank you all again for sharing your stories on this site, for people like me, it has really helped just reading them through. I've been very lucky to survive and blessed by having a wonderful partner of 16 years, Paul who has been fantastic through all of this, held my hand and given endless hugs and reassurance when I badly needed it. Christmas was very special and poignant as I was only out of hospital for 4 weeks, but we managed to throw it all together. Making plans for a holiday end May/early June in the Western Isles of Scotland (our special place). I'll have to find a photo of us both to put on here. Very Happy Sorry if I've waffled on too long, feels good actually to share all this with you all, Big hugs all round, Lesley xx Oh, Shanti means Peace in sanskrit just in case you're wondering. I'm into Eastern mysticism and my last words as I went under in the theatre were: Shanti, shanti, shanti

It was the end of August when it all happened: a Friday to be precise. Two of my brothers asked if I fancied a boat trip going fishing, so I jumped at the chance and started arranging things. A little while later my wife looked at me and she noticed I was different; sort of out of character; I looked a little odd. “Let me take you to hospital.” she said, “You do not look right.” Of course being a typical man I dismissed this. Shortly after I was lying on the settee and my arm seemed to have weakened. I could not lift it much and it felt too heavy. By that time my wife had telephoned for an ambulance. When it arrived I was still coherent, but I personally cannot recall anything about this, and my wife informs me that I could still hold a conversation. I was obviously very ill but I had settled down and it appeared as if the worst was over. That weekend one of my brothers had booked a holiday abroad and he was to be flying out on the Monday. Of course he was apprehensive about going and wanted to cancel the flight, but after a conversation with my family, it was decided they should go as I was still conscious and obviously I was going to survive. It was after my brother and his children had left that my wife received a phone call to inform her that my brain had re-started bleeding and could she attend at Hull Royal infirmary as quickly as possible. On her arrival the doctors took my wife and family aside, they informed them that I had very little chance of survival. My body was lying there with drips in my nose and an oxygen mask on my face, it seemed these were the only things keeping me alive, sadly the doctor told my wife that my chances of survival were virtually nil and that if I could survive it would be highly likely that I would have severe brain damage making me nothing more than a vegetable. As my wife sat beside me stroking my head she could see the veins pulsating upon my temple and hear the groaning noise I was making as if I was in pain, It was awful for her and my grown up children to see this. There was nothing anyone could do now; it was just a matter of time. It seems strange, I know, but whilst I was sleeping I seem to recall how nice it was to drift away. I felt settled as if ready to sleep and I remember saying to myself how much I loved my family and that I wanted to stay! I am not sure if this was a figment of my imagination or not, but that is the genuine truth and the only thing I can recall and shall never forget. The hospital provided a room so my family could be constantly by my bedside. As I laid in my coma they played my favourite music and reminisced to help me stay alive. I am sure it must have helped me, but I can never recall any of this. As the days passed it became clear that I would survive, but sadly no one knew what level of damage my brain had suffered. Because my body had stabilised I was transferred to Castle Hill Hospital, a few miles away from the Hull Royal infirmary. The days turned into weeks, yet still my dormant body remained within my coma. My family along with the many friends remained constantly beside me hoping I would show some improvement, yet still nobody knew what level of damage I had suffered. Over five weeks passed, during which time I had started to show some signs of improvement. I had started to awaken and within my mind I knew I could move the finger on my right hand. I could also hear some music and talking, but mostly I was still asleep. During the time I was awake I recall being confused as to why people were talking to me in such a basic manner. I knew who they were and what they was talking about, but unfortunately I was still unable to respond. I knew I could move my finger and thought about communicating with it, but even I did not know where my finger was positioned. I can remember some of the small comments of encouragement from my loving family who where constantly by my bedside. The large volume of visitors that came to see me was beyond anyone’s expectations, even today my wife asks me if I can remember when such and such came, sadly I have to admit I cannot, yet some that called became more like a relative than a friend; even my family was not aware whom they all were, but all were made welcome. One friend of mine who had called diligently every week to see me, walked into my ward and sitting by my bedside he held my hand and said “hello Tony, are you ok” I opened my eyes looked at him and said “yes I am fine” this was witnessed by all who stood next to me in a state of bewilderment, It was the first time I had spoken back to them! I cannot recall this myself, but it does make me weep when I know how the others feel about it. During September it was extremely hot and I still had those awful tubes inserted in my nose when I was first admitted. It was all I could have for liquids I know they are necessary but God, was it hot. I can laugh now but my family would bring these small wet swabs a bit like a sponge on a stick, I could suck on them but it seemed all I could say was “wet swab, wet swab”, so cool but so short a time! Unfortunately the nerves to my brain had damaged my eyesight, this had been to both eyes leaving me with a very poor tunnelled vision, I could see, but only at a very short range. One evening I saw on the table a small carton, somehow I managed to pick it up with my weakened right arm and read the words “Fresh Orange”. It was there staring at me as if to say “drink me ” I knew it was not mine, but surely no-one would miss just a little sip. No chance, I had drank it before it had chance to slip down my throat. Suddenly the young nurse returned, picked it up and bellowed “Have you drank this?” With a little smug guilt I nodded. You would think I had stolen the crown jewels. Suffice to say I was glad they had not brought back the whipping post. Finally the day came when I had the tubes removed. I had passed the gulp and swallow test and shortly after I was to be transferred to a rehabilitation centre known as St Mary’s, Chanterlands Avenue. I could speak more fluently by then as the left side of my mouth had started to lift, improving my speech. I had never heard of St Mary’s, before; it must have driven them mad hearing me ask about it. When the day finally came I was apprehensive and still very tired, I still had no movement or feeling to both my left arm or leg and my eyesight was very blurred. Also my right side had dramatically weakened due to the constant bed rest. It was raining the day I was transferred and I recall arriving at St Mary’s on a trolley bed. Several nurses seemed to be scurrying about and they put me into a nice bed with remote control so I could adjust myself when needed. They placed within reach a TV remote control and told me I could use my mobile phone if I wanted to. This was something that came as a surprise to me. I looked around and thought how large and pleasant it looked; so peaceful that I slept for several hours. The next morning I was greeted by two care assistants, who asked me if I wanted a bath. I nodded and they raised me onto a hoist and wheeled me to the bath room where I was transferred to a safety chair and gently lowered into a hot warm bath, believe me that was like floating in heaven: it was bliss. Thank you staff: it was something I shall always remember. When the stroke nurse visited me, she explained the possibility that my fingers and toes may never regain control. She had to do this of course, as it was her duty to make me aware of the capability that my body could expect to achieve. The thought I might never move them again was devastating to me and I tried to be brave as she explained it, yet all the staff were amazed at how well I was doing considering the damage my body had suffered. As I was lying there, realisation started to hit me: I will never walk again, I thought; I am what I would deem as virtually blind; I was gutted; I felt useless. For the first time since I had had the stroke I thought my life was not worth while. The next morning I was greeted by two carers who with a very pleasant and cheerful manner had me washed and changed, brought my breakfast and chatted to me as I ate it up. Then after cleaning my face again, asked if I wanted to give myself a shave. “I shall try” I said so they lifted me up onto a hoist and lowered me down on a wheelchair having me positioned in front of my mirror. They then brought me the necessary toiletries, I told them I was fine and that they could leave me for a little while so they tied an alert button to my chair and left the room. I looked at the reflection of myself, I was almost a shadow: like a silhouette. This was my chance I thought, I can end my life. I picked up my razor, then realised I had to turn my hand face up. I put my razor down and tried to turn my hand, it slipped and I tried to re-position this over and over again, even in the sink, yet still it fell down! In my anger I held it firmly and twisted it tightly: so tight it hurt. I was in pain; I had never felt my arm hurt before and it seemed bizarre how I could feel this if it’s paralysed. I am pleased to say I put down everything and decided to get a shave instead. Later that morning when I was alone a young care assistant came to my room and sat beside me. She seemed as if she knew what was going on in my mind and she put her arm over my shoulder and told me should anything ever happen to her in life she would want to be alive; that nothing would ever stop her giving up. I shall not name her as all of those staff are so much alike in St Mary’s. To me they are priceless. As each day passed I got more familiar with my blurred vision and they would wheel me down to the day room for dinner. I was quiet at first, but I soon started to mix in using light-hearted banter at all our shared downfalls. One day I recall when two of the carers asked if I wanted to go for a walk. They trussed me up on a cold day in November and wheeled me outside to the car park. I was pleased for that, but felt saddened just how poor my eyesight was; I could not make out of the models of the vehicles that passed us by. Time seemed to pass quickly for me and every morning that I awakened I did my usual task: staring at my fingers willing them to move, when suddenly I was sure I saw my thumb twitch. I stared at it and sure enough I saw movement. Not all the time of course, but it was not just spasmodic, I had done it by believing in myself. That date was November the 17th 2006. I shall never forget it was so important to me; I could not wait to show the stroke nurse. Withholding excitement I really wanted to shout to everyone. Some days after, I could move the big toe on my left foot and with this in mind I knew I was on the mend! When I first arrived at St Mary’s I was greeted by the therapy team. These where both physios and occupational therapists. I am not sure of the difference, but I can say they where very good. They visited almost daily to put me through my routine and it seemed longer to wheel me down the corridor than it did to do the exercises, but I soon slept when they wheeled me back again. The therapists kept telling me I must always look left. Apparently it helps the brain decipher the image. I try to do this constantly and it’s amazing how much has returned. I am not sure if it is looking left or not, but I am grateful for that advice. It was heading towards Christmas now, I was no longer a messy eater. I was not bad but strangely as it may seem, I would only see half the food on my table. Many a time I would clean my plate, have the platter turned around and “taa-daa” my plate was full again, believe it or not that still happens sometimes. It seemed strange how well I was progressing each day. The physios would see a difference and those that had been missing for a week or so were amazed at my improvement, but for me it was depressing. Silly I know, but it was not until December that I realised my left side paralysis had nothing to do to my right side weakness. For me after all those months I had only just realised I might never get them to work normal again. I thought it was just a matter of time and all would be fine. The exercise I diligently put in the effort yet saw only minor improvement, but still the staff were amazed at how well I was doing. The big day came when the staff came to see me: “Would you like a home visit?” they asked. I was taken aback at this and it was like been released from prison. I remember crying on the phone when I told my family I could come home for the day. I had to book a disabled taxi: the one that used a “ramp and clamp” vehicle. So they could push me up on the ramp and then clamp the wheelchair in position. I would suggest you shop around for the best price, but for me it was worth it, even though it was only for a few hours. I slept like a log when I was put back in my bed. Each day I was washed in a morning by the carers, I am a proud man, so I feel I should point out that because of my limited eyesight, I still had blind spots. Funny as it seems, I would be prepared for the morning routine where my pyjama bottoms would be removed by the carers, yet I could not see my legs when I looked down. It was strange but it was as if they were not there. I know it might mean nothing to some, but for me, modesty is important, yet their expertise makes me feel very grateful to all those wonderful staff. The daily task of getting my fingers, toes, arms and legs to move was continuous. They would try to make me stand and sometimes I would see what is known as a “standing hoist”. One day I wanted to go to the toilet, but up to that time I still used a commode. They wheeled in this contraption, I was strapped on to it, and with supporting my right hand, I was lifted to a standing position and taken to the toilet, thus restoring my modesty. Christmas was fast approaching and I received many seasonal greetings cards, but the biggest surprise to me was when two friends of mine from my work business, although they do not know each other, came to visit me. Both are Muslims, yet they had come from different cities to wish me happy Christmas. Those kind people showed me what friendship means. I visited in my “ramp and clamp” Taxi to my family on daily visits over Christmas time, but was always tired and needed a good sleep when I arrived back again. As time moved on I would meet other patients. Some seemed to have only minor problems, others more complicated, however I did notice that all of them took a little while to settle themselves in. The staff as always would try to make light of the problems they faced, but I can only say how much I appreciated the way nothing seemed too much trouble and it seemed they soon settled down on the road to recovery. One day the physios came to my room. “I think we shall try you with a walker” they said, and I looked at them with no idea what this was. They wheeled me out into the corridor and there in front of me was this contraption. It had an alloy frame like a walking aid with two wheels at the front and two legs with rubber stoppers on at the back, only this was different: it had flat bars at the front with two handles you could hold onto and four wheels on the bottom. It reminded me of a Dalek from an old Dr.Who film but without the egg boxes wrapped around it. I sat there staring at it: “Ok,” they said “we are at your sides, and in front of you so you cannot fall!” I looked at them somewhat bewildered, but as instructed I painstakingly stood up, they bound my left hand to the handle, and with one to my right, the other in front of me, made me take hold of the right side handle. Then they told me to put my left leg forward in an effort to straighten it up. “Now,” they said, “we want you to take the weight and keeping your foot pointed in a straight-line, step forward with your right leg.” I was so full of nerves, I was visibly shaking. “I cannot do it” I said and I looked in front of me and could see several of the care assistants looking at me. There must have been around six or more watching; one of the carers had a camera in her hand. I looked at her head and shook it from side to side. “You can” she mouthed at me. I looked and with a physio at my side raised and put my paralysed leg in front of the other, then with very wobbly knees I stepped with my right leg. After taking a small break to compose myself I went through the routine again and again and in all I took nine steps. By then I was truly exhausted, but I looked up: “I’ve done it!” I said, “I have walked!” Suddenly realisation hit me and I broke down in tears, sobbing like a lost child finding his mother. It had been five months since I had walked normally and when I looked up I almost laughed with joy as all the staff where passing around the tissues to join me. A day or so later I went home for the weekend. When I returned, upon on my door and wall were the photographs they had taken of me and my first steps. So important was this to me I thought I shall walk again. I still feel emotional when I reflect on this. It was about this time they had introduced the Banana board which seemed comical, almost embarrassing to me. This was a flat board that was bent not unlike a boomerang. The idea was that you could wedge your board on the wheelchair or whatever you sat upon, then with a bit of effort, slide along it onto another position. For example: from my wheelchair, then slide along it onto my bed! In this case it was so I could slide along my wheelchair and onto the passenger seat of my car and I can assure you it was not an easy task. After a little practice I was given the all clear to go out in my car for the day. It was a very difficult task trying not to damage my car’s upholstery and it seemed to take about 5 minutes shuffling along the board onto the car seat. I did not like this at all. A day or so later my family wanted to take me out for a ride so my sister and her husband came along with her two daughters. We all should go for a nice break. I, as normal, transferred from my bed onto my wheelchair then out in the car park where my wife had me shuffle along from my chair to the passenger seat via that lovely banana board. After a lovely trip around Hornsea Freeport it was time to return back to St Mary’s. As we approached my car, I decided enough was enough so I called my brother in law to assist me. He wheeled me towards the passenger door that was held wide open, then he simply supported under my left shoulder. I stood up, turned so my backside was to the car seat and sat down, it really was that easy. When I arrived back in my room, they did the same but in this case it was to put me onto my bed. Each day that passed I seemed to have improved with my physiotherapy. I would be made to stand up, still supported, but I knew I was getting stronger. One day I decided I needed to lie down. I was in my wheelchair and it was early afternoon. I turned towards the bed and looked at my open door: “Nurse?” I said as I saw one pass by with another patient. “Yes” she replied. “Can I lie down?” I muttered. “Just a tick” she said: obviously she had her hands full! I turned my wheel chair and with my right foot firmly on the floor I stood up and as I did so, I lunged forward, my left foot still standing on the chair’s footplate. “I shall dive on the bed” I thought. No chance, I flopped to the ground like a sack of potatoes! All I could say was “Oh ******” at my own stupidity. Needless to say, the staff came running at my embarrassment. Unfortunately I must confess I did that more than once, always my own fault of course. I started to notice how many patients where leaving St Mary’s. It’s hard to imagine, but it never crossed my mind that my stroke left me with some minor brain damage. Often I would get confused with people and for some reason I would change their gender, often calling someone he instead of she. Only a small thing I know, but it still happens even today, only now I can joke about it. Time seemed to move more quickly for me and I had progressed to be able to shuffle along in my wheelchair using my left foot crossed over my right rather than just sitting in one place. I would often admire other patients who would manage a slow shuffle with their walker or crutch towards our dining room and I always gave them words of encouragement as I was wheeled in alongside fellow patients. One day they asked if I wanted to walk down to the dining room. I was stunned at first, but they where serious. They had often got me to stand supported by a frame and had made me take a few half-hearted attempts at walking, but nothing like this. I tried and did walk a few steps. It was difficult, but even I managed to go the whole way once or twice, even though its hard to imagine just how close my room was to that dining room, yet to me it was like walking to a restaurant. The time had come when I could get off my bed with a carer onto the wheelchair via that banana board, and pulling my right leg along with my left leg crossed, I would wander down the corridor in my wheelchair. It was January now, and I needed the toilet. I shuffled along, opened the door and went in. There I held the rails, stood up prepared myself and did it! It was the end of my standing hoist or carer’s assistance; from then on it was my own independence. “Do you want to try moving from one place to another without the banana board?” asked the staff. I looked almost guiltily at them: “I can do that already. I do it all the time.” They looked at me with surprise. The therapist then told me she would be returning to her own country of New Zealand. “When?” I asked. “End of March.” she said. “I shall miss you when you leave” I added. “You will have left by then” she replied. I looked at her: she must have seen the shock and realisation at what she had said. I was baffled, “what do you mean ‘I would have left by then’ ” I replied. “I shall not be ready” I added. “You have done far more than anyone could have possibly imagined” came her reply. “You know what you have achieved has been more than a miracle.” With a stiff upper lip, I went back to my room and phoned my family. “Do you know I shall be home soon” I told them. Days later I started to believe in myself and I felt I was more than a patient; that I was becoming a person once again. The months turned to weeks and even I was impressed at the Physio’s achievements. I knew it was only a matter of time when I would be going home and I noticed how some of the new patients seemed as distressed as I was when I had first entered the dining room. I like to think I helped them on their road to recovery by giving them an understanding ear. Every day the therapists came to me to put me through my routine. The occupational therapist from New Zealand took me to the exercise room: “I am leaving in two weeks to return home, but I have also got your leaving date. That’s March the 21st” she said. I was so happy; if I could have wrapped both my arms around her and give her a big hug I would have done! The days passed quicker than I thought they would. On the day I was leaving it was raining, just like it was when I arrived. I stood up to walk out of my room, then my wife, daughter and son wheeled me to the exit, where again I stood up and with a little assistance, I walked outside. I had done it, or should I say they had done it, for Its St Mary’s who guided me back to health and put me back on the road to recovery. Since I have been home, the carers and the therapy staff have been wonderful to me. I have done as they requested, so much so I have little need of their attention. Its up to me now: I can walk, my vision has improved, even my arm and hand has come alive. To my mind I owe everything to all of the staff both in St Mary’s and the home visits. It was August 2006 when I had my stroke. It was August 2007 when I wrote this. I thank you all from the depth of my heart. I shall never forget what you have all done for me. Tony Bibby

Sharon is in a nursing home having suffered a SAH on March 10th 2007. Prior to this, she was a very active, very beautiful, very funny and very good natured person whom I loved very much indeed as she loved me. She left that day for a meeting whilst I stayed at home doing some recording. Before she went, we were carrying on and being generally silly with one another and she said she had a sinus headache which she had had pretty much all week. Anyway, she took a pain-killer and we kissed and said goodbye as she was to spend the evening celebrating her friend's birthday after the meeting. About 4pm, I received a call from a man at the meeting who seemed to be a retired doctor as he knew exactly what was happening to Sharon. He said that she had suddenly felt very ill during the meeting and was quite sure it was cerebral bleeding. I spoke to Sharon briefly; she said, 'Hi Baby, it's really bad I feel like I can barely speak.' At that moment the ambulance arrived and she was taken to Newcastle General Hospital. She had arrived at the hospital still conscious and talking to the staff when her blood pressure had gone through the roof and she had taken a fit. The last time I saw Sharon as she was, she was in a stretcher bed being taken to the theatre. They clipped the aneurysm and we were told to 'wait and see'. At 4.00am, I was awoken by a phone call from the hospital; they said that there was still evidence of bleeding and they would be monitoring her through the night. In the next few days, Sharon's blood pressure continued to spike. I received another phone call from the neurosurgeon saying that the only way he could save her was to remove the bone flap to alleviate the pressure on her brain. The operation was a success and about a week later they performed a brain scan. I was told that there was evidence of dead tissue, damage to both sides of the brain, and in view of the chest infection Sharon had contracted, they didn't think she would live more than a month and if she did her quality of life would be zero. Sharon survived and I am so proud of her. She has been in the nursing home since November 2007, having been assessed at a Neuro Rehabilitation Centre and given the same prognosis as the hospital. Sharon needs total assistance and 24 hour care but has made progress since she arrived there. I visit her every day and she is so beautiful even the way she is now and I live in hope that she will continue to progress hopefully to recovery. The odds are against but I've heard of others going through exactly the same situation and, after years, have made full recovery. It is a very, very long road indeed, and there is absolutely no guarantee other than hope but to me Sharon is precious and if it was me she would do exactly the same. I hope this may help someone or someone may have some thoughts they may want to share.Phil

I collapsed on Christmas day 2007, although I didn’t know it I’d stopped breathing and my husband had to take a crash course in CPR to get me breathing again. You see I’d suffered a subarachnoid haemorrhage and without CPR I would have died. From that day I went from being an independent confident person to a person I didn’t recognise any more and couldn’t even stay awake all day. I had a severe short-term memory loss and of course as with any kind of brain damage there is the stigma that goes with it. But going back to the beginning all I can remember is basically – nothing, absolutely nothing. I lost consciousness, stopped breathing and no memories at all!! From my husbands point of view he probably wishes he had no memories but he does he remembers me collapsing and having to dial 999, explaining that I wasn’t breathing properly and having to take and carry out a crash course in CPR. Although I don’t remember it now apparently when I arrived at hospital and the doctors started to cut off my clothes (dressing gown and nightdress) I apparently took exception to this and started to fight the doctors, so subsequently I had to be sedated. Once they realised I had had a haemorrhage they decided to transfer me to the John Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford. Three months on, my memory has slightly improved, my vision and hearing are impaired and it’s quite scary not knowing whether these will be permanent disabilities or will get better with time. My husband has been a complete rock and keeps reassuring me that no matter what he will be there for me, his love and reassurance has made this easier to deal with and accept. I now realise what and who is important and understand that life can be taken away in like just a split moment. Have realized that I am one of the lucky ones – I survived and am determined to make the most of the rest of my life no matter how long or short that may be despite any/or no disabilities. My dear daughter’s love, patience and support has been truly amazing, we want to believe that our children will be there for us in the same way that we try to be there for them and it’s a really amazing feeling when the roles are reversed!! I am only three months on past SAH and understand that these are very early days and look forward to seeing what life holds for me in terms of recovery. Of course some days are better than others – days when I want to be the person I was, have my life back but of course I know it’s never going to happen, going through this has changed the way I see things and think but maybe for the better!! Anne

On Monday 13th May 2007, I did not feel at all well, but went to work. During the day, I went to get myself a coffee and I was coming back with it, when inexplicably the cup fell from my left hand. I thought ‘that’s weird’ but took no further notice and got myself another cup. I worked all day, then went home, not feeling too well, so went to bed. I thought I was coming down with a cold. My only other symptom was my sinuses hurt, but thought that was sinusitis which I have had before. I never, ever experienced the thunderclap of a headache I have read about. Next morning, I got up to go to work, but again felt decidedly ill, so phoned to say I would not be in. Stayed in bed all day. Wednesday morning, got up to go to work and the next thing I remember is waking up on the floor. I got up but felt sick, managed to get to the bathroom and I was sick and that hurt, as I had not eaten in two days. I turned to face the mirror and saw my left eye was closed. I could not open it and thought “Ann, you’re ill, go to the Doctors”. Fortunately, where I live there is open surgery in the afternoons, so I got in my car and drove down, parked and went in. To cut a long story short, my Dr. called an ambulance who took me to Worthing Hospital. My Dr. explained to me that I would be bypassing ER and would go straight to an Emergency ward. He then asked if he could notify my next of kin – my partner Terry who lives in London – only one problem – I had left my mobile at home and could not remember his number! I offered to drive home (5 minutes) to get it! Well did not realise how ill I was. Poor Terry, he was beside himself not being able to contact me on either my landline or mobile so, as it was well past 6 o’clock, phoned the Met Police who contacted West Sussex Police – they evidently sent around a Patrol Car and Paramedics who found the spare key, saw the mess in my bedroom and bathroom and realised something was not right. They found me in Worthing Hospital. All I remember was having the scan, seeing the inside of my eyeball (I think) ....fascinating, I was not afraid, being driven to Hurst wood Park Neurological Centre in Haywards Heath, so had spent the whole of the 16th out of it. I remember signing the form and then being annoyed at being woken up and asked silly questions like “who is the Prime Minister”, “Where was I” – do you think I could remember kept saying Harefield Hospital – soon worked it out though through word association as no way were they going to beat me. Terry was told by the Consultant that I was seriously ill, that they were unsure whether I would survive as the haemorrhage was severe and that if I did survive, I may be severely disabled. I was blissfully unaware of all of this. I remember opening my eyes and seeing Terry and his son (now the 17th) feeling my head, felt the bandage and that was it. I was in ICU for 2 weeks and was then moved onto the Ward. My eye was still closed. I became paranoid about my blood pressure as on the first day on the ward, I was put in a chair, the next thing was on the bed opening my eyes with lots of medical people around me. I was petrified I had had a fit but was told I had fainted. It took me well over a week to get out of bed, I had lost all my confidence. The nurses were fantastic, I cannot praise them enough. Oh. The joy of having my first bath and hair wash in 4 weeks – I cannot describe how I felt. I was discharged back to Worthing Hospital and from there home. My eye had started to flick open which was a good omen – gradually that first week home the eye stayed open longer and longer. The one downside was I now had a squint and could not see properly. I had no depth of vision so getting out of the shower (bath) needed Terry’s help. Went to my Drs. to thank him for saving my life as I am convinced that without his insight and quickness in getting me to hospital, I would not have made it. He gave me an eye exercise and by the end of that week, the eye was centred however, when Terry drove, I would see the road straight ahead and going off to the right. Weird. Went back to my Dr. who told me to put a shield on my right eye which worked a treat as the left had to work and hey presto, my double vision disappeared. The fatigue – cannot believe how tired I was, what an effort it was initially to walk a few yards. When Terry went home as I could not drive, I needed to walk down to the main road in my village about a ¼ mile to get the bus. Had to think, “if I get down there, will I get back”. I can honestly say the worst aspect of my SAH was not being able to drive. I realise why but………. Lovely neighbours to take me shopping but…………… I was allowed to drive a full six months after my SAH. My reason for writing this all down and posting it, is to let those to come know that it is not all doom and gloom. My eye did open, I got over the fatigue, drove again, went back to work, and have come out of it with virtually no side effects whatsoever. My left temple is numb, my hair has got curly (don’t ask me why), I have not had a headache since then and now no longer take my health for granted. I feel so humble that my outcome has been good when I read the other stories.

Mine is a very sad story about when my Mama died from a SAH 8 years ago this August. She was 57 years old and she was at work. She had worked there for 35 years! She was sitting at the break table at lunch and she had a severe pain through the side of her head and she fainted. An ambulance took her to the hospital where me and my Dad met her there. She was awake, but in so much pain in her head when the nurses took her to have dye ran into her brain. While this was going on, she suffered a stroke so they went ahead and put her to sleep. She had 2 aneurysms. One in her left temple and one right between her eyes. They operated on her for several hours and the doctor told us that she should be starting to wake up by morning. That was 11:00 at night. The next morning she wasn't any better. They said she was in a coma. The doctor didn't put in a drainage tube during the surgery so he had to go back in and do so, because she was re-bleeding. Those were the saddest 6 days of my entire life, watching her leave us like that. The last two days, her temperature was 107.8! I know she could hear us the first 3 days, because when we would talk to her and beg her not to leave us, a tear would roll down her beautiful face. She was so beautiful, even with the staples in the entire side of her head. On the sixth day, she deteriorated further and about 12 hours later, her body just couldn't hold on any longer. Dear God it was hard to let her go. You know I said that was the saddest days of my life? There were a few more afterwards. After Mama died, my Daddy died too. He just couldn't live without her. He lived 6 months after she died. They had been married since Mama was 13 and he was 17! FOREVER! I really do miss them.... So very much.

The last memory I had was NEW YEARS EVE 2000, seeing in the new year at my home, with friends and family. The next thing I knew, I had woken up in hospital and my husband was telling me I had suffered a Brain Haemorrhage. All what I am going to tell you, has been told to me by my husband, (my soul mate) as I have no memory of it at all. The day was the 16th January 2001 and I had got up in the morning as usual and got my children ready for school. They were then aged 11 and 14. I had made the beds, put the washing on, done the breakfast, washing up and then sat down and ate my breakfast ( I know this because my breakfast things were still in the living room when my husband found me). My husband returned home at his usual time, 2.30pm, as I started work at 3.00 at the supermarket in the village Gordon (my husband) used to drop me off there. He knocked on the door several times but there was no answer, he never used to take a key, as I was always at home... he looked through the windows, but could not see me. He now started to get a little worried, so he ran to the phone box at the top of our road, but of course did not get an answer. On his return he knocked again (well not really knocked by now he was really worried it was more like banging on the front door) he looked again through the window into the living room and I was then standing looking not at him, not really at anything .....He started shouting at me to answer the door, but I just walked out of the room. Now my husband was very worried, as he said that what was looking out of the window was not me..... so he knew that something was seriously wrong. He went to our back garden and smashed the bottom piece of our back door out and crawled through. As soon as he got in, the smell of sick was revolting, he walked into the living room and could see that I had been sick everywhere. He then rushed upstairs to see me under the duvet in bed. He was asking me what was wrong and I was just holding the back of my head making the most awful sounds. He went downstairs and called our doctors and when the receptionist answered the phone she asked if it was urgent, he said I don’t know you tell me I have just come home from work and found my wife collapsed and sick everywhere. (The receptionists at our doctors can be very rude sometimes) The doctor came straight out and he tried to ring our home number on his way but because we had recently moved and changed our phone number he could not get through, so he called a ambulance straight away. Which was a very good idea. When they all arrived at the house, I was very unco-operative and the only person I would take any notice of or listen to was Gordon. I even went into the bathroom and started to try to eat my eczema cream OH MY GOD. They finally managed to do most of their checks and wanted to sit me in the chair to take me to the ambulance, which I would not do and ended up walking down the stairs with one paramedic in front of me and Gordon behind me, I cannot believe that I have no memory of any of this, but I could walk down the stairs. What was quite funny, was that when we were halfway down the stairs, my phone rang and Gordon said to our doctor, you will have to answer that. It was my work, because by now it was 3.30 and I should have been there half an hour ago. He just told them that I would not be in, as I was on my way to hospital. The really horrible thing was that as my son Ashley turned the corner into the road, he saw the ambulance pull off. Gordon had to come with me to try and calm me down, so a neighbour was waiting for my son. When my daughter Leah was on her way home from school, she called into see me at work and was greeted with OH MY GOD LEAH, IS YOUR MUM OK? When I think about what they all had to go through I feel sick in my stomach. My father-in-law had to come and bring my children to the hospital. The other thing is, is that when they both came into the house, they saw all the sick over the floor. When we arrived at Hillingdon Hospital, they told Gordon that it was either Meningitis or a Brain Haemorrhage. I went for a CT scan and that is when they knew that it was a SAH. By this time, they had sedated me to calm me down, the doctor then went and told my husband, children and quite a few of my family what had occurred. Gordon was so concerned, and he asked if there was any chance I could die. The doctor replied yes OH MY GOD. They explained that they had to get me to another hospital - either Charing Cross or the Southampton Hospital as they could not treat my condition there. They phoned Charing Cross, who said that they did not have any beds and then explained to my husband that I would not make the journey to Southampton. It was only when my head started to swell, that all of a sudden Charing Cross had a bed available. As soon as we arrived at the hospital, I was taken into surgery to have a drain put into my head in order to drain off all the blood. I was then taken to the ICU. Gordon said that when he saw the surgeon before the operation, he looked as though there was no chance at all of saving me. However, the relief on his face afterwards was very optimistic. That night must have been a NIGHT FROM HELL for everybody. The next day, I was taken into the High Dependency Unit. This is where I spent the next four weeks. They told Gordon that they could not operate on me for the next two weeks as it would be too dangerous. They needed the blood to drain away before they could do anything. The next two weeks are just a blur to me; I can only remember the odd few things. I can remember Gordon telling me on several occasions what had happened to me, and also the nurses asking me (god knows how many times) my name, what month we were in and what hospital I was in. It was the hospital part that I could never remember. They asked me one time how many children I had, to which I replied 10. I can also remember that I had a lot of people come to visit me when I was on this ward, but I cannot remember what I talked about or what they said to me. I also slept a lot. Gordon told me that I used to have this tablet, he called it the ‘Horse Tablet’ and every time I had taken it, I would start talking gibberish and would then fall asleep. The day soon came around for the operation; 31st January 2001. Gordon and my best friend Sue were allowed to see me before I went down for the op. They both stayed at the hospital for the whole day. I think I was down in surgery and recovery for about eight hours. They could not decide before the op, if they were going to clip or coil but then decided that the coil would be no good. The operation had gone very well. Gordon and Sue were finally allowed to see me, I must have looked horrific. The next two weeks I have no memory of at all. Gordon even stopped anyone coming up to see me as I was not well at all. It was just Gordon, Leah and Ashley and my Mum and Dad that came up. It turned out that I had contracted MRSA, and I have now have got a dip in the top of my head where they had to take the infection away from where the drain was. Then I was having trouble with the fluid draining, so they were now talking about having to put a shunt in. This is when I think Gordon got very angry and said that there was no way I could go through another operation. Then like a miracle, the fluid started to drain, THANKGOD. Then I have got a few memories. I can remember one really horrid dream that the night nurses were going to kill everybody in the room. When they took my catheter out, which I had in for four weeks, I had no control over myself at all and had to have the sheets and myself changed quite a few times. The only other bad memory was when I had the drain taken out. OH MY GOD pain or what, but I suppose if I had any memory of the SAH, that pain would have been nothing. The first day that I got out of bed after four weeks, they put me in a chair, the nurses knew that they were going to do it that day, but never told Gordon .... the joy on his face when he walked into the High Dependency Ward I shall never ever forget! I was moved out of this ward into a normal ward on the Tuesday night. My memories of this room are very limited as well; the one thing I can remember is a few of the people that were in the hospital with me. One, especially a Chinese girl, very young in her early twenties and she had a blood clot. I think about her all the time and wonder how she is now; every Chinese girl I see now, I think it is her. I was allowed home on the Sunday but only if I had 24 hour care, so Gordon had two weeks off. My mum had me for a week and my mother-in-law also looked after me for a week. Seven years have gone past now. I still have bad days and get very tired but the main thing, is that I am still here with my WONDERFUL husband and beautiful children who mean everything to me and have all helped me so much to cope and try to carry on after this awful episode in our lives. There are a few other times and people I would like to mention. My first trip downstairs in the hospital, in a wheelchair, I saw my best friend’s boyfriend, Paul (now husband) walk through the doors. The look on his face is something I will never forget to actually see me out of bed. The day I walked out of hospital with my Dad holding me, whilst Gordon went to get the car, he said to me, OH SARAH I NEVER THOUGHT THAT WE WOULD SEE THIS DAY. You could just hear the relief in his voice. My best friend SUE, who means the world to me and who has helped and supported my husband and children all through this time, is still always here for us now. All of my other family and friends have given us so much during this time. Also, all of the doctors and nurses especially MR O’NEIL. To me, everybody else went through so much at this time. To me, I was just having a sleeping holiday. And lastly, I cannot thank these three people enough. I LOVE THEM SO MUCH, they are MY WORLD and there are no words in the English dictionary to explain how I feel about them all. GORDON, LEAH AND ASHLEY.

Five years ago, in my thirties, I had a totally unexpected stroke which turned out to be the result of a sub-arachnoid haemorrhage from a ruptured aneurysm. Luckily for me, it was quickly diagnosed and successfully coiled. I was in hospital for weeks, suffering terrible pain, unable to do much with my right leg and arm, experienced excruciating light sensitivity and had awful double vision. When I left hospital in a wheelchair, I was unable to walk unaided, couldn't use my right arm, still had the double vision, and continued to suffer from debilitating headaches. I also had cognitive difficulties, got tired very easily, would burst into tears for no apparent reason and was absolutely terrified of being left alone. Gradually, with the support of my wonderful husband and a steady supply of paracetemol, I recovered my abilities and some of my confidence. Around 15 months after the SAH, I was thrilled when I was told I could drive again, although it was another 6 months before I was able to quell my nerves sufficiently to test drive and purchase a car. The day I picked up my new vehicle was a real milestone for me, as I had felt so dependent on others for almost 2 years. I still suffer from anxiety (partly the result of worrying about a second aneurysm which I am advised should not be treated due to its tricky location meaning the risk from treatment outweighs the risk of rupture), I have blinding migraine type headaches and continue to tire more easily than most people my age. However, people who meet me and don't know about my illness never guess that there is anything wrong. I had to give up my management career, but I started my own business which gives me the freedom to work from home and I can work around those days when I'm not feeling 100%. The NHS did a fantastic job of saving me and although my recovery was slow, I am almost back to where I was and am enjoying my new life. I hope my story may help anyone who is feeling bleak about the future after experiencing something similar.

It was 9th April 2008; I had just put my son Jack to bed and was on my computer. Antony came to say hi from our pub downstairs. All of a sudden, I felt fuzzy so I went outside for some fresh air but needed to lie down. All of a sudden it was if someone had hit me over the head with a hammer, my neck was hurting and I was being constantly sick. I screamed for an ambulance which Antony called. He said I had a seizure at this point, but I can’t remember that. The paramedics came and I remember them sitting me up and putting my slippers on and asking if I could walk, which I did, to the bottom of our fire escape. I thought I had blacked out - Antony said they sedated me in the ambulance - so the rest is from Antony. I was rushed to hospital and no one had any idea of what was wrong with me. They thought it was meningitis. Luckily a neuro doctor walked passed and recognised the signs and I was then taken for scan where they found my aneurysm. I was coiled the day after. I was intensive care for 5-7 days and in a light coma. I remember seeing loads of family photos around me, LOADS ... and hearing the odd voice. Apparently my dad sat with me a lot because Antony couldn’t bear seeing me OK one minute then tubes everywhere the next. The first thing I remember is having a wet small sponge in my mouth testing my gag reflexes. Oh! It was lovely wetting my mouth. I went on to HDU were I was really calm and couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about, and then I realized what had happened. I had a collapsed lung during my surgery and an irregular heart beat, which I found out about 2 months later, and that I had to be shocked to get the rhythm back. I also caught MRSA but for some reason that didn’t worry me. Nothing did. I was so glad to be alive. I was eventually transferred to a neuro ward where I had my first shower, which was bliss but I needed a wheelchair. I had a drain in my head, which really annoyed me and when the doctor decided to clip it I was relieved, but all of a sudden a weird sensation came over my body and I couldn’t feel my legs. They all rushed back in and un-clipped the drain and I was fine, but I had to breath into a paper bag to calm me down as I got myself all worked up. Eventually I was allowed off the ward to café where I saw my 2 year old son Jack. I’d not seen him for 3 weeks … God I held him so tight, and he even looked like he'd grown. I wanted to hold him and never let him go, but I had to. I am crying as I write this as I remember that moment so well. On 27th April I was sent home and that is where I found it really hard and I still do. My emotions go up and down and I am on medication. I am also going to see a councillor for post traumatic stress. From all this I have made so many life-long friends who have been FANTASTIC to me. YES all you guys! Now, 5 months on, I am thinking of returning to work in another month and have an unbreakable bond with my 2 year old son, Jack. Yes, I have bad days; head, neck, ears and eyes and twinges all over, but I am here. THANK YOU to all my new friends.

With my gynaecological, gastrointestinal problems and 5 major operations I thought I was over some of the medical problems and now with more time to myself I can go back to full time work. In February 2008 I was offered a job, I signed the contract of employment and I was going to start work in the beginning of April 2008. I was looking forward to start work and start of a new beginning. The night of the 13th March 2008 changed that. I started to experience a real bad headache I was a bit annoyed as I really wanted to carry on sleeping, I thought I should get up and take some paracetomol and maybe it will go away but as I made my way to get the tablets I felt really weird everything was fuzzy around me, I knew something was not right. I took the 2 tablets but started to feel really sick, I went to my son’s room and woke him up, I had to tell him that something is not right about me and that I need help but then I just collapsed on the sofa and suddenly my left arm started going hard and my hand started to shape like a claw, although I could not talk I thought with my very high blood pressure I am having a stroke. My son quickly called for an ambulance. I cannot remember when the paramedics came; the rest of what is being written is what my son’s told me. I was told that I was talking about things that I had planned for that day and I cannot possibly go into hospital I just did not have the time. My son Asim, bless him sat me down and said that I need to go into hospital to get better first. He was really angry at the paramedics as they thought I was acting but my son said there is no way she would want to go into a hospital and for her to tell me to call for an ambulance there must be something really wrong. The paramedics acted very quickly after that. I was taken to the Royal Free Hospital about 3.00am. I do remember being sick every 5 minutes or so, the doctor on call decided to do a CT scan and it is then that they discovered that I had a subarachnoid haemorrhage. The doctors did tell my son that I might not make it because I was weak and that it was a large bleed. I was then coiled later that afternoon. I was in the HDU for 4 weeks I got hydrocephalus, and I remember having a drain. My sister told me that I almost did not make it again. Most of my time was in and out of consciousness even when my family were there. Some things I did were totally out of character for me and thank God I do not remember them. I did have hallucinations and seizures. I started to notice that the left side of my leg was weak, the physiotherapist were wonderful at that stage. As I am so independent I decided that I wanted to go to the bathroom myself and being stubborn too I fell when I was in the bathroom, it took a staff nurse and two physiotherapists to help me up and into bed. After 5 weeks I was finally be able to come home I was dependent with a zimmer frame and now a crutch. I feel that my life has changed since SAH and I often miss the person I once was I often imagine her standing and looking lost. I have come to terms with this although I do get frustrated because I do depend on others I have developed speech problems and this has also frustrated me more. I still get tired and get pains in the head, I wonder if I will ever get the conventional headache ever again! and when I do get those pains in the head it quickly makes me alert and the fear sets in. I am six months post SAH and it has been a slow but steady recovery, I do not think I will be the same ever again but I take each day as it comes. I intend on doing the things I said I always wanted to do and I often stop and look at beautiful things that surround me. I don’t have any intentions of doing bungee jumping or something like that but maybe travel or learn something new. I have been given a second chance and I am going to live it to the full. Myra xx

My Name is Keith Henman. Born on the 6th of August 1958. I'm married to Lesley with a thirteen (going on twenty) year old daughter called Zoe. Now living in Holme-Upon-Spalding-Moor, East Yorkshire. The Day Of My Stroke It was Monday 23rd March 1998 about 1930 hrs. I was just about to bath my daughter when I felt a little strange, then all of a sudden I couldn’t move my left side, so after managing to drag myself to the bedroom, I phoned for the ambulance myself. I called out for my daughter, (she was 3½ then) and by the tone of my voice she sensed there was something wrong. My wife was out that night with the girls. So there I was, stuck on the bed, waiting and wondering what had happened. About the same time as the ambulance arrived, my wife returned. It felt like ages before they arrived, but now I know it was only about 10-15 minutes. So there I was strapped to a board (lucky I wasn’t carrying myself) being lowered down the stairs, and off to hospital - the Gloucester Royal - within a few minutes. In a very short space of time we had to arrange a child minder, and for someone to come with my wife to the hospital. I was being pushed and pulled by anybody who came past, and after about an hour, somebody said I could go home and come back in the morning. It was then that my wife (not very politely) asked if anybody thought it was a bit odd that someone who came in partially paralysed should be sent home, and told to come back tomorrow. In the comments that passed over the next few minutes, a young doctor intervened, asking what’s going on. It didn’t take long for this doctor to realise that further investigations needed to be carried out. Then it was a quick trip from Gloucester to Bristol. I had suffered a massive bleed. I was in Frenchay hospital, miles from home and my wife and her friend were now driving down the motorway. I won't go into detail about what happened in the next week, I can’t remember much anyway. Then it was back to Gloucester Royal for what turned out to be 15½ weeks; a very long time for anybody. In that time my wife only missed four days visiting. It was hard for her, and for my daughter too. After My Stroke Home Now! After a spell of 16 weeks in hospital I was discharged, then the fun really started. At the time it was my goal to get home before my 40th Birthday, yes, I did it. Had a party; family and friends came from all over. They all sat there goggling at me, fussing & driving me nuts! “Will someone get drunk, it's my party” My sister lead the way. What a Girl! I managed to keep going to physio and OT up until November 1998. Visiting my doctor for a follow up from the hospital, I ask for information about Stroke & Epilepsy and was told there was very little about these subjects in this area. He stated: “Your not going to be able to work for the foreseeable future, so why don't you start something yourself?” Very helpful, I thought, but not the sort of support I anticipated. I said "thank you for your support", or was it something different? I cant remember, and I changed my GP. In the same week I found that my job could no longer be guaranteed. This in turn caused a slightly larger problem. My accommodation came with the job, so as you might imagine, this put me on a low, wondering what to do now. After more than 20 years, I had to change my whole outlook on life. Frustration set in, because now I was unable to do the every day things that used to come naturally. You know, silly things like washing, dressing, getting up to answer the door, taking my daughter for walks ... I'm going to stop this paragraph before I wind my self up. Yes, it still hurts. So we packed our bags and moved to Market Weighton, East Yorkshire, where after only a few weeks I was put onto a Family Stroke Support Worker. The first few visits felt strange, but after a while I saw what she was trying to make me ask for. That was ... HELP. At first, I pushed the offer away, in fact I pushed too many people away including family & friends. I was not coping. I just wanted to be alone. I knew I wasn't the only one who had survived a stroke, but I wanted to know WHY ME? One day my support worker gave me a good kick up the bum. It was what I needed: Right, this is it, come on, you're stronger than this. Buck your ideas up. Next morning: new day, new start. I was to make contact with a group called DUET, which alas closed it's doors late in 2000. DUET was there to help anybody with a disability build up their confidence and get them back on track, offering empathy & advocacy. After completing the courses available, I stayed on as a volunteer to help others. Since attending the DUET courses I've moved on to assisting in the tuition of computer training with disabled people and people with learning difficulties; something I wouldn't have even thought of a few years ago. I was also introduced to a Stroke Club. Now that was a good move, just knowing your not alone helps. I'm Secretary of one Club and helped set up 4 more in the area. I would strongly advise any stroke survivors and their carers to access such groups. At first I was very hesitant as my confidence was at an all time low as I walked through the doors, not knowing what to expect. There was no need to worry as I received a warm friendly welcome, and there were friends I had already met at Duet, in fact it was one of them that suggested I came along. The groups are run entirely by local stroke survivors and carers and are regularly consulted by service providers and other agencies on the planning, monitoring and further development of whole stroke services. We campaign for better stroke services and also provide information and support to people who have had a stroke, and their carers. Further information can be obtained by visiting www.strokesurvivors.co.uk We offer empathy, understanding, friendship and a friendly ear to Stroke Survivors, Carers & Family Members. The aim being to help strokesurvivors’ and carers’ to improve their conditions and quality of life. This is something I never imagined or thought I would be able to achieve in the early stages of my recovery, but with lots of help and determination I have succeeded. Surviving each and everyday is an achievement in itself for anyone living with a disability. Silly things what we all take for granted: washing, walking, communicating, reading, household chores, the list is be endless. Maybe the term adapting would be more beneficial. Yes it takes a lot longer than it did before, but with a little perseverance, everyday tasks can be achieved. Maybe not to the standard it used to be, but enough to make the difference and not having to depend on too many other people. As stated before, I'm involved with Stroke Clubs & Support in the area I live. Something I really enjoy doing. Knowing I've helped someone, makes all the time I put into my voluntary work worth it. My disability has made me stronger, more determined, and I want let people walk over me. I didn't set a goal to have the longest introduction on this site. After reading and talking/chatting to many of the members of this excellent on-line family. I knew that if I could write as much down as I could, the highs and lows, and if people read it, then they might see themselves in here; see that there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Some tunnels are longer than others. So just take your time, don't rush, and you will get there. Keith Henman

My sah struck on Sunday 28th Nov 2004 at around 8.00 am, while making tea and breakfast. Quickly realising what was happening I called my 14 year old daughter to ring for my sister as I stupidly didn’t want to call for my own ambulance! I knew time was critical but all I could do was grip my head and remain calm and shut down. I was very frightened!! Up until then I had enjoyed perfect health and fitness and never visited hospital with the exception of the maternity ward. Twenty minutes later we arrived to a quiet A&E in Winchester, whereupon a young aussie Registrar took my case; in retrospect I dare say, if it wasn’t for her good instincts to organise a ct scan straight away, life could have been a lot worse. The diagnosis was immediate and my poor family were distraught, keeping vigil for a lot of the time overnight in HDU. The following morning, a Monday, I was transferred to the Wessex Neuro, Southampton for an angiogram followed by an MRI which showed no aneurysm. Two days later I was transferred back to Winchester where they instigated vigorous physic. Many of my work colleagues, family and friends came and went by the bottom of my bed tho I was asleep mostly and barely cared nor noticed who came. I was discharged 10 days before Christmas and slept for most of December; altho I was emotionally engulfed by the vast tragedy of the tsunami unfolding on my bedroom tv and almost lost my mind completely after boxing day! Not conducive to recovery! Come the New Year, my sisters made it their absolute mission and goal to exercise me relentlessly with their dogs - daily circuits of 5 kms, with hot chocolate thrown in enroute at the pub, later to be called the ‘hot chocolate run’. I then adopted a rescue dog, golden retriever, Layla, and to this day we go on long jaunts in the countryside. Some of my friends were saints‘, taking me shopping, dropping off cooked food, cleaning my flee pit of a house, tending to my many needs & putting up with a deranged, gibbering, tearful wreck!! One friend in particular, ‘St Phillipa‘, was a real motivator, having previously suffered life threatening illness herself, took the lead for a whole year to put me right. Surprisingly tho friends I presumed would be there weren’t all that much, and have drifted away, but my loyalties lie with the strong ones! Family relationships have been severely tested to their limits! One lesson in life I’ve learnt is to realise the true value of friendship; and never to take personally, or at all in fact, other people’s indifference or insensitivity. I have undergone reinvention in the job arena; just doing part-time work I love combined with study which suits for now. I had my wake-up call and would never put my health at risk, I strive to keep a balance. Stress was the causal factor - I still look at it as tho I had blown a fuse! I’m not capable of pushing myself to that extreme again. Any side-effects 3 years on would be short episodes of crippling fatigue (caused by ignoring the body’s needs) and migraines (now controlled by medication). Overall, I have developed a stronger stamina and attitude of mind in the last couple of months, with fluctuations of fatigue mostly influenced by stormy weather. What my sah has taught me has been never to take people or life for granted! I have become calmer and quieter. Although in acute testing conditions, its amazing at how razor sharp I can flip and lose the plot; I would say this is what I have inherited from my sah. I need to address this issue! On reflection, I have made a miraculous recovery; and with all the rollercoaster of emotions, fatigue, exasperation and frustration this has entailed, my brain has not let me down, and I know recovery happened by taking a day at a time and as much rest as possible. Recovery time is individual, there are peaks and gulleys; yes it is that dramatic but develop as much patience and kindness for yourself and the healing comes.

It was October 5, 2005. I got ready for work and headed off to drop my youngest daughter off at school and then to work. I was in the break room with my boss and the other employee's, we were all talking and waiting to clock in. At 8:59 I looked at one of the girls and it appeared she was in a dark grey tunnel, a warm feeling went over the top of my head and then I had a headache; I knew something was wrong but was unsure what. I grabbed my bosses hand and told her I didn't feel well, they grabbed a chair and told me to sit down. The clock struck 9:00 and everyone clocked in and left. I asked my boss if she had anything for a headache and she said she would go upstairs and look in her office, and she left. A bit of time went by, I am not sure how long it was, everything was in slow motion, I wasn't scared I felt so calm. I finally made my way up the stairs to my bosses office where I found she had just sat down and started working. So I walked to my car and called my husband Jim on my cell phone and tried to explain what had happened. He knew something was wrong and told me to get someone to take me to the doctor. So I went back in to the office and asked for a ride and the secretary agreed to give me a ride. Everything seem to take so long. I got to the doctor and went in to the waiting room... I could not seem to fill out the paper work. The secretary left me there alone. They called me in and began the questions. Meanwhile, my husband arrived, he was working an hour and a half away he got there in 45 minutes, thank God... because they were treating me for a migraine. I get migraines, I knew it was not a migraine. I could not touch my nose or reach out and touch something in front of me. if anyone tried to touch my face I would turn away. I could not focus and I had a hard time answering simple questions. Jim looked at the doctor and asked him why are we not talking stroke. At that point he decided to send me for a CT scan. I went in and they started the scan and stopped before they were done and came in and took me back out to Jim and told him get me across the street to the emergency room they would be waiting for me. We got to the hospital but they were not waiting, Jim took me in and told them we had come from a scan and you are suppose to be waiting for me. They took me in the emergency room, a nurse came in and started giving me oxygen and then an IV and finally a neurologist came in and explained that I had a SAH behind my left eye and I needed to to be air lifted to Bend, Oregon, 2 hours away from where we lived. Jim rushed to go get the kids so they could see me before I left. It was around 4:00 before I finally left the hospital for the airport. I stayed aware until I reached the hospital in Bend and then everything is a blank. Jim said we talked all night long but I have no memory of it. October 6, 2005 I woke up in the CCU after being coiled. They told me I was singing a german song in recovery; my daughter was taking a german class in high school at the time and had been practicing this song weeks before. I don't speak german and cannot repeat this song to this day. (strange) And, so began the questions what is your name, what day is it, where are you? I did fine with these questions. But I could not remember my oldest daughters birthday and strange things like that. Everything stayed calm for the first night, but the second night was horrible. It was shift change for the nurses and they asked Jim to step out while they did... so he did. I started hallucinating and hearing things, I could swear that I could hear Jim trying to get in and fighting with the nurses and then I thought I was seeing the police arrest him. I was hysterical exactly what the doctors did not want and the nurse would not get him. The second nurse came in and I finally convinced her to get him (simple fix duh). Later, the nurse said if your seeing things we need to talk about this. We found out it was a reaction to the meds and the doctor told them my husband was not to be asked to leave again. I spent three days in CCU and then they moved me to a private room were I began to learn what challenges I had ahead of me. I felt emotionless. I did not want to watch TV or talk, I just felt like I was in a glass case and nothing was important. Walking was not so easy and they told me I had to walk to go home. I could not hardly sleep especially at nght, I would just lay there. Jim stayed most nights but had to go home and shower and check in with the kids. My oldest son stayed with the kids the first night, told my oldest daughter and my grandaughter could fly in and stay with them. I was in the hospital a total of eight days and I went home a little to soon, but my daughter had to return home and Jim would not have been able to be there except for visiting on the week ends and I could not stand that, so I told them I was ready to go home. So they released me, Jim dropped my daughter off at the airport in medford and had to drive three hours to where I was and pick me up. At home, it was difficult, walking was very hard and painful for me, so painful at one point I passed out from the pain and Jim had to catch me. The meds started making me sick mostly the steroids and blockers. So I quit taking everything I have never been big on meds and I wasn't about to take something that made me sick. The blockers actually made it painful to eat I would get these horrible spasms because I was starving. you could not read my writing it, was if a flea was writing, it was so small and my brain did not want to inlarge it. My right side from my middle finger to my pinky were tingling and I had trouble getting them to work. Mentally and emotionally I have the most lasting affects, it has changed me in a lot of ways. My inhibitions are more liberal, things that scared me don't, I anger more easily, I used to be a pacifist but not so much anymore. I have not been back to see the doctor since I left the hospital on October 12 2005. While in the hospital they would not answer our questions they would just stare at us, they sent me home with no information on what to expect. Jim called to talk to the doctor and had a assistant call him back, he told Jim they wanted to do another angiogram and go back in and look at there work. Jim told him I wasn't comfortable with that, so he said we would talk about it, a couple weeks later the hospital calls and wants to verify my procedure to be done the next morning. They had scheduled it with out my permission so I never went back. There are a lot of details I forget and later I will remember them after I have sent this to you. But that is a normal thing these days for me. My family knows it will come out in bits and pieces. Evelyn... ALBUQUERQUE NM. USA

May 7th 2008 - an evening I will never forget. I had been trying to ring mum about 5.00 p.m. and could not understand why I was not getting an answer just the answer phone - so left a message! Maybe she is out watering the garden - tried again about 30 mins later - still no reply - tried her mobile - no reply from that either. I knew mum would have been there - already panic started to set in. I rang her neighbour who let herself in with her key and I then had the call to say mum was in bed and had been sick everywhere. I got to her house on two wheels - strange but I just had that feeling that something was terribly wrong. Luckily it was only 15 mins away and mum was pretty incoherent - the vomit was just about everywhere and all she kept saying was "I feel so ill - help me". I immediately rang 999 - the rapid reponse team came within 5 mins and felt mum should be checked over in hospital - they said all her obs were fine and they rigged up a drip to the wardrobes. The paraemedics took about an hour to come and they were equally as baffled. We got to hospital about 9.00 p.m. all mum's veins had shut down and they took best part of 2 hours to get some blood, eventually it came from her foot. I told them that mum seemed some what confused so about 11.00 p.m. they took her for a head scan. When they came back and told me mum had had a SAH, my legs just buckled beneath me, I am a Medical Secretary (so a little knowledge can be dangerous) but I knew the outcome looked bleak and that this was life threatening. By 2.00 a.m. mum was having surgery as she had hydrocephalus, we got to see her about 6.00 a.m. I could never imagine so many wires and tubes in all my life coming from a person.They told me she also had pneumonia and to expect the worst. Mum was 75. The next few days were a blur, she just lay there lifeless and on a ventilator and they could not get her BP under control. She was too poorly for the head scan they wanted to do. Then on about day 5 mum opened her eyes and started taking some deep breaths but her heart and lungs were poor and she was very puffy and swollen all over her body but when she opened her eyes I knew she knew I was there. She then had the scan which showed that the aneurysm was amenable to coiling but her chest needed to improve fiirst. On the 13th May mum was off the sedation and was spelling out words by nodding and on the 14th she had her aneurysm coiled. That was another of the longest few hours of my life and when the hospital rang me to say she was through it I just danced for joy. On May 17th the doctor decided to turn the ventilator off which really scared me - the nurse who was mainly looking after mum felt she was not ready for it but the doctor had the final say. Unfortunately mum was not ready and things took a downward slide. Her BP and oxygen levels dropped and they thought she had an MI. The Dr spoke with us very frankly and said the odds were stacked against her. By some sort of miracle she surprised us and the doctors and the next day she was sat up in bed waving. They told us it was amazing. Mum has this habit of curling her lip up at the corner - and when she did that I was so happy. Mum then went on to have a tracheostomy which stayed in for about a month and she was home in 7 weeks. Now almost a year on Maggie is back living independently. She obviously gets highs and lows and the year hasn't been easy, but she is my walking miracle so for any carer reading this story miracles do happen - my mum was one of them. Never give up hope; although at times I know this is very hard. It has made me a stronger person and I can't imagine any day being harder than the day it all happened. My thanks go to Frenchay Hospital, Bristol for saving her life.

I had taken my parents to Majorca in January of 2007 for my mothers 85th birthday and it had been a real tonic for all three of us so I decided I would repeat the exercise in January 2008. We were staying in a lovely apartment on the east coast of the island and I would have a hire car to transport us around. The journey was quite tiring as I had to cope with luggage for three people and ensure mum and dad did not have to walk far, so I was dashing around getting the car close to collect them at the airport etc but it would all be worth it to get a change of scenery. On arrival at the apartment we were disappointed to find workmen hammering all the render off the property and making a lot of noise and dust but we would not let that bother us. We had glorious weather on the first few days so at the last minute my husband Geoff decided he would fly out a couple of days later to join us and I drove back across the island to collect him on the Thursday afternoon. On Friday morning I awoke to the sound of the builders hammering and I launched myself out of bed to throw the curtains open to reveal the fantastic view of the harbour from the window to Geoff but I was suddenly gripped by the worst pain in my head I had ever experienced, it felt like a firework had gone off in my head and my cries woke up my parents. Suddenly I started vomiting and felt disorientated, my neck became rigid and my right eye would not focus and was throbbing. The worst pain was in my head and neck though, it was unbearable. I made it back to bed and as long as I lay on my right side and did not open my eyes or move I could just about cope with the pain. I said right then that I thought I had had a brain haemorrhage but I think the family thought I was being a bit dramatic so I kept quiet! Geoff somehow managed to get me in the car and took me to a local doctor, by this time I had a very pale complexion and was in a lot of pain. He examined my neck and gave me an injection in my behind for the pain and said I must relax and that my neck muscles were very tight causing the headache. He also gave me some powders to drink at regular intervals which I assumed were for rehydration. Back at the apartment I lay on my side in bed and convinced Geoff to take my parents out for the day so I could rest. It was the longest day ever, the hammering of the builders was in time to the thudding in my head and I drifted in and out of sleep or consciousness, not sure which, till they returned. The next day continued in the same vein and by this time my eldest daughter, who was at that time a final year medical student, was texting Geoff telling him she suspected I had had a SAH and to get me to a large hospital asap. I was unaware of this and Geoff decided (understandably) that she could not possibly know that without being there and that after all she was just his little girl and how could she know (can we ever take advice from our kids, however knowledgeable they are?!) By Sunday morning it was apparent that I could cope with the pain no longer and Geoff called out a doctor from an international practice nearby, he immediately gave us a letter for the hospital saying he suspected I had had a SAH and told us to get to the hospital in Palma as quickly as possible either by ambulance or car and gave us directions. He also told us that the powders I had been dutifully taking were for arthritis and that the local doctor must have thought I had arthritis in my neck!! On arrival at Clinic Palmaplanas the staff went in to overdrive, within minutes I had had a consultation followed by a CT scan, a diagnosis was made, I was admitted to ITU and an interpreter was summoned to explain what had happened and what would happen next . All impressive stuff! I was told that they could not see an aneurysm on the initial CT and that they would stabalise me for a few days before doing an angiogram where they would be finding the aneurysm and coiling it at the same time. The next few days went past in a blur, I was not allowed to move at all and was tilted at an angle on a bed, there were no clocks, no belongings at all allowed (I was kept naked except for a thin sheet over me) and one visitor allowed for 45 minutes at 1pm and again at 7pm which for most patients was so that relatives could feed them but I was nil by mouth for the first 7 days! The only thing that relieved the monotony was the blood pressure monitor inflating at 30 minute intervals and the bleep going off to say my numerous IV bags needed replacing. I dreaded Geoff leaving after evening visiting as it would be 17 hours before the next visit. He had a hard time reassuring my very worried parents , getting them to the airport for the flight back home that I should have been on with them, ensuring our youngest daughter met them at the other end and picked my car up from Liverpool airport, getting someone else to pick his car up from Stansted airport and a 101 other logistical things including finding a hotel for himself. On the Thursday I went down to the theatre for my coiling but low and behold no aneurysm could be found, the doctor spent so long doing the catheter angiogram to make sure he was not missing anything, he was exhausted at the end. He then ordered an MRI scan for the next day which also showed no aneurysm and that the blood was starting to dissipate. I was constantly told that this was the best possible outcome and that recovery would be total which was reassuring. I was then allowed to have my first food and drink and to sit up. On Sunday I was transferred to a normal ward and that was so much better, there was a sofa bed for Geoff to sleep on so he left the hotel and we could be together 24 hours a day. The next day I managed to get up to the bathroom wheeling my IV and from that point on I made good progress each day. The doctor wanted my blood pressure to below 120/60 before I was allowed to fly (it was never very high at any point) By the end of the week I could take the lift and sit out in the garden and walk along the corridor and on the Sunday, after much deliberation and differences of opinion between doctors I was allowed to fly home, just 16 days after the SAH, it was such a relief. I was given CD’s of my scans, angiogram details and notes and told I must get an appointment with a neurologist within 2 weeks. Back in the UK I expected to get back to normal very quickly, after all, I had had no surgery, had no aneurysm, there was, to all intents and purposes, nothing wrong with me was there. The first hurdle was trying to get an appointment in the NHS system, eventually I got one 6 weeks later. During these weeks I made myself go for a walk every day, the first few days I only got a few doors away and even 5 weeks later I did not stray far from my own front door and on several occasions an elderly neighbour returned me home after finding I could not walk one step further! I eventually got the neurologist to agree to ask his radiologist to assess my scans form Majorca and only then did he grudgingly agree that I had “definitely” had an SAH, until that time he referred to me as “thinking it was an SAH”! He was so patronising and was happy as long as I could squeeze his hand and almost walk in a straight line, it seemed totally unimportant that I could no longer do many of the things I could do before and that fatigue and neck pain were blighting my life. He intimated that the tiredness and neck pain had nothing at all to do with SAH and that I was depressed and that most difficulties after SAH are for that reason rather than physical!AAARRGGHH! After this I had some private physio and acupuncture sessions which really helped my neck pain. Eventually he sent me for a follow up CT and then later for an MRI on my neck and spine and concurred that there was a physical reason for the neck pain (perhaps unrelated to SAH but that is when it began) but that it would take risky surgery to correct and he would not advise it. He declined to elaborate further saying that patients did not understand such complex things and would misinterpret the information! AAARRRGGHH! I am an educated woman, my daughter by this time was a qualified doctor and could not believe how patronising he was. I am glad to say he discharged me in February 2009, this was 13 months post SAH. I am now 15 months post SAH and in the past few months have seen a real improvement in my stamina and the pain in my neck had got less and less. It now happens only when I get tired and I have learnt to pace myself more. I can now do some gardening without spending the next day in bed, I have returned to my volunteer roles and can now do 4 hours admin and telephone work without going straight to bed afterwards (although still do not feel competent enough to do paid roles). I can swim a bit further each time I go to the pool and some days I actually feel like my old self! I am a determined and active person with a very supportive family and friends. When I suffered from a very serious life threatening illness and radical surgery over 5 years ago I pushed myself to a full recovery very quickly so I thought I had the power to beat the after effects of SAH. I was so wrong, our brain governs who we are and everything we do, I suppose it is logical that damage to it will reflect in everything about us. I was sure that the prognosis of recovery taking between 6 months and 24 months was rubbish, I would be back to normal in 3 months at the longest. That was not to be but now I feel that I am making a full recovery in my own time and that 2 years is actually realistic. I know I am one of the very lucky ones who will eventually have no after effects from this devastating menace that kills and damages so many people in their prime. My story is not dramatic or sad like so many on here but it does have a happy ending so I feel it is still a valuable story to reassure some people that full recovery happens. I am so grateful to Karen and her team for starting this web site where we can share stories, gain support, learn from others and educate ourselves about SAH. Thank you. Ann April 2009

May 27th 2008 was my birthday... I had arranged to go shopping with my husband, daughter and grandchildren. I woke feeling very poorly was sick and my head hurt and I had very large zig zag shapes going on in my eyes... but most of all I was just so tired and I really just wanted to sleep.. My hubby brought me tea... I didnt even attempt to drink it, which raised his alarm bells. He rang NHS Direct for advice - he then called the GP surgery. The local GP came out and did the chin on chest thing, amongst other things and thought it might be meningitis so asked my husband to take me to A&E which he did - I slept on the way there too. The Doc in A&E wanted me to have a CT scan... the other medics were not convinced, but thankfully he did insist... (Thank you Guy) It showed that I had a subarachnoid haemorrhage.... he told me he was going to send me to another hospital which he did. I went high speed by ambulance (thank you ladies ) and arrived at HDI unit in LGI. I met the neuro surgeon who told me about coiling (this is all a bit vague but I am doing my best to recall) he arranged to have it done the next day however it was a couple of more days before I had it (not quite remembering why that was) I was on monitors, ECG's etc. I had a lumber drain put in which helped initially reducing a little pressure and I had the coiling done. Apparently, I was in very good spirits although probably "morphed out". I spent a week in HDU and then onto a ward for the following week. I was discharged on the 9th June 2008. This is a very vague recollection of the events and some detail as been left out but it is true and correct to the best of my ability Thank you. Mandy

2006 was meant to be a year of new beginnings my darling husband Morris had been given a new lease of life in May of 2005 when he had his quadruple heart bypass. He had been really poorly from the September of 2004 and it was a stressful time for us as a family. For his mother it proved too much and she suffered with a heart attack the day before Morris was discharged from hospital and ended up having a triple bypass herself within days of her son. It was also the year we would celebrate our 25th Wedding Anniversary. I was running on low batteries and felt constantly tired from about the May. We had booked to go to Majorca for two weeks at the end of August as we would be celebrating our 25th Wedding Anniversary. A couple of days before we were due to leave I noticed that my left eye was badly bloodshot but thought nothing of it as it wasn’t painful just not particularly nice to look at. It cleared up and we had a really lovely and relaxing holiday. I had only been back at work for less than two weeks when I had to take a further two weeks off when Claire was ill. I returned to work at the end of September and life began to return to a normal routine. In retrospect and to be honest I really can’t remember but Morris tells me I was suffering from more headaches but as I was taking quite a lot of Nurofen for tendonitis in my right ankle I just don’t know. It was about the beginning of October when I started getting very sharp pains behind my left eye. I put it down to stress at first after all that had happened with Claire and the fact that I was proof reading training documents at work. I also had quite a severe chest infection and had been sent for x-rays, the first lot of antibiotics failed to clear it and during this time the pain behind my eye was becoming more severe and even more intense, at times that it would wake me up. I had decided to discuss it with my G.P when going back for more antibiotics but because I’m a stubborn person and she wouldn’t let me get a word in edgeways, too busy lecturing me on smoking I ended up leaving in a foul mood without mentioning it at all. It was now the beginning of November and the stabbing pain was happening more often. I had phoned the surgery for an appointment with a different G.P but could only get an appointment with the same G.P for the 3rd of November the Friday. On the Thursday was on a late shift 12 - 8 at work so went in as normal by about 2 p.m the pain behind my eye was quite severe whereas until that day it had come and gone and was mainly a stabbing pain now it had changed. Its quite hard to describe the stabbing sensation was still there but also constant throbbing and pressure. I took some painkillers hoping to ease it off and continued working. I went into a meeting at 3 p.m and it was during the meeting that I felt extremely ill and had to run off to the toilets. I felt really sick but wasn’t actually sick. I splashed my face with cool water and returned to the room and told them I had to go. I must have looked bad as no-one argued with me I cleared my stuff away and called Morris to pick me up, he was painting his mum’s house so said he would send Claire. I didn’t make it out of the building had to dive into the toilets and was violently ill managed to rinse my mouth and face which helped slightly and made it outside to wait for Claire. Don’t you just love sympathetic children she took one look at me and said don’t you dare be sick in my car mum. Claire dropped me at home were I literally crawled up the stairs and put myself to bed with a bowl in tow. Morris came dashing home from his mum’s really concerned it was unheard of for me to go to bed no matter how ill I was but I just couldn’t move, any movement at all and the pain behind my eye got worse and the nausea. I suppose if I had to get ill I had chosen the right time in one respect. Morris had just bought a black cab and was just that week starting up as a self-employed cab driver. Prior to this he was a rapid response driver for a security company working up to 50 hours a week and would have been unable to take time off to look after me. I made Morris go out to work and refused to go to the Doctors as I had an appointment the next afternoon. I just stayed in bed drifting in and out of sleep cringing and moaning every time a firework went off. Morris kept popping in to keep an eye on me and that night I did manage to sleep fitfully. On the Friday couldn’t really move a lot without pain but dragged myself out of bed in the afternoon to go to the Doctors. The Doctor was as useless as usual and not really very interested in listening to the type of pain I was having, merely pressed on my cheekbone asked if it was sore and said it was Sinusitis. I was sent home with Sinutab and told to go back the following week if it was no better. The next morning actually dragged myself downstairs as Morris had been working and when he got into bed every time he moved my head hurt. I phoned work to let them know I would not be in as it was my Saturday to work and tried to lie on the sofa as could not manage to sit up right. Callum had Cbeebies on and the colours were playing havoc with my eyes now realise that I had photosensitivity so put up with it for as long as I could then crawled back into bed. I don’t know what was worse being downstairs with the telly or trying to keep my head still with Morris in bed eventually had to wake him up and ask him not very nicely to get out as he was making me feel ill. My poor husband and children were really worried about me and kept popping up to see how I was. Morris came in about 1 a.m the Sunday morning to check on me and wanted to take me to hospital as my left eyelid was partly closed and my vision had become blurred and double. Morris wanted to take me straight to the hospital but I said I would phone the NHS helpline. One of the Nurses called me back and I described my symptoms and was told to get myself to hospital immediately, they did offer to send an ambulance for me but I said I didn’t need one and Morris took me. We got to the hospital early hours of the Sunday morning thankfully A.E was not too busy and I was seen fairly quickly. The Doctor actually knew there was something badly wrong with my sight but it went downhill from there as the A.E consultant would not approve a scan as they thought it might be caused by Glaucoma. So I had to wait hours for the on call Ophthalmic Registrar to come out and they had no cubicle with a bed for me to lie down on. I was eventually seen by the Ophthalmic Registrar at 8 a.m and she diagnosed a Third Nerve Palsy and stated there was no damage to the eye at all that it was caused by pressure behind the eye. Back to A.E who now had to authorise a scan but as it was a Sunday had a further wait as they only have on call Radiologists at the weekend. It was 10 a.m before I finally had the scan completed and was sent back to A.E to wait for the results. Finally at 11 o’clock they made the decision to admit me. Then began my bed hopping around Arrowe Park, I started off on a Trolley Observation ward until I was eventually transferred to a general observation award about 2 o’clock. Which is when I sent Morris home for some sleep poor man had been up all night and had not had much sleep the day before either because I had ejected him ruthlessly from the bed. I was kept in Arrowe Park hospital for six days during which time I was moved at least three times. I also had an MRI and a neck scan done I was supposed to see the visiting Neurologist on the Tuesday but due to an emergency it was the Thursday before he came. Although I remember all of my time in the hospital I was still suffering with excruciating pressure in my head and the stabbing pain behind my eye. I now know that my Aneurysm was leaking during this period and that sometimes I felt able to move about and leave the ward and at others could not lift my head from the pillows. During all this time I was really hoping that it would just go away Morris and I were supposed to be going away for a long weekend to Santander on the Friday it was somewhere Morris had always wanted to go so I had arranged it as a surprise for him. Morris came in early on the Thursday to be there when the Neuro came. We saw him come in with the scans and he was just holding them up to the light not placing them on the boards to look at them. After about 10 minutes he came across to talk to us and said he could not see anything obvious but would take them all back to Walton with him for the team to look at. At which point I asked if I would be alright to fly to Spain the next day he said no I had to wait for them to examine the scans first then he would let the hospital know the following day. I woke up the Friday and was really bad, the pain had intensified even more and could not bear the lights, noise of the ward and was extremely sick yet again. I buried my head under pillows and covers and didn’t surface again until lunch time but still could not face hospital food. I finally managed to pull myself together and told the nursing staff where I was going down to the Cafe in case Walton got in touch. I called Morris and told him I was off the ward and he and his mother came up early. I was trying to eat something can’t remember what so I must have stayed off the ward for nearly two hours before we went back up. When we got onto the ward the Nurses told me they had been looking for me, Walton had called telling them to get me on flat bed rest immediately as I had an Aneurysm that might go at anytime and they were arranging an immediate transfer for me. No doctor came to see before transfer to explain what it was or what the effects might be and I had never heard of them but did realise that if it was in my brain it was serious. Morris went off to take his mum home and let the girls know what was happening and told me he would then meet me at Walton. I only had to wait about an hour for the transfer and what was then to be the longest few hours of my life. To say I was terrified is an understatement for the whole time I had been in hospital I had been going up and down in the lifts a few times a day and going outside on my own for a sly smoke. My thoughts turned to my family and I was really scared that I might not see my daughters and grandsons again and I certainly did not want to leave Morris, we had promised each others years ago that we would grow old, grey and wrinkly together. The trip over to Liverpool was awful it was through a Friday night rush hour and my poor head hated every single pothole and bump along the way. I got taken straight up to a Neurology ward and whether it was the journey or not I don’t know but the pain behind my eye became really excruciating and I had to wear an eye mask to block the light as it hurt so much. The on call Surgeon came to see us about 11 p.m and explained a little about the condition and said if you get a really bad pain like someone kicking your head hard we’ll whip you into theatre tonight if not a Consultant will see you in the morning. Morris was sent home and told he could come back first thing and I spent the rest of the night in horrendous pain made worse by the fact that nearly all the women on the ward had eaten something for tea that disagreed with them. I spent the night groaning in pain and no amount of pain relief touched it. I made it till 8 o’clock the next morning then it ruptured again the pain was so bad that I was screaming with agony how long it lasted I don’t know probably seconds but it felt like forever. The nurses came running and tried to give me a cold compress but I demanded a hot one and when applied it eased it a bit. Morris turned up just after and I think I just clung to him in absolute terror that I might not see him again. The Consultant came around just after Morris and went through the options with us. He explained that coiling was the preferred and less intrusive method but that it could not be done till the Monday as they don’t have the staff in at the weekends. He then went on to say that he considered that I should have an immediate Craniotomy as he did not think I would survive till the Monday for the coiling procedure. So really no choice at all but I was in so much pain I just didn’t care anyway and told him to go ahead. He did try to explain the risks in both procedures and the percentages but I don’t remember much of that conversation. I think I realised just how serious the procedure was because they let Morris accompany right down to theatre and he stayed with me until I was sedated. I don’t know how long I was in theatre and even Morris is unsure as no-one came out to see him after the operation. The first he knew that I was alright was when he seen me being transferred to the H.D.U. My first memory is when Morris and my daughter Sarah came in to see me but as to the time really don’t know. I do know that later the Xfactor was on as the Nurses asked if I minded them putting the T.V on. I must have drifted in and out as remember the dreaded questions every couple of hours and always gave them the wrong hospital. On the Sunday because I obviously was doing really well they transferred me from H.D.U to a Neurological ward. I remained on the critical care part of the ward until the Tuesday when they got me out of bed and started me walking. Then moved further down the ward as I no longer needed constant observation. I remained in hospital till the Friday and then was discharged with no information at all just a letter for my G.P with my medication listed on it and an appointment for the Nurse to call the following Tuesday to remove my clips. I can honestly say the first month or so doing anything at all just made me so exhausted and it was a real effort just to bathe and dress myself. I would cry buckets for no reason and even the simplest of tasks was beyond me. If I managed to get to the kitchen to make a drink chances were I would forget I’d made it and return several times and each time forget to take it back with me. I also suffered with my grammar and speech for quite some time much to the amusement of my family and friends. I always knew exactly what I wanted to say but what actually came out could be very different indeed and in some instances very embarrassing. I also had a very short concentration span and could lose the thread of conversations altogether especially if more than two people were involved. This still happens even now if I’m tired or in a busy place. My balance was all over the place because of the Third Nerve Palsy and it was really difficult to open my mouth to eat and chew food. In the second month I did start to feel slightly more able to do things but trying to load the washing machine was a definite no as bending made me really nauseous. I would start to cook but trying to keep upright for too long played havoc with my head so needed someone nearby to take over. By Christmas although still suffering badly with the fatigue and head-pain I managed with Morris’ help to cook the lunch. It was while sitting in the dining room after lunch into the evening with just low lights and candles burning that Morris noticed that my lid was opening on my left eye. It was the best present ever even though it caused quite a few problems as the vision was still distorted and double. Over the next two months with patching the vision started improving at the end of February I had my follow up appointment with the Neurosurgeon who promptly discharged me but gave me a leaflet that I really should have been given when I first left the hospital. I returned to work on a phased return in June 2007 and slowly increased this to 30 hours by the December. I did have ongoing problems with head pain and had started to try different types of medication to help control it. In my second year it very slowly dawned on me that I was working 6 hours a day Monday to Friday and was too tired to do much of anything either in the evenings or at weekends. Being stubborn I struggled on till July of this year. After a really enjoyable meet in Cheshire I returned to work on the Monday by the Wednesday fatigue had kicked in and had to call in work sick both the Thursday and Friday. That’s when I made the major decision that I had to reduce my hours back down and work were really good letting me do so from right away. At the moment I’m working 25 hours a week but will most likely be reducing this further still the beginning of next year. Physically I am still suffering with a lot of head-pain in March of this year I returned to my G.P and discussed how I was getting on. The Doctor was unhappy that the pain I was getting was still almost continuous and sent a referral over to Walton for me to be seen by the Neuro he also had another C.T scan done to check everything was still ok. The scan result was alright which was a relief and I eventually got my appointment with Walton who had not received a copy of the scan so had to return 8 weeks later once they had a chance to review it. I had started taking a low dose of an anti-depressant in the October of 2007 for nerve pain but whilst stopping some of the pain it was not getting rid of it all. On my second visit to Walton the Neuro talked about what type of treatment we could use and gave me an anti-epilepsy drug in a low dose to try and explained that they are not certain why some people suffer with nerve pain and others not at all and some can develop it years afterwards. The tablet I’m on at the moment isn’t working either my Doctor wanted to increase the dose but have asked to come off them as they are making me gain weight. I will be going back onto the low dose anti-depressant tablets as I already know they do cut down the pains a bit without making me turn into the Michelin Man. Recovering from an SAH is not easy or straight forward, it is a continuous journey of rediscovery that has to begin with acceptance which is perhaps the hardest thing to come to terms with. Once I learnt to accept and adapt to the new me it did get easier. I still get frustrated and angry about some of the things I used to take for granted. There are also quite a few things I would love to do like returning to studying but I now realise that at the moment my brain is not yet ready for that. I would like to say a big thank you to Karen and her family also Keith (Bogbrush) for creating and maintaining this site and all those who contribute because it has played such an enormous part in my recovery.

My partner Jane was dropping our son off at church, and I was having my usual Sunday morning lie in. At around 9-40am I started to get up. On swinging my legs out of bed I was rocked by the worst pain I have ever experienced searing through my head, followed by a strange “trickling warm water” sensation in my skull. Clutching my head in my hands, I fell back on the bed. Fortunately my phone was on the bedside cabinet, and I was able to call Jane. I must have sounded a bit scary as I struggled to get my words out – ““bad headache” and “need you to come home”. When she arrived I was lying across the bed on my stomach, unable to lift my head as I fought the urge to vomit. She tells me that I had big beads of sweat on my forehead at the time. The first thing I asked for was a bucket. She rang the NHS Helpline, and told them what had happened. After more or less eliminating Swine Flu, the NHS guy got Jane to take my blood pressure – I was already being treated by my GP for Hypertension, so I have a machine at home - it was 156 over 112. It was agreed that I should go to see the out of hours GP who was, coincidentally, located in a room in the grounds of one of the local hospitals. With minimal fuss, Jane helped me to dress. I could barely open my eyes, and just wanted to lie down. Our son arrived home, accompanied by a family friend. I think that Jane explained the situation briefly to her, and then she led me out to the car. I remember putting on sunglasses as the sunlight was blinding to me. Two minutes into the journey and I began vomiting! Luckily, the ever practical Jane had grabbed a plastic bag as we left the house and I sat with my eyes tightly closed underneath the sunglasses, bag in hand, and slumped in my seat for the entire twenty minute journey. It was a sunny day, and I remember having to position myself in front of the A&E entrance and stumble, with my hands covering my eyes, in its general direction. The sunlight was blinding, and I desperately need to lie down. Jane parked up and joined me. I remember her speaking to the receptionist, trying to convey the urgency of the situation, but all I could do was stretch out on the hard chairs, holding my head and covering my eyes. After a time Jane managed to get me in to see the GP. Apparently the GP was a woman; I have no idea as my eyes were firmly closed throughout. I mumbled answers to her questions, pushed and pulled her fingers as requested, I think I began to cry. She told Jane that she suspected a SAH, and arranged for me to be transferred into the Hospital’s A&E. Cue a series of slapstick events; I was told that I would have to walk there, but I was unable to lift my head, let alone stand. A wheelchair was sought, and eventually found. Jane wheeled me to the A&E and we were shown to a grubby cubicle where an orderly was wiping down a trolley. I was desperate to lie down, but was told, rather firmly, that I couldn’t until it had been covered with a paper sheet. She left the cubicle, and five minutes later I climbed onto the naked trolley. Another five minutes and she returned with a length of paper. Rather crossly she insisted that I got up so that she could “make the bed”. I think that Jane all but ripped it from her hands and shoved it under me as I lay groaning in pain. Some time passed. The pain was still excruciating, the urge to vomit overwhelming. The A& E doctor arrived and started to ask me the same questions and perform the same physical tests. I remember feeling even more pain at the back of my head and neck as he asked me to grasp and push his hands away. He also suspected a SAH, and went off to arrange for me to have a CT scan, and then to be transferred to the Neurology department at The Royal Free. I think someone gave me an injection of painkillers. I fell into an uneasy sleep. I awoke some hours later, and Jane told me that we were waiting for an ambulance to take us to the RF. The pain was still there, but felt “flatter”, somehow less “spikey”, and the light wasn’t bothering me as much. I needed to go to the loo. Jane asked someone about it and was pointed to a door in the corridor. Incredibly, I was encouraged to get up and walk a few yards to the toilet. I say incredibly because, from the minute the ambulance staff arrived, I was told to lie as still as possible and try not to move my head at all. I was lifted from the trolley to the ambulance by the very capable ambulance staff via a board. Their confidence and professionalism was reassuring, and I drifted in and out of sleep throughout the journey. It was around 11pm when we arrived at the RF I think. I remember thinking it strange that the sunlight had been blinding when I left home, and now it was dark. I was admitted onto a HDU ward in the neuro department, and “made comfortable”. Needles were inserted into various veins, blood taken out and drugs pushed in. There was no family room available, so Jane was told that she would have to leave now. For the first time that day I was really afraid. The drugs, however, were doing their thing, and I soon drifted off into a hazy sleep. I was still aware of the nurses and doctors coming and going around me, of various lights, and of the machine beeps with which I was about to become very familiar, but I was able to sleep. And then it was morning again. Jane was back, having made childcare arrangements for the little one. I felt, strangely, better – the welcome input of morphine, I think. My head was tight, my stomach queasy – a bit like a bad hangover – but I was relaxed and able to converse. I was informed that I would be operated on the following morning; a procedure called “coiling”. I understood what I was being told, but it all went in one ear and out of the next. Jane asked questions and took notes. I spent a pretty relaxed day flat on my back, with various doctors and nurses checking on me from time to time, and reminding me to lie as still as possible. The next morning I was taken to theatre for the procedure. I remember asking the anaesthetist to make sure that he put me under, and him winking and smiling at me. I was calm, reassured, and only a little afraid. Then I woke up in the post op area with a pounding head. I started to feel uneasy. It was as though someone had turned the volume up all around me, and had flicked on a double speed button. People were scuttling past me talking really loudly, moving really quickly. I wanted to just slow it all down. A doctor arrived. More questions – did I know my name, what day it was etc? I squeezed fingers as requested, and then fell asleep. I awoke back in the HDU ward, with an ashen Jane peering down at me. She had been told that the procedure would take three hours but I had been away for almost seven. Apparently a blood clot had broken away during the procedure, and this had had to be dealt with. I tried to smile reassuringly, and drifted back into sleep. I awoke some time that evening, or in the early hours of the next day. The ward was quiet and dark and I was in an utter panic. I had awoken from a horrible nightmare where I was lying on my back, with somebody pushing me along the polished corridor floor. They were using my legs and feet as a handle with which to propel me, and using my head to batter open the swing doors. Bang, slide slide, bang, slide slide, BANG! I can’t forget the pain I felt when I woke up, and the utter panic it induced. I remembered the procedure and was convinced that something had gone terribly wrong. After the drug induced calm of the previous 24 hours, I was now propelled back into the pain and panic of the first day. I honestly thought I was going to die. I started to cry. Some kindly person had put the nurses’ alert buzzer in my hand, and I was able to call for help. The nurse gave me a pain killing injection and after about 10 minutes the pain started to melt away and I was able to sleep again. Of this entire experience, that nightmare, the pain and the panic are the things that I will never forget. Sometimes when I’m alone I am seized by a surge of panic; a fear of a return of that pain. The following days were largely taken up with lying still in my bed and receiving visitors. My mum came, looking worried and trying to be cheerful. Former colleagues came, bearing gifts and mass signed cards. My brother, my nephew...and so on. I felt pretty self conscious, just lying there while they all complimented me on how well I was looking and doing. And then one day, about a week after my surgery, I suddenly had an emotional crash. Up until that point I had simply done as I was told without thinking about what was happening to me. Now I was seized by the enormity of the thing – what had happened, what might have happened – and I plummeted to an emotional low. I tried to push the feelings away, but I am left with a mixture of a strange nagging sadness combined with a deep fear – of what I’m not altogether sure – that only leaves me temporarily. I continued to get physically stronger by the day, and looked forward to being released from hospital. Twelve days after the SAH I was allowed to come home. Some days it’s as if the SAH never happened. I wake up, I potter around the house, read, watch daytime TV (!) surf the net, and wonder what all the fuss was about. Other days I have to force myself to believe that the strange stabbing headache really isn’t a re-bleed, or the second ani about to blow. Then there’s the nights when I wake up feeling uneasy, and am unable to go back to sleep. I get up feeling anxious and unspecific ally sad, and mope around the house trying to shake off the negative feelings. My hair has fallen out in clumps, and I have started shaving my head to even it up. I’ve had long dreadlocks all my adult life and now I have to get used to a baldy/shaven woman looking back at me from the mirror. I am probably more concerned with this than with my second aneurysm which will need treatment at some stage in the future! I really don’t know how to “handle” myself post SAH, but I realise that it’s still early days for me. I have adopted the saying onwards quod sursum! and that’s the best I can do, for now!

My SAH happened very recently, on the 22nd August 2009. There was hardly any warning at all and I didn't suffer many of the symptoms other people have described. The day started normally, I felt absolutely fine. I took my nine year old daughter into town in the morning to get new school uniform and we had a very nice girly time. We went for lunch and then made our way home. We had been invited to a BBQ later that afternoon and when I got back my husband asked whether I had remembered to get him some gluten-free burgers and sausages. I had forgotten, so we decided that I would nip to Sainsburys whilst he showered. Still felt fine and had no indication of what was about to happen. On the way driving back to the village the ends of three of my fingers on my left hand went numb. I thought it was a bit odd, but because it only lasted a few seconds I didn't think any more about it. As I pulled onto the drive about 10 minutes later my whole hand went numb and I had pins and needles spreading up my left arm, with an incredible amount of heat, together with a lot of excessive saliva in my mouth. I realised something was very wrong and managed to get indoors and call my husband. By then the sensations had gone again. He told me to sit down for a while and he would make a cup of tea and call the doctor. However, as he came back in from the kitchen, the horrible sensations had come back and he could see the left side of my face had dropped and I was slurring my speech. He called an ambulance and ran to get our neighbour. In the minute or so that it took for them to get back I had become unconcious and was slumped in the chair. They pulled me onto the rug and put me in the recovery position. It was whilst they were waiting for the ambulance that I had my first fit. I had a second fit on the way to the local hospital and a third fit whilst I was in A&E. The local hospital decided to induce 'coma' and put me on life-support and I was then transferred to the regional unit at the John Radcliffe. I spent time in ICU and then another 18 days on a neuro ward. When I woke up in ICU I had no speech problems, no headaches, no weakness etc.I had a whole gamit of tests, CT,MRI, bloods and an angiogram. They confirmed a bleed but they all came back negative for any cause. It is odd that nothing was found and I am finding it really difficult to come to terms with what happened. I am left with very few problems, short term memory is a bit patchy, I have the concentration span of a goldfish and my left arm gets shaky if I have overdone things. I get very tired and have to sleep most afternoons, but overall not too much to worry about - it could have been so much worse. I know I am one of the lucky ones and I thank God for that every day.