I fell through the floor

By Richard Crookes

Having a stroke was like having the carpet ripped from under my feet. I fell through the floor. My first thought was that something very bad had happened.

In a few hours, I was transformed from a healthy, active, self-employed man, who could do anything anytime. In seconds I felt like I was transformed into a lump of flesh on a hospital trolley.

The skills I had learnt as a child, standing up, writing, even holding a cup, had gone. My speech was very slurred. Half my body wouldn’t work due to a short circuit somewhere in my blackbox (brain).

I was already in hospital for a back operation when my stroke struck. I was looking at myself in the mirror shaving and dropped my razor. It literally felt like my right side ceased to exist. Somehow, I finished shaving with my other hand. I then tried to clean my teeth, but I couldn’t work out how to do it.

I sat and just looked out the window trying to get my head straight. I am not sure how long I was sitting but I remember watching the bush, the birds and the sky darkening before a storm. It occurred to me that for everyone else it was a normal day – but not for me.

A nurse arrived and noticed that my speech was slurred, and I was drooling. She immediately kicked into gear, called an emergency medical response and comforted me.

But honestly, I couldn’t comprehend anything that was going on, so I just stared at her. My mind was jumbled like lotto balls on the TV – I was waiting for one to drop.

The damage to my brain was swift, like deleting a hard drive, and damaged beyond repair.

After I was treated, I wanted to know who would help me recover. I found out pretty quickly that support was going to be very limited. I live in Darwin and after stroke support is woefully inadequate.

It was hard on everyone. I was in a wheelchair; my body had the stability of a runny egg. I don’t think I slept a full night for three months, possibly for my wife too. All our nerves got very jangly.

Slowly I moved from a wheelchair to a walker, and from pushing around a bloody paper cup to lifting a 250 gram can of beans.

When I was discharged from hospital, I had to get my own support team together which consisted of my wife, my sons and my mates. None have a background in allied care – but we had to make it work.

It’s not bloody right to put that pressure on my wife. I am a big man and having her move me around took a big toll on her. Luckily some of my mates stepped in to help. I owe them a lot.

It’s now three years later, and I still have tremors, fatigue and depression. I must fly down to Adelaide every eight weeks for physio. I lost my business and some of my freedom. I felt alone for a long time, but two years after my stroke I went fishing.

I also met a whole lot of other people who have had strokes, all ages, all types. Everyone's outcome is different, but no one seems to have a compass to direct them on this tough journey.