With each step forward a piece of me returns

By Alison  
 
My mum used to say I was born talking; I was a communicator by nature, words came effortlessly. I built my identity and my career around my ability to communicate. But, three months ago, my world changed. It started like any other morning, as I prepared for another day balancing the demands of my high-pressure job and the responsibilities of parenthood. Little did I know, March 13th would mark a defining moment in my life.  
 
As I drove to work, chatting with my mother on Bluetooth, I felt strange, and there opened a chasm of nothing; the words just stopped.  I was unable to describe the way they scaled my teenager’s college grades. It was hard to describe how that was done, and how I was now feeling. During the conversation, my mother said, "keep an eye on that.” It was unsettling, but I continued on to work and started my day. Despite pushing forward managing a complex task in the morning, I still felt strange. I went home after talking with a couple of my friends, who had noticed that I seemed to be having trouble finding my words. I rested at home, and my husband came home early from work and took me to hospital. 
  
I was in hospital that night and the following day, with a blur of medical tests, but I was finally given a reason for my symptoms. I had had a basal ganglia stroke. Initially, I was relieved that I had an answer; it was only after some time that I realised the enormity of what had happened.   
 
In the stroke ward, I was the youngest patient by three decades, grappling with the reality of what had happened. The stroke left me with memory lapses, sensory issues, some cognitive challenges and a struggle to articulate my thoughts - a cruel irony for someone whose identity was rooted in communication.  
 
In the first three weeks after my hospital stay, when my husband was driving me to medical appointments, my perception was completely warped. The only way I can describe it is like travelling at light speed. If you have watched Star Trek, you will know what I mean. I had to close my eyes to stop the sensory overload. 
 
I am working with some allied health professionals, including a Speech Pathologist and Neuropsychologist. But I have mostly been directing my own rehab. I returned to an old favourite, Pride and Prejudice, typing passages daily to retrain my fingers and mind.  I play Wordle daily to exercise problem solving, am using an app called BrainHQ which trains cognitive elements in your brain, and I have returned to my choir, my first love.  
 
I am hungry for a full recovery and returning to work.  
 
The path forward has been fraught with uncertainties. The cause of my stroke remains a mystery, having had numerous tests and explorations after being in hospital, and I am scared of it reoccurring.  
 
I've faced moments of profound vulnerability with emotional turmoil, grappled with aphasia, crippling sensory overload, irritating memory loss, and I’m on a quest to restore what I have lost. The support of loved ones and the guidance from dedicated therapists have been my pillars of strength.  
 
I've learned to celebrate progress, no matter how small, and to embrace setbacks as part of healing.   
 
There are still days when I mourn the mind I had before the stroke—confident, articulate, sharp, and always in control. Yet, I am determined to redefine success on my own terms. My recovery is not over, but with each step forward, a piece of me returns.  

Here I am on a walk; we have beautiful bush land near our home which provides an hour or longer walk.

Exercise has been a strong part of my recovery, for mental health and physical fitness. Nature has allowed me to get out the house and feel nurtured. It’s also not overstimulating like many other environments, and I can meditate whilst walking.