The First Four Months

The story of my stroke- the first 4 months:

31 July 2016 crisp Sunday morning. I felt a bit congested in the lungs and had a temperature so I decided to sleep downstairs so my wife was not disturbed by my coughing. Shortly after, I climbed from my bed to top up a glass of water in the bathroom, feeling a bit fatigued from by heavy "cold". Upon returning to the bedroom my legs became shaky, and I stumbled into the nearby clothes rack and crashed to the carpet. My wife heard the racquet and asked if I was all right. She soon realised it was a rhetorical question. Lying face to the carpet, I could barely push my shoulders a couple of centimetres off the floor. Strangely I had been conscious the whole episode, feeling no headache, no chest pain, only fatigue.

I felt a little embarrassed to be naked and helpless in front of my family, but I could still see the absurdity of the situation. The bare sunlit trees flashed by in window of the ambulance. "Do I have insurance cover for this ambulance?" I pondered. Soon I was in emergency at the hospital, examined by the neology registrar and scanned by MRI.

Subsequently I learnt I had pneumonia, leading to atrial fibrillation and a moderate "left parietal infarct" - a stroke. “You may need long term rehabilitation” was the chilling warning from the specialist. I was in disbelief - surely as a resilient 59 year old with low blood pressure, sensible cholesterol levels, sensible exercise regime, with no history of heart problems, that eats porridge very morning: this cannot be me!

I felt like I was still the same Rob, total cognisant of all my surroundings. My vision, hearing and taste and were all normal but I could only utter incoherent noises. And I had passed the finger-nose-finger test with flying colours.

In the afternoon and evening my speech was improved markedly. At times in my delusions, I felt I was living a teenage holiday at the hospital. All my meals were brought to me. I could watch whatever television programs whenever I liked, listen to whatever pod casts whenever I wanted. Afternoon naps were a luxury I could get used to. I could soak up the healing strength of the nurses and doctors. They were the Good Samaritans I needed in my dependent state (I'm sure the analgesics were working wonders on me at the time).

That night after my longest day, I had a restless sleep after my circadian rhythms had been destroyed. At 2:30 am I was wide awake looking at the clock, struck with the enormity of my situation. In my jumbled sense of logic I attempted to convince myself I was 100% the same person. I opened the Saturday Age at an article about the candidates in the US Presidential election. I had to repeatedly verbalise each sentence, losing the narrative in successive sentences. It was excruciating. Anxious, and fatigued, I started interrogating the questions about my medical condition. Why me, why this, why now? I felt that I need to use every precious hour by rolling around the possibilities in my mind. I had to be read to meet the myriad demands of the world out there. At 7am the next morning I called Janice from the nurses' desk in tears. I was lonely, lost, in a dark grief and doubting I would ever be the same.

Fast forward 9 weeks....

The Good.

I feel more loving and affectionate to my precious family. I have spent more time with them appreciate them more. My wife is so dedicated in her care in attention for my well- being. I sometimes fail to repay her goodwill. According to her I can get silly and "hyperactive" at times- to me it's just the enthusiasm of being active and alive. I never felt any "on the other side" moment, I appreciate more what may be in the years I may have left. I have felt less threatened sharing personal feelings with male friends. The amazing support from the rehab team has been my lifeline. I was initially a bit dismissive of the real need to for speech therapy or occupational therapy, but now understand the need to address the gaps in that my treatment.

The Not So Good.

My stamina when exercising is nothing compared to before, although I really love what exercise I can do - walking, rowing machine (only moderate), gardening or moving things around the studio. I don't get enough rest, tied up with insomnia at times. I can lie awake in bed at 5:30am wanting to solve all the world's problems, although I believe it's not debilitating enough to call depression.

My neuropsychology test results showed that I have slipped in my ability to recall for word patterns and narratives.

I have sensitivity to heat and cold on the outside of my forearm and my right hand, and slight fatigue in my right foot after exercising.

I get occasionally frustrated and angry at things not being where or how I expect to find them. I get priorities confused, jumping from one thing to another or getting overly fixated on details.

In my medical treatment sometimes can't make sense of the big picture. How best to treat the infarct, the atrial fibrillation, the carotid artery, the possible PFO, the echocardiogram, what's the recommended medication, the safe limit to exercise from here on? How best can I modify my behaviour if I don't have the right information to direct which behaviour is safe and productive for my rehabilitation?

Now in December 2016 I can exercise in the gym, row on the river, run and work longer hours.

The question is not whether 100 million of Rob’s neurons have died. It’s this: am I a better person now than I was before all this? Can the shock, grief and anger be channelled into acceptance, self-belief and gratitude for this mad, precious life?

Thank you to everyone for helping me to be a better person – your care and support has made 2016 not a “shit year” but a year of self-discovery and growth. I feel so lucky that people were there when I needed them.