These two years were quite unlike the previous 10.
My Dad had a stroke at the age of 63. I must add that he was a 60 fags and bottle of Brandy a day kinda fella. Being a publican, it came with the territory, thus not at all surprising in hindsight. The tell-tale signs were there though.
For many years he had been a Steward at the Twickenham International Rugby Ground; attending every home International since the late 1940’s. He was a bit of a permanent fixture.
There was a day when he came home from a match. As usual I had looked out for him on the telly as I wasn’t with him that day. He had seemed a little subdued and not his usual irascible self as he paced the sidelines policing the South Stand, which in those days were open terraces. He went straight to bed on his return, he was grey and drawn and somehow “not there”. It was the first time I hade ever known him to be ill. He never even caught a cold.
He seemed to recover quite quickly and soon seemed like his old self. As a family we didn’t really worry. Needless to say he didn’t go to the Doctor. It wasn’t really his thing. Life and business carried on as normal. He continued to smoke and drink. I recall a number of sessions where we carried on til the wee small hours. He would be up again at 5am as was his wont.
18 months later, March, whilst waiting at the Arundel Assizes to collect his liquor licence he suffered a massive stroke, nobody really noticed as Court business carried on its merry way. It was gone lunchtime before anybody twigged and the Court Usher summoned an Ambulance.
Why the story? Something similar happened to me. There was a day, in the winter, just before Christmas 2017 when I could barely put one foot in front of the other. It was a bit like having a bout of the ‘flu. Totally unlike me. I recovered and then less than 12 months later I had my own stroke.
The warning signs are always there I had just been ignoring them. I wasn’t myself. I too found myself partaking of the odd restorative brandy. I was fuelling myself on energy drinks and putting myself to sleep with the aid of cannabis. I had an on/off relationship with the stuff since my 20’s. I didn’t drink much alcohol after it caused me problems in my early 20’s. Weed always seemed a nice, quick fix that didn’t interfere with my life, unlike booze. Silly boy. I was skating on thin ice but didn’t know it.
It was a hard Summer and our business was operating flat out. We had just bought our second property. I told myself it was just the hard work that was getting to me and that come the end of the season I could rest and recuperate. I had a plan to have 3 more houses by the time I was 60; one for each of my kids, so I was pushing myself for the last lap before resting and enjoying the fruits of our labours.
I had retired as an Outdoor Instructor in 2010, to make time. I still went out with my dogs, my friends and on my own, especially during the quieter and wetter months. My falls were infrequent and sporadic. In fact just two. It would take a while for the full effects became apparent. My speed and stamina were still high. I was strong and healthy, or so I saw myself. I saluted the Sun every morning…
Our business operation meant that our working day was largely over by 3 in the afternoon-the laundry didn’t count as it could be done anytime. The actual “work” took place between 10am and 3pm each day, every day during the Season; leaving us free, as soon as the kids were back from School/College, to go down to the beach.
There was a day when the sea was beautifully calm and the sun beat down in the lower 80’s. We were all together playing in the water with our masks, snorkels and flippers. There were jellyfish and dolphins, it was a wonderful afternoon. We stayed until the sun began to set and had Fish and Chips for supper on the way home. It was the End of June. The following day I woke feeling groggy and flu like once more. I put it down to having picked up a bug in the sea. Although I felt somewhat better within a few days I couldn’t shake off an underlying feeling of doom. I didn’t even feel like celebrating my Birthday in Early September.
Come October I was having trouble walking, which I put down to a fall on my coccyx in March. I went to the docs. They measured the blood pressure in my legs and said that it was low.
Since July I had been losing my balance and banging my head. I couldn’t play my guitars for love nor money. I had ended up in A and E twice. One Doctor noticed a fibrillation in my heart. I went to the Doctor to complain once more about the pain in my neck. I was referred to a specialist who informed me that I didn’t have a tumour on my brain. Well, I knew that. Manipulated my neck and dismissed my concerns. By now my legs were causing a lot of discomfort. Half-Term was on the horizon. I went to the Docs and asked for something to mask the pain so I could get through the week. I was prescribed 1000mg of Zapain 4 x a day. Zapain is a type of super strong Paracetamol and Codeine mix.
That was Monday. Wednesday I was chatting with my eldest daughter, who had not long moved into our new house. I recall saying “I’m not going anywhere yet”….By Thursday afternoon I was beginning to slowly stroke out.
I knew I was unwell and I was mindful of my Dad who never ever took any form of medication; so I had a decent dose of Aspirin and after falling over in the bathroom, went to bed around 6.30 pm. By 10 o’clock Nicola had called an ambulance as I was drooling and mumbling incoherently. It took two hours of persuasion to get them to take me to hospital. I got to see a Doctor who checked me out and gave me a couple of weeks worth of Aspirin and in spite of the fact I was vomiting blood, discharged me at 3 in the morning. Food poisoning was suggested.
I was at Bangor Hospital, in North Wales U.K. an hour and a half from home in the middle of the night with no way of getting home. I have to explain that I live in a very rural area in the Heart of the Eryri National Park. I phoned Nicola who came and picked me up. All the way home I was vomiting. I was dizzy, weak and cold and hot. I went to bed. I couldn’t get up in the morning. Somehow Nicola got me back to hospital. Bless her, she had no real idea what was happening to me. I did, but I didn’t want to frighten her more than necessary.
By this time I was very fuzzy and little made sense. It was a long wait before I was admitted to the Stroke ward. It was well into the night when they wired me for sound and determined that I had had a stroke. They hooked me up to a drip and allocated me a bed. I got trundled off to get an MRI in the morning. It would be another week before I saw a specialist. It was 11 days before I was allowed home. I had no real further instructions. It was only when Nicola made an appointment with the local GP that they realised I had been ill.
I had had a Cerebellar Stroke and I had survived