Finding my voice again: Music, stroke, and the power of resilience

By Roberta Fox

I remember the morning of my stroke like it was yesterday. It was a Tuesday; I woke up around 7:30 AM and felt something strange. My eyes were twitching uncontrollably, and when I tried to speak to my husband, Greg, the only words I could get out were, “I’m okay.” But I wasn’t. I couldn’t say my name or form a proper sentence. Greg rang the ambulance immediately. Luckily, we live just down the road from the station, and three ambulances showed up. From the moment they arrived, I felt safe. They were simply wonderful.

After that, everything became a blur. The specialist later told me I was very sick. I barely remember the next two days, but I do remember the kindness, the care, and the dedication of the hospital staff. I’ll never forget it, I feel so indebted to all of them.

The stroke left me with severe aphasia, which meant I couldn’t speak properly. For someone who has run a singing school for over 23 years, who has spent a lifetime immersed in music and song, not being able to communicate was heartbreaking. I wanted so desperately to tell my family I was okay. But I couldn’t get the words out.

Greg was my rock. My children Jemma, Darcy and Shannon, family, my students, they were all so patient. I had to close my singing school for four and a half months, but my students sent their well wishes and made me feel like I was never forgotten. That helped more than they’ll ever know.

Then, something extraordinary happened. I asked Darcy to bring my tin whistle and her guitar to the hospital. I knew they had a piano on the ward. Music has always been my lifeline, and deep down, I had this feeling I could still do it. Darcy and I share a special song, Never Alone by Lady Antebellum. We sang it together in my hospital room, and she filmed it for Facebook. She cried the whole way through, not out of sadness, but relief and joy. I could still sing. I could still be me.

My daughter Darcy preforming Hallelujah - I had to share, I am a proud Mum, and I wanted to share her music with you - it's what helped to save me. 

I also played a jazz piece on the hospital piano; You Don’t Get Around Much Anymore. Somehow, miraculously, my ability to play and sing wasn’t affected at all. I still don’t know how that happened, but I thank my lucky stars every day.

Music has played such a huge role in my recovery, emotionally, mentally, and physically. It gave me a goal: to teach again. I had amazing support and great speech therapy, daily exercises, and lots of encouragement. I was determined to hold our annual end-of-year performance, and in 2023, I did. I’ve reduced the number of students I teach now, but it’s a pace I can manage and one I treasure.

Of course, recovery hasn’t been without its challenges. When I’m stressed or tired, the aphasia creeps back in. I lost my dear brother in July 2024, and it hit me hard. We had been performing together as a duo for over 30 years. After his passing, I felt myself regress. But I’ve learned to be kind to myself. I walk when I can, rest when I need to, and embrace the “alternative words” that sometimes come out. Some of them are real doosies! My go-to word lately is terrific. I use it all the time.

Through it all, my community has been incredible. This little town I live in, the people I teach, the support they’ve shown me, is overwhelming. Most people wouldn’t even know I’ve had a stroke now, but their kindness never wavered.

Over the years, my students and I have raised funds for many charities; Leukemia, Dolly Day, Backpack Bed for the Homeless. But now, I want to give back to the people who helped save me. I’m holding student concert to raise funds for the Stroke Foundation, and I finally feel ready to do it - and do it well.

This is my way of saying thank you.

To anyone out there living with aphasia or recovering from a stroke, be patient with yourself. Use the tools around you, even spell check! Find alternative words and find your “why.” For me, it’s music, my family… and now, my beautiful grandson, Koa. While I was still in hospital, Jemma told me she was pregnant. We never thought that would happen, and now Koa is here, lighting up my world.

He, along with everyone who stood by me, gives me all the purpose I need.