Cherryl Kilvington

Well what a year this has been. Both Phil my husband and I agree that it has certainly been one if not the most difficult we have experienced so far. Next time someone tells you that life is too short, listen and take notice, because it really is. Please believe me when I say my intention is not to upset you or look for your pity but to hopefully give you an insight that might be of use if you ever come across a similar case. It's been quite a while since I last wrote an essay, but, here goes...

The last thing I remember about Thursday 18th March 2004, was feeling the dressing gown being placed over my naked body as I lay on the floor of the back bedroom. I had just had a massive bleed on my brain (haemorrhage).

As far as I know it had been a pretty normal day. Phil had gone to the Midlands to the printers, the cats were in before dark and I had finished helping Bob our manager with last minute corrections to the magazine and come home from the office. I don't remember eating but do remember making a couple of phone calls and watching some TV, Six Feet Under of all things. I had a shower, fed the cats and went upstairs. I dried my hair and lay down on the bed for 5mins. I decided I might as well go to bed and got up to go to the back bedroom to call Phil at his mums to say goodnight. My left arm felt weird. It was unnaturally heavy and numb, as though I had been lying on it and stopped the circulation. The difference was the pins and needles weren't coming and it just didn't feel right. I was starting to feel scared. As I walked along the landing my legs began to feel odd. Now I was becoming really scared. I phoned Phil. I told him how I was feeling and that I was now getting a slight pain on the right side of my head. I just wanted him to hold me and tell me it was all OK, but the reality was I wasn't OK and I was now starting to feel freaked out. My arm didn't feel as though it belonged to me and my legs were feeling numb. I had paid attention in biology and knew that all was not good with my brain and that the pain on the right side was the reason for the numbness on my left. Now I was really scared. Phil told me to phone the hospital straight away and call him back.

After explaining how I felt the doctor I was talking to suggested I take a couple of Nurofen. Great advice!! Both Phil and I were horrified and didn't consider this to be good enough, so I told Phil I was going to call the emergency doctor and call him back. The doctor after hearing the same explanation as the hospital simply told me that only I knew how bad I felt and maybe I should think about calling 999 (emergency services). The thing was I didn't feel ill just a bit weird, but somehow I knew phoning 999 was the way to go. A lady called Claire took my call and luckily I had the sense to put her on speakerphone. After calmly and clearly giving her all the necessary information it was as though my brain said OK I could now switch off and let someone else do the work. I remember Claire asking me to lie down on the floor and wait for the paramedics and police to arrive. I remember trying to get up to go downstairs to unlock the door so they could get to me, but I fell over pulling the iron off the ironing board. Claire called out to me and said to lay still and that I should be able to hear the police breaking down the door. I listened and yes I could hear banging. I was aware of someone walking into the room and I was naked on the floor. Without seeing the person I asked if I could have a dressing gown from the bedroom. A female voice repeated my request, and then everything was black.........

The following is what I have pieced together with Phil's help about what happened next.

I hadn't phoned Phil back and all this time he had been frantically been trying to call me. Our phone was off the hook, luckily though I had given Claire Phil's mobile number to tell him what was happening, but it was some time before they called him. I cannot imagine what he must have been thinking, as the last time I had spoken with him I was extremely panicked. The next thing he knew was that I was seriously ill and on my way to Aberystwyth hospital. Shocked, he phoned Sarah my sister who had our mum visiting, they immediately set off from Northamptonshire, and my dad who was at home in Wales with no transport, set off by taxi. Phil grabbed his bags and bundled both them and his mum into the car and set off at what I can only imagine was warp speed. On route to Aber' the emergency services called Phil again to say that I was now being taken to Swansea hospital as it was more serious than they had first thought.

Due to the gale force winds that night They couldn't fly me down by helicopter as they had intended but had to take me by ambulance. Time was of the essence. A bleed as large as mine needed attention as soon as possible. It was approximately 6.30am when Phil and his mum arrived at the hospital, just as the ambulance with me. My dad was already there and my mum and sister were on their way. As I was wheeled away to theater for an emergency operation Phil was able to give me one last kiss as the old Cherryl I remember, that pleases me. The operation was scheduled to take 3hrs and I had a 50/50 chance of surviving it. It actually took 5hrs by the time they had finished opening up my head, but I survived and was transferred to the intensive care unit. Friday night by all accounts was a rough one for everyone. By now I had quite a fan club at my bedside. My mum, dad, sister, mother in law, brother in law, and of course Phil were all anxiously awaiting news. Apparently I had a pressure build up on my brain, they had managed to remove most of the clot but didn't know what had caused it. They would carry out a biopsy of a part of my brain that didn't look normal (nothing new) but it would be a while for the results. The next 48hrs would be critical. The clot they had referred to had covered 1/4 of my brain at the rear, of the right hand side. This meant that the left side of my body would be left in a weakened state. Chances were that my speech and eyesight would not be affected, good news and in order to keep my head still and to enable the staff to monitor any change with my brain they put a couple of bolts in my head.

Saturday and my statistics were remaining steady. My head had doubled in size so they gave me diuretics to help reduce the swelling. I had also started to develop a chest infection, so a swab was taken from my lungs and put into a Petri dish, to do its thing. It turned out that the infection was no cause for alarm as long as no other illness developed. I was now being kept under full sedation in order to keep me immobile and my vitals were now being kept going by machine.

I was constantly monitored. Sunday, my vitals were good but my blood pressure was high so they took me for a CT scan. Phil had to sign another consent form, all the equipment had to go with me for the scan in case of an emergency and I was prepped for a second operation depending on the scan results. Boooo. Another op is necessary. Because they had not removed the entire clot last time but had anticipated it dissolving and it hadn't they now needed to do another operation that should take 2/3hrs. 3hrs 15mins later I was back in ICU and it had gone according to plan, they had done all they could the rest was up to me. My sister told them if anyone could do it I could.

So began the hardest job I have ever had. Again the next 36/48hrs were critical, I was back on the diuretics and I was being kept immobile. I must have been really ill but the strange thing is even now I have no idea just how ill. It's like knowing that you were born but not remembering it. You just know it happened. My will to live must have been strong because I started fighting straight away. Monday and I seemed to be settling down. My vitals were steady and everyone could take a breather and relax. On Tuesday my vitals were looking good so they reduced my medication.

Unfortunately I had an adverse reaction and the bolt that was measuring my inter-cranial pressure showed a raise in pressure, I was put back on the higher dosage of medication and the pressure became stable for the remainder of the day. They would try to reduce it again tomorrow if I remained stable. Wednesday I did remain stable overnight and my facial swelling had reduced slightly. They started to reduce the paralysis medication and I began to move my eyelids as I tried to open my eyes.

Today is the day that I have my first memory since the trauma. I recall hearing Phil telling me that I must calm down. I could hear alarms and bells sounding, but couldn't see. Apparently it was my equipment that was going mad and the reason was because I was aware that Phil was with me and I just wanted him to take me home. How little I knew. Once I had calmed down and stabilised again they would raise my carbon dioxide levels which were being kept artificially low. As the levels become higher than the norm it would make me uncomfortable but would hopefully kick-start my own breathing mechanisms.

Due to non movement for so long there was a strong likelihood that I would develop hypostatic pneumonia so they began doing a little physiotherapist on my chest. At approx 3.45pm I must have decided enough was enough and it was time to step up my recovery myself. I forcefully moved my right arm and leg and slowly moved my head form side to side. I looked in pain so they gave me codeine to go with the morphine. I could now hear my name being said and would open my eyes accordingly.

The next memory I have is of seeing both Phil and one of my brilliant friends Linda who had arrived on Saturday standing to my right. Someone in the background was telling them to move to my left so that I had to look round to see them. I could hear them telling me to look at them I remember straining to look but also feeling good that they were pleased at my movement. I still didn't know what was happening. I remember my mum recounting a tale I had told her about stingrays and how green my eyes had been when I had returned to my hotel. I remember my sisters voice and her telling me I was a fighter. I remember not seeing or hearing but sensing that my dad was feeling so helpless at my bedside. I also know that Rosemary and Scott were now also by my bed and I guess the morphine was good shit because I remember Mother Theresa dropping by for a cup of tea. Thursday I would smile, sort of, at the mention of Willow and Elfin (my cats) and I seemed to recognise Sarah and Scott.

The nurses had to use a suction tube to keep my throat clear and one such time I grabbed hold of the tube and wouldn't let go which I thought was very funny. Towards the end of the day I was now able to answer simple questions by squeezing a hand or slowly shaking my head. I think it was today that I was taken off the ventilator. I remember gagging then coughing and my mouth feeling as though I had swallowed a pound of lard. (That would be the Vaseline they kept wiping on my tongue to stop it getting sore from the ventilator tube. All the action had made me a little restless so they gave me some fast acting relaxant to make me rest. Friday and things are starting to come back, I can now say 'toilet' and 'drink'. And boy was I thirsty. At the moment they would only give me water and it was in a beaker. I remember wondering why didn't I have a glass and if I wanted a drink I had to ask in a 'strong' voice, sip slowly and take two swallows then open my mouth to prove there was none left then say 'gone'. What had happened to me? Why was I here? Why does everyone keep asking if I know where I am, what date is it, what hospital is this, HOSPITAL? My blood pressure, temperature and eyes were being checked every 20mins. Nurses were everywhere and I was very, very scared.

Why didn't my left arm or leg work? This was all wrong. I just want to go home. Where is Phil? I beg the nurses to call him but they say they can't as its only 4am but I tell them they don't understand and that he would come and get me. He loves me and they must call him, he's my husband and I need him now... Over the next few days I remember needing Phil so bad. I remember calling for him daily and nightly.

I remember the reassuring words of all my family and wanting to tell them all not to worry but feeling that I was really worried. I knew they were all very close and that they would come if I called for them. There didn't seem to be a single minute that I was on my own and I looked forward to seeing familiar faces. Something serious had happened. My thoughts and memories were confused and 'foggy'. I thought Phil and Linda had brought Willow and Elfin in to see me. I thought the ceiling was covered with ticks and I swear I saw rats run across the floor. (I probably did).

I'm also adamant that I was having full on conversations with an elderly gentleman on the other side of the room but am told it was impossible. I felt as though the hospital was in the courtyard of home and that if I went out the door, there would be my house, again impossible. I thought at one point that I was in the cottage at home and that Phil had redecorated it with fine fabrics and heavy drapes. There was a life size wooden figure by the stairs that turned and smiled at me and Phil had built an overhead aquarium in which there were stingrays. The floor was covered in feathers and as I crawled through them I found Easter eggs from each of the nurses. It was Easter and I remember asking Phil to go out and buy everyone an egg. One day I looked at the shelves by my bed and saw fancy boxes that were gifts from Phil, underwear from 'la Perla' and 'agent Provocateur' no less, perfume by JPG and loads of eggs.

Of course, it wasn't long before I was shown that I was hallucinating. It was at this point that I thought these drugs should be banned. I can look back and see that most of what I remember was either dreams or hallucinations but I swear that as real as you and I are, so were the Spockets. The Spockets were my friends. They were my way forward. I was never afraid of them and felt safe when they were around. The best way to describe them is: there were 107 of them, each about 1.5m tall, slender, and each was dressed in a head to toe white lycra suit except for one day when they were all dressed in orange. Each Spocket was responsible for a part of my body and when I was able to move that part, i.e. a toe, he ticked it off the list. I knew that once all the boxes were ticked I would be OK. When I moved my right leg for the first time they gave me a huge thumbs up and larger than life smile. When I struggled one day to remember what date it was, a spocket wrote it down for me and it was right. I remember not being able to sleep one night and someone led me along the corridor and showed me a room where all the Spockets were sleeping like babies. They looked so comfortable and a couple of them beckoned me to join them. I was tempted as I really needed a goodnights sleep but something at the back of my mind said that if I did I wouldn't wake up....

I made good progress over the next few days and after two weeks in ICU I was moved to a regular ward. Friends and family were by my bedside every day; I had never felt so popular. Flowers and cards began arriving from all four corners of the world. Phil had been in contact with as many of you as he could and you all began working your magic straight away. Even friends of friends, from Christians to Muslims, shamans to mediums have channeled love and positivety to aid my recovery and I am so grateful. I had only been on ward E for a couple of days and they moved me to my own room. My head wound wasn't healing and it turned out I had an infection. 'O' deep joy I now had the 'super bug' MRSA. I needed another operation so they could wash my brain, bad news was I may lose any recovery I had made. They operated, I survived (really bored with hospital now) and was back in ICU, well at least I knew the routine and nurses. A couple more days and I was moved to my own room again. Now I was contagious with a nasty bug, great.

A course of intravenous antibiotics followed with so many needles that my vein in my right arm blocked and they had to put it into my leg. I now knew what had happened to me and I cried. I cried every day pretty much all day. How could this be? I was vegetarian didn't smoke hardly drank and was reasonably fit. Everyone told me it could have been a lot worse and that I was really lucky. I know that now, but at first I didn't feel lucky. I felt confused, angry, depressed and so alone. I was surrounded with so much love but still felt so alone. When I saw myself in the mirror for the first time I was shocked. I had lost so much weight, was very pale and as my hair had been shaved off due to too much blood matting I could see my scars and stitches. I cried. I, miss independent, now needed to be wheeled to the toilet, lifted in and out of bed and lowered into a bath with a hoist. My life was so incredibly different now. After a very long six weeks in hospital Phil moved me to a private hospital in Aylesbury who provided me with a month of intensive physiotherapy. The team here was fantastic. I had left the Swansea hospital with the hope of only ever walking with the aid of a stick and was told to forget ever using my left arm and hand again. When I left Aylesbury I was walking quite well and I had excellent muscle recovery, which meant there was a very good chance of regaining the use of my arm and hand. Finally a day came that I asked Phil to take me home, he put his arms around me said grab your bags baby and lets go.

That was back in June. Now began what has been the hardest part of my recovery so far. I have been and am still on the biggest emotional roller coaster of my life so far. I have laughed, I have cried, I have had rage, I have been mean to those closest to me, and I have been suicidal. Phil and my family have been with me all the way and it is because of them that I am here today. I have physiotherapy twice weekly at home, do my own exercises every day, go horse riding as often as I can and at last truly believe that one day in the not too distant future I will be back to the Cherryl I was. It's still hard work and I do still have the occasional really black day where only Phil can convince me that it's going to be OK. My walking has improved greatly and my hand is starting to come back to me, we always knew the hand would be the last to return. My foot no longer feels like a block of ice and when Phil holds my hand it no longer scrunches up or feels scratchy. Things are all heading in the right direction and according to the experts they are heading there faster than normal. Phil says I am the most impatient person he knows but it may be down to this and my refusal to accept what has happened that has led to the speed of my recovery so far.

Night and day it is still a struggle and a constant effort but not as much as it was in the beginning. There is a huge light at the end of the tunnel and I can't wait to get there. This is my second chance at what I thought was already a privileged life, how lucky am I? It really doesn't matter if your bum looks big in those jeans but what does matter is if you have laughed out loud today or better still made someone else laugh out loud. Keep fighting. There is no fat lady singing just yet....

Thanks to Cherryl for sending in her profile. Anyone else who would like to share their story can send it along with a photograph (if you're not shy!)

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