Julie Cancea

I woke on the morning of 4th December, with what I thought was a raging hangover, and my office department had held their Christmas party the evening before.

Although I wasn't feeling particularly well, I put it down to the amount of alcohol consumed the previous evening and tried to get on with my day the best I could, after all Christmas was only round the corner. I managed to finish the Christmas shopping, came home to make dinner and sat down with a well-deserved cup of tea.

When my husband, Mark arrived home from work, I went to the kitchen to make him a cup of tea, and went to check on the casserole, I had prepared earlier.

Mark heard a crash and ran into the kitchen, I had collapsed; the oven door was still open. Mark assumed the rush of heat from the oven had caused me to faint and tried to sit me up. I collapsed again, this time partially swallowing my tongue, which meant my breathing sounded very strange and my eyes were rolling.

Mark asked our daughter, Sian, to call for an ambulance.

I was taking to our local hospital; they ran some tests, which were readable to the National Hospital for Neurology & Neurosurgery in Queen Square, London. The tests showed I needed to be transferred immediately to The National Hospital. The ambulance raced, sirens whaled - all a bit over the top for a hangover, I thought. The headache wasn't a hangover; I was having a subarachnoid hemorrhage.

Mark tells me I was taken to intensive care and then an operation was performed to clip the damaged artery. At this time nobody could tell Mark whether I would recover, he had to live with hope.

I have no clear memory of the two months I spent at The National Hospital, when I came round properly I was back in our local hospital, scared. I couldn't feel my legs. I vaguely remembered being in the kitchen, making a casserole. I was fearful that my legs had been amputated, that I had burnt them in the kitchen.

Mark gently explained what had happened to me, this was very difficult for both of us. He was telling me there was something wrong with my brain, so, why couldn't I feel my legs????

I was on a general ward in a room on my own, every few days there would be a death on the ward, but no-one would say why - very depressing. I had no company until a few days later a porter told me he was there to take me for physiotherapy. More confusion!!!, why did I need physiotherapy if I'd had brain surgery???

I spent two months on the general ward, with only basic nursing care and received only two hours per week physiotherapy, and much less occupational therapy. I did become quite down during my time spent on this ward and after five or six weeks was allowed home for a whole day!! Wonderful, I was so excited. Mark collected me at around 10 am and took me home, in his car!!.

I was fearful of the neighbours seeing me in a wheelchair, but my excitement at being at home for a day, was such that by the time we pulled up outside my home, nothing mattered but getting in there.

It wasn't that easy for Mark to get me into the house. I still had very little use of my legs at this time. He had to support me under my arms from the wheelchair and put me on the stairs. Another fearful moment!!. Was Mark going to have to be my legs forever?? We managed; fortunately, I could use my arms to assist Mark. I was home after four months!!! Even if it was only for a few hours. Never has a bacon sandwich tasted so good!!!!

Shortly after my visit home, I was transferred from the General Ward to the Rehabilitation Ward. What a difference!!!!

Once I was settled in I was introduced to "my team". A named nurse, physiotherapist, occupational therapist. A Team dedicated to my rehabilitation. Jane and Betty my physiotherapists and Faith my Occupational Therapist arranged a visit to my home, with Mark shortly after I arrived. The Rehab ward policy is to let patients home for weekends as soon as possible, in order to settle back into a home life.

I had to spend my first weekend in Rehab, on the ward. But the following weekend, Easter, I was allowed home on the Thursday evening, after Mark had finished work. By this time Betty and Jane had taught me how to use the stairs again. "good to heaven! bad to hell!"". Still scary the first time at home though.

I spent 70 days on the rehab ward receiving intensive rehabilitation, a full time table of physio, occupational therapy, which included cooking, woodwork, and social games.

I walked out of the Rehab Ward with a cane, with my husband Six months after the 4th December 1999.

Today, I would say I have made an excellent recovery, I walk unaided, drive, help out at Different Strokes twice a week and am always smiling. If someone asks how I am my stock answer these days is "a different 100% thank you!!!!". I am no longer scared to say I feel good.

Thanks to Julie 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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