A midday snooze was nothing unusual before leaving for work. I look at my iPhone and momentarily I have double vision and perhaps nothing unusual. Down the stairs I stumble a little but nothing unusual. Maybe I hadn't got my bearings right so soon after waking up. I sit on the sofa. I try to talk but a strange noise comes from my mouth. I try talking but my thoughts convert into this noise. I cry. I can't control what is happening. My voice returns. Part of me feels things are back to normal, but I'm not sure. I'm taken to hospital and I am observed. I'm still talking. I'm told to return the following day for a MRI scan. A nurse waits with me for transport. I have a terribly bad headache and the nurse asks for permission from a doctor to administer tablets. Within seconds of swallowing the pills, the pain eases off. No sooner my voice is replaced with that horrible noise. I'm conscious and able to understand what is going on. The doctor returns and tells me that I won't be going home that night and I'll be admitted to the hospital.
I have the scan the following day. The noise from the scanner is louder and more harrowing than the noise from my mouth. Back on the ward, I notice a sign that reads ACUTE STROKE UNIT. I don't know why I am still on this ward. Maybe it's for people who have had strokes. That can't be me. Maybe it's just a precaution. The following day, a Saturday, I ask a nurse to tell me what was found on the scan. I want to go home to the children. A consultant will discuss with me on the Monday. Hold on, I say, that I have a scar on my brain from birth and I hope they are not thinking it's something recent. Eventually, the nurse shows me the scan. She points to a small area that, indeed, is the old scar. She then points to a larger area and says this indicates that I've had a stroke.
Oh shit!
I tried to read something in a newspaper. My eyes don't feel quite right. Eventually, after practice, I can read the words. I start reading a story about Amanda Redman. Hold on, who's subbed this. It doesn't make any sense. Slowly, I read every word. Yes, I can see them. They just don't make sense. No, it's me. This what I'm supposed to be able to do for a living. Am I screwed? Is this it? I've sent emails to colleagues that I've had a stroke but I'm fine and I'll be OK. Reading those messages months later I realise how little sense they made.
As I sat in hospital for my week's stay, I had an inspirational thought. I said to myself that I had to imagine that I was like the world's best footballer, like Ronaldo, who had just suffered a broken leg. I thought that he won't score a goal or play a match the next day. Maybe he'll recover in days, weeks or months. But, most certainly, I said to myself, with practice he'd come back.
Nothing unusual.
Andrew Waller who suffered a stroke on April 10, 2014
