My scars, I now wear them with pride 

By Lisa

The day I had my first TIA started like any other. I’d just come back from holidays, and there was a mountain of work waiting for me, so I was working longer hours. I left the office at my usual time and was driving my normal route home when I remembered thinking that a laneway looked skinnier than it used to. I didn’t think much about it.

Later that evening, I was at home catching up on the day with my partner over a drink, just relaxing, when my phone started ringing. I had one of those flip covers and couldn’t flip it open with my right hand alone. My partner told me to use my left hand too, but when I tried, I couldn’t pick it up. I ended up using my right hand to lift my left hand, and as soon as I let go, it dropped back down. My partner insisted that I go to the hospital. When I stood up to walk to the car, I fell straight over, I’d lost all strength on my left side.

Still, I wasn’t that worried. Who has a stroke at 45 when you’re fit and healthy?

We called an ambulance, but by the time they arrived, I was sitting up in a chair and could walk to the ambulance myself. At the hospital, they discharged me with instructions to take 100mg of aspirin and see my GP as soon as possible.

The next morning, I woke up feeling fine. I showered and even drove myself to work. Not long after I got there, I was telling a colleague that I’d need to step out later to see the GP when she asked if I was okay. I’d been drinking water, and it was dribbling out of the left side of my mouth. I tried to lift my left hand again - nothing. All I could think was, here we go again.

The same ambulance crew came to pick me up. I’m a good talker, and I’d told them the night before how lucky I felt that this hadn’t happened when I was leaving work, because my office was on a mezzanine with steep stairs. They remembered the emblem on my work shirt and realised it was me again, so they called the fire brigade to help get me down.

This time I was taken to the regional hospital in Orange and then flown to RPA in Sydney after a barrage of tests I barely remember. In Sydney, the surgeon tried to clear my carotid artery without success. I remember my youngest son and daughter being there when he explained I needed an artery bypass. My son was so upset I promised him I wouldn’t die yet.

That night, they operated for eleven hours to do the bypass, and afterward I was kept in an induced coma for ten days. During that time, they tried to remove my breathing tube but had to reinsert it because I wasn’t strong enough to breathe on my own. Eventually, I managed it.

While I was in ICU, I always had friends or family by my side. None of them knew what condition I’d be in when I woke up. Turns out I was a bit of a miracle. When I was strong enough to get out of bed, I had full movement, though I was a lot weaker on my left side. Physically, I made a full recovery. Mentally, I was a mess. Thinking about food made me cry. Thinking about my kids made me cry. And then the delusions started – which was something else.

It took the medical team a while to realise I’d developed epilepsy. They had to get my medication right, which took time, but all the while I was still in the physio room working hard to get my strength back.

After four or five weeks, I was transferred back to Orange for rehab. I spent another three weeks there before being discharged into the care of the Brain Injury Unit in Bathurst. That was the best thing that ever happened to me, along with meeting my new neurologist in Orange, who visited me in the rehab unit and later privately.

I was assigned to a psychologist named Jerre from the Brain Injury Unit, she was my saviour. She helped me understand my feelings of inadequacy and work through all my Why me? thoughts.

The best support I ever had was from the Brain Injury Unit and Jerre. I tried to return to accounting six months into recovery, but it just didn’t work. I was still trying to be who I was before the stroke, which is impossible. Jerre was there every step of the way, encouraging me to find a new path. She helped me see that it wasn’t giving up - I was adapting to the new me.

This whole journey has given me a different perspective. I see now that I wasn’t actually happy with my old work, but I was comfortable. Without the stroke, I’d probably still be sitting in an office. Now, I’m doing something that helps people in their time of need. I became an AIN so I could help others in the same position I’d been in. Then I became an enrolled nurse, to prove to myself that I could keep learning and improving, despite the damage to my brain. Now I’m planning to take it further and go to university next year to do my RNs, so I have more choice where I work.

I don’t share my story with everyone, because not everyone is as lucky as I was to come out relatively unscathed. But when someone needs encouragement, I do. I tell them it’s okay to have setbacks, to take a different road, and that you must listen to your body and rest when you need to.

I’ve learned to think carefully about which battles are worth fighting and to let go of the rest. My biggest advice is don’t give up. Maybe you just need to find another way. Don’t sweat the little things. One step back today could mean two steps forward tomorrow. And be proud of the progress you make.

I used to try to hide my scars - now, I wear them with pride.