Gill Adams

This is my Facebook post from Saturday 6th February, having suffered a stroke on Monday 1st February.........Last Monday I had a stroke. This is not a sentence I ever thought I'd write and this is something I never thought would happen to me....how wrong I was and come to think of it, why not me?
For those of you who know me well, you'll know that I don't fall into the stroke victim criteria. I'm not overweight, I eat a vegetarian, low cholesterol diet, I exercise, I've never smoked in my life.....but it happened to me and it turns out that despite my best endeavours, I've got a high level of bad cholesterol, which, through no fault of my own, is probably hereditary.
I didn't really experience the FAST symptoms you hear and read about. My symptoms were more subtle and stupidly, on my part, I chose to ignore them for over 24 hours, as I thought I had a more pressing health issue to deal with. Turns out I was wrong on that count too, which is a relief, but if only I had known then what I know now.
My symptoms started with a millisecond of visual disturbance in my left eye, followed by my left arm dropping down like a ton weight. It didn't feel like my arm belonged to me and I had to pick it up with my right hand and shake it. In doing so, the heaviness stopped and I was able to hold my arms above my head and squeeze things tight...I had no weakness whatsoever. However, I did have numbness in my thumb, index and middle finger and this is something that stayed with me and eventually permeated across my left hand and up my arm. But I still chose to ignore it, due to my more pressing (in my mind) health concern. 
After the relief that I wasn't dying of bowel cancer...yes that was my worry....I came home still suffering from numbness in my left hand and arm. I didn't think too much about it and I was thinking it was something like carpel tunnel syndrome. Anyway, I was so tired and decided to have an early night. Neil and Elisa had gone to yoga when I experienced the heavy feeling in my left arm again. I decided to call 111 for some advice and within 5 minutes I had a paramedic on my doorstep ready to take me to hospital.
I am so grateful I called 111 and for the overwhelming kindness, care and attention of every single person involved in my treatment. From Neil, the paramedic to the nurses and doctors in Southend Hospital A&E, to Aaron who did my emergency CT scan, to the nurses and every single member of staff on Benfleet Ward. To the amazing Dr Paul Guyler and his wonderful stroke team. He was called at home at 2am about me. He took the call...that is something beyond the call of duty in my mind. To the MRI team, the physios, the cleaners, the porters, (I've never been wheeled around so much in my life) the most kind, loving nurses ever, the admin staff, to my wonderful angel Anne and Raji. My list could go on and on. I'm so grateful to Southend NHS and the best Stroke team in the country. Thank you to my amazing family and friends who I love with all my heart - you know who you are....
My MRI showed a tiny white dot on the right side of my brain which relates directly to my left/arm/hand. As of yet, they can't find a cause as my heart is fine, my arteries are clear. Dr Guyler thinks it was caused by a tiny piece of cholesterol breaking off, travelling up to my brain and getting stuck, hence the stroke.
I've still got more tests and I'm taking part in international trials for people like me, with no known cause. I can't drive for 4 weeks, but I really need to rest, so it'll do me good.
I'm so lucky to have had such a small stroke. I've got a bit of numbness in my left thumb, that's about it. Even though my stroke was mild I was in a monitored bed the whole time I was in hospital. I was touched by the bravery of the stroke sufferers and the love and courage of their friends and family. Seeing a loved one so desperately ill and so changed takes so much strength. I could sense their desperation, but I could feel their love. The love in that ward from every single person involved with it was tangible and it's something that will stay with me forever. 
I hope I never experience a stroke again and that you never do. That's my greatest wish....

Lisa Beaumont

Becoming myself
My new kind of normal

Six years ago Lisa’s life changed dramatically, and forever. Now, still in her forties and a survivor of brain haemorrhage and stroke, her future looks very different to the one she’d imagined. Here is her story…

Early in January 2011 l woke after a good night’s sleep with a mild headache. I roused my husband Russell and asked for a tablet, before the pain became excruciatingly severe and I felt as if I was about to die. Minutes later the paramedics arrived as I threw up over the carpet, I was moved onto a stretcher and taken downstairs to the ambulance. I still clearly remember my daughters’ confused little faces framed between the bars of the banister watching as I was carried out of the house. Was I being taken out of their lives too?

l had suffered a severe type of brain haemorrhage (a bleed in the brain), which I was lucky to survive. After being taken to the local accident and emergency unit I was in a coma for several weeks and only learned afterwards of all the intervention that had taken place to save my life. As well as being put on a life support machine, a section of my skull was removed to accommodate my swollen brain and I had undergone a tracheotomy to facilitate breathing, which left me unable to eat, drink or speak. At some stage I suffered a second bleed and a stroke, and this left me totally paralysed on my left side.

At first it was a challenge to stay positive. Every five minutes I would set myself challenges to accomplish minor things that were no longer easy, such as could I ring my bell and ask for a bed pan in time to do the right thing in the right place? I had lost my swallow reflex and this meant I could not eat or drink or swallow my own saliva, which left me permanently hungry, thirsty, drooling and feeling as if I had gone a bit mad. I was transferred to a specialist neuro rehabilitation unit leaving behind the stroke ward and its elderly patients, whose heart-rending cries for help that was often not available I felt powerless to do anything about.

The only thing I could do was to ring my call bell for attention and redirect the nurse to the distressed lady, a trick I had learned from a now-friend called Vera, who used to help me out when I couldn’t reach mine. It’s a humbling feeling to be totally reliant on your call bell to communicate.

Around this time the grief began: I was acutely missing Russell and the girls and also, perhaps, myself as I was no longer the same person. What I wanted most of all was to get back to my life as a mum and my part-time marketing job with a local Kent theatre that seemed to have been taken away from me. I was prescribed anti-depressants, and these seemed to put me into a permanent state of drowsiness. Enveloped in inescapable fatigue I barely felt any connection with the real world anymore and on one memorable occasion

I could not open my eyes or talk properly to a friend who’d travelled for hours from Somerset to visit me.

I received many cards and letters from friends, relations and former colleagues, which I kept in a large box on the windowsill in my room near my bed. I would spend hours staring at that box and mulling over its contents – it gave me strength to think positively and to continue trying to get better. If so many people wanted me to ‘get well soon’, then surely I must!

Finally, after thirteen months in various hospitals and several brief home visits to finalise my in-home care package, I was discharged in time for Christmas. It was a fantastic feeling. My sister was waiting to greet me at home with the girls, balloons and a fabulous welcome home cake made by my elder daughter. But it was only now, returning home, that I became truly aware of the loss that had occurred in the intervening months: my daughters were now 8 and 10. They had grown up and I had missed the small, daily changes that occur for any growing child. I felt odd, too. Although I’d longed to be here for more than a year I could no longer do things I’d previously taken for granted. I couldn’t potter around the kitchen or go upstairs to our bedroom or to the girls’ bedrooms to check on them, even though they no longer required a bedtime story from me.

Initially, I slept downstairs in a bed provided by the hospital and needed a hoist and two people to lift me to sit in my wheelchair. This, and the fact that I was still being peg fed via a tube directly to my stomach because of my swallowing difficulties and subsequent weight loss, made it obvious to the girls that, while I was home at last, I was still a patient. And because I could not yet fall asleep comfortably I kept the radio on all night to stop my thoughts from wandering back to the hospital ward.

Shortly afterwards I met my physiotherapist, Jo, whose no-nonsense manner was literally a life-saver. We began an exercise regime with the dual goals of walking again and managing the stairs as I was determined not to ruin the character and layout of our 1930s house by having a lift installed. The first time that Jo stood me up again was quite frightening after such a long time spent horizontally, but it gave me a taste for what might be possible. Although there were no steps yet, I knew my long journey would start with standing and eventually a single step.

My package of hospital care was transferred to one of home care, allowing Tiia to move in as my full-time, live-in carer. While we were lucky to have the space to accommodate her, it was a major adjustment for the rest of the family. Nevertheless, Tiia was very committed. She brought stability to all of us, encouraging me to do my exercises, supporting Russell and the girls, and helping me to become involved in family life again. The girls’ tastes and eating habits had changed and I relished choosing menus for them, although it took some time for me to catch up with the new evening routine where they no longer had a separate tea, bath and bedtime story, preferring instead to have supper with us, and afterwards showering themselves before choosing their own night reading.

Once I had settled in and getting through each day no longer seemed a small miracle, I began to think about living again and realised how much of myself had been a mother (which, of course, I still was). But the girls had changed and so had I. It was time to reinvent myself: but what could I do and what did I want to do? I was fortunate to have retained my bank of knowledge and experience – the damage to my brain had affected the part that deals with sight – and I felt a strong need to work again. I wanted to use the skills I still had and achieve something worthwhile, so I jumped at the opportunity to assist with marketing projects in the fund raising department of a hospice in the Weald offering palliative care to cancer sufferers and the elderly.

Returning to work in a voluntary capacity made sense as I was still uncertain about my limitations and my stamina was building slowly. I was allocated a desk and it felt good to be back in the hustle and bustle of an office again, although my sight deficiency made it difficult to use a computer screen or deal with basic number sequencing. But I have been slowly developing coping strategies and plan to do more ideas-based work. I am excited to see how my role at the hospice may grow over time and continue to aim for a paid job. I am determined to show the girls that it is possible for women to work even when there are significant obstacles to overcome. Imagination, flexibility and self-belief can make the impossible seem possible again.

I had this feeling when Russell and I made a recent trip to Paris by train. Sitting in a rooftop bar overlooking the city and the Eiffel Tower as we sipped champagne, I felt very alive, if a little restricted by my wheelchair. Although even this had unexpected benefits, such as being fast-tracked to the front of the queue at the Louvre and later being given a private viewing of the Mona Lisa by a sympathetic attendant. Yes, I wish I could wander around the gallery and walk the banks of the Seine, but this is my new kind of normal now and it’s not all bad.

Taken from the DS Closed Group (Feb 2016)
Ok help please I want to say a HUGE thank you to whoever it was who inspired me to do the ironing I have just done my first items for five years feels so good to do something ordinary again but I have forgotten who it was who said they'd managed one handed ironing at the start of this week Monday I think? I really want to pass on my thanks if anyone remembers or if it's you please alert me great example of how we can help each other in this group by sharing experiences I had thought for too long I can't iron but actually I can.

You can see Lisa's poetry on DS Pinterest 

Marian Reeves

“I don't post very often but read everyone's comments daily. I had a severe brain stem haemorrhage whilst in Mallorca in April, 2007. I left hospital in July and in October of that year my husband passed away after brain surgery (yes, an AVM was diagnosed). DS and others are my first port of call daily.......to know I'm with friends who understand exactly. X”

Becky

I had my stroke in May 2013 a bleed caused by high blood pressure. I didn't know it at the time but I nearly didn't survive the night but I proved them wrong which I still continue to do.

Initially I was totally paralysed on the left hand side had to learn to sit and stand again every morning in a standing frame. When I left hospital, after four months, I was able to take a couple of steps with a stick but used a wheelchair for the first few months.

I applied for PIP which took nine months to sort out before they made a decision. So there I was newly disabled relying on food parcels I couldn't do anything, had nothing, no point in living. 

I found the number for Different Strokes through their website spent an hour talking to person from DS. Then they added me to the Facebook group and without the help and support on there I don't think I would have coped. I have made so many friends and have met quite a few fellow stroke survivors (including my partner). My ex couldn't cope with what the stroke had done to me after many vicious arguments we split with me having to find somewhere else to live. I now live in supported housing in a lovely adapted cottage. 

I'm practically fully independent I have no feeling in my left hand, walk with a limp and foot drop, have memory problems, anxiety and seizures but although it's a bit dysfunctional I've accepted the new normal even though it's a bit crap at times. I never let my stroke stop me from trying new things no matter how dangerous and scary. I recently did Europe's longest zip wire a mile over Penrhyn quarry and raised money for the British heart foundation. I loves me castles and despite a few dark days (my Different Strokes friends cheer me up) my life is probably better than before my stroke it's been a long journey a lot of hard painful and repetitive work.