Michaela Heldon

I am going to tell you all about my story and explain what happened to me in August 2001. It was something much more painful, terrifying and isolating than you could possibly imagine. It has taken me a long time to start to write this story. Firstly because I have not been able to physically write anything for a long time and secondly because it's been very distressing to open these wounds, even though it's been two years since this happened.

My story includes the details of what happened, and tries to explain how I've had to piece together my life since that day. In some ways there was always a chance that this could happen to me. Medically, as I look back now, there were some alarm bells for many years prior to this.

On New Years Eve 1997, I had my first full epileptic seizure. I was 24 years old, and it was a real turning point in my life. Before that night I had a very happy and easy life: a very loving family and lots of friends. A great school and then off to University, when I left I was qualified as a Primary teacher. My boyfriend, now my husband, and I bought a lovely house. Life was good. Then suddenly the day after the fit, I found myself strapped into a medical, emotional and physical rollercoaster ride.

I was in casualty on New Years Day and the Doctor explained that I had had an epileptic seizure. Because I'm an adult, with no prior epilepsy history, the doctors and I needed to find out how the seizure had come about. Well, it took forever to get the information. For the last few years I have been permanently waiting for doctors appointments, consultants and operation dates.

Eventually, after the shock of having an epileptic seizure, I started thinking. Had there been other unusual events prior to this? Now I think I had my first seizure when I was 13 years old. I went to bed and when I woke up in the morning, my shoulder was very painful. (A dislocated shoulder that I still suffer from) and I'd bitten right through the side of tongue. I had a terrible headache, and I was very disorientated. As I look back now, these were classic signs of having an epileptic fit. Because I couldn't explain what had happened at the time, I didn't tell anyone.

I don't know how it works, but you can have fits in your sleep and you genuinely don't know it has happened. But after that episode, every couple of months I started to have what I now know as Aura's. It's hard to explain it, but it usually started with a déjá vu (everyone has had a déjá vu) and within a few seconds I couldn't speak at all. I didn't understand where I was, or who the people were around me. Every thought in my mind was racing at the speed of light. I was desperately trying to focus on one thought, to try and slow down my brain. After 1 or 2 minutes, it was finished. It was terrifying and it could happen at any time. I got used to it, but as I got older the auras became more scarey and I started to feel that something was wrong. I explained to my family and when I was 19 years old we went to a consultant to find out what had been happening. I went for a brain scan, an ECG, and the results showed there were no signs for concern. The doctors' suggested a form of medication for migraines! But a few months later the auras were becoming so frequent I was having to make strategies to deal with it.

One of the problems with auras is that if you are with other people while it is happening you can't speak at all. You are desperately trying to get the words out. My husband knew about it, we had a code word. You get about 5 seconds, before it starts as a warning sign and I only had to say a code and he knew what was happening. I tried to slow down my brain. For example saying the alphabet was a good way to focus. We would say the alphabet slowly and I would try and copy what he was saying. By the time I could say A, B, C, D, the aura was over. I knew where I was, and my speech had returned. But the auras didn't go away. That was the end of it.

So five years later, going back to the story, about the New Years Eve fit, I had to go for two brain scans. The first was the ECG, which gave the same results from as before. The other one was an MRI, which gave a different story. In actual fact, if I hadn't had had that New Year's Eve seizure I probably wouldn't be here at all. Things like that made me realise that we are all totally vulnerable. Anyway, in June 1998 I met a neurological specialist and she explained that I had been born with an "Arterio Venous Malformation", which means I had a tangled mass of arteries that restrict blood flow to a certain area of my brain.

Most AVM's are only found in autopsies, or when they 'bleed'. A bleed is an easier word than brain haemorrhage, but that is exactly what it is. To have blood pushing through your brain's blood vessels, it is so severe that even if you survive the bleed, it can cause brain damage. The specialist explained that sometimes people could have surgery, to stop the risks. But because my AVM covered approximately a quarter of my brain, it was too risky to attempt surgery, because it can cause brain damage. As well as that I would never be able to have children, because of the risk of extreme blood pressure during childbirth. The doctor was basically saying that I needed to keep my fingers crossed for the rest of my life. WHAT!! Everyone had bad days but for me this was ridiculous. Maybe it was very naive, but it didn't occur to me for one minute that there would be bad news. When I realised what she had said to me, there were different stages. My husband and I were in shock for a few hours. Then I phoned my Mum and Dad. They are very good at these sorts of things and suggested it was time to get a second opinion. Within a month we met another consultant neurosurgeon. He explained there was a chance that I would be able to have surgery safely. He referred me to a specialist radiographer. In January 1999 I met her and she was very supportive. The fact was that there were 4 options. A course of radiotherapy can be suitable for people for small areas within the brain but because the size of my AVM, it was not an option. The next idea was to not do anything. I asked her what percentage there was that I would have a bleed. She wasn't keen to offer statistics, but what she said was every year that I was alive, the AVM would get 5% bigger. Not very tempting. The third idea was not to do anything now, and wait for a few years to see if there were further advances in medical science. The final option was to have an embolization. I had never heard of embolization but she explained it very clearly.

She would insert a tube into my groin and push the tube along the main artery up to the brain. When in place they would put glue into a catheter and push the glue along the tube and up to the brain. The glue 'seals' the veins around the AVM. Once all the veins are blocked the AVM dies, because it only lives with blood going through it.

She explained it would take a few goes. There were 3 separate operations with about 6 months between each one, for recovery time. She didn't feel confident about attacking an AVM that size, on her own. She told me about a professor who was a specialist in investigation and embolization. He is now operating in Zurich, Switzerland. She said that she would be able to do the first operation in London. Then I would need to go to Zurich for the main operation with the professor and I would have the final stage in London. In total this would take about 2 years.

Well, when I walked out of the doctors room there were very mixed emotions. Relief that there was something that could be done, and finally I had a choice. But these operations were so daunting. I was too young to die. What a difficult decision. But could I really fully live my life waking up every morning praying that I would make it through the day?

Once I had made a decision, I wanted the operation to start as soon as possible. In June 1999 I had my first embolization in London. Even though I really wanted to do it, when the date started getting nearer I was very nervous. There is always a risk of complications if you have an anaesthetic, but I wasn't concerned about that. My problem was that I was going to have brain surgery! The thought of having some glue put into my brain was terrifying. But I had the operation and when I woke up the doctor explained she hadn't been able to do the first stage of the embolization. During the operation she didn't feel confident about dealing with the size of the area. She wanted to ask the opinion of the professor from Zurich. So in October 1999, I went back into hospital for the second attempt. I had the same sorts of emotions as before the operation, but it was easier second time around. I was prepared for the fact that it might not be as successful as I wanted, and I was right. The doctor explained she had only been able to complete 3% of it. She was basically saying that she wasn't able to do the embolization full stop. Her professional opinion was for me to go to Zurich and meet the surgeon. When my doctor was talking to me about the seriousness of the situation I was beginning to see the real picture and the long haul ahead.

I had a condition that was so complicated only one other person in the whole world was able to help me. I was really starting to feel scared, I couldn't stop thinking about it. Every morning my first thought was "What if I have a bleed today?"

Whenever I had a headache, just a normal average headache, I was convinced I was going to have a bleed. Fear all day everyday, is no way to live. I realized I needed to go to Zurich to meet him and to see if he could help me.

In June 2000 I went to Zurich to meet him. He had assessed my X-rays, and made it very straightforward. He explained there was a 40% chance of me having a bleed or fatal brain haemorrhage. He strongly recommended for me to have the embolization. And then there were the down sides of the statistics. If I had the surgery there was a 4% chance of complications. 1% something very wrong during the operation. 1% complications after the operation. 1% brain damage. 1% fatal brain haemorrhage. He told me that I would have to have two embolization operations. The first stage would happen as soon as possible and then I would have to have some recovery time. A year later I would be able to have the final stage. According to the professor after the embolizations I would be totally 'cured'. It was now 2 years since I knew I had the AVM and I was against the clock. I had to do something about it before it might be too late.

In November 2000 I went to Zurich and had the embolization. If you think about what the operation involves you will understand how ill I felt, but it was extremely successful. The professor had done about 70% of it. Wow!

In my opinion as he stood in front of me explaining what he had done he was like God. When I left the hospital I needed to return in a years time to have the final 30%. Because he had done 70 % of it the risk of a bleed was greatly reduced. Finally I was on my way to having an easier life.

It took a few months to recover. Even though the AVM was nearly gone I was careful. I was only teaching part time and I had lots of early nights. I didn't want to take any chances. It was only a year to go and I needed to look after myself. A year wasn't long to wait considering what I was trying to do, to make sure I would have lots of happy years. But, on the 15th August 2001 a bang! I had a massive brain haemorrhage. This part of the story is a recount from my husband and my Mum and Dad, because at that time I wasn't aware of what was happening. In the early hours of the morning I had a massive brain haemorrhage.

I was rushed into the Walton Centre hospital in Liverpool and I was quickly put into surgery. After a few hours of intensive surgery and 40 staples at the side of my head, I was put into intensive care. The surgeon explained to my husband and my Mum and Dad that I had had a brain haemorrhage caused by an aneurysm. An aneurysm is a weakness of a blood vessel, which can swell like a balloon. If an aneurysm bursts, there is a haemorrhage. The effect of it is like a stroke. The surgeon explained it had happened because of the AVM. He said that he had never seen such a large erupting bleed.

My family was devastated. After the last embolization in Zurich that was so successful we were all feeling it was nearly over.

The surgeon gave my family the shattering news. Then there were questions to ask. Will she wake up? What will she be like? The surgeon was very honest. He didn't know when I was going to wake up, if at all. If I did, there would certainly be brain damage but no one could say to what sort of extent.

In actual fact, if I hadn't have had the embolization 9 months ago that had tackled 70% of the AVM, I would never have made it. I went into a coma and I was put onto a life support machine because I could not breathe without it. I was given medication to completely paralyse me so that my brain could have a chance to recover. And there was other medication. This regulated my blood pressure. It slowed down my brain and my heart, to prevent a further bleed. Basically those tablets kept me alive. Then another problem. I had started to be sick and it had gone into my lungs. I needed to have a tube for my breathing. A week went by. The medics wanted me to start breathing on my own and to slowly reduce the medication to see if I could move on my own. But I was very distressed, and I clearly wasn't ready to breathe on my own. So the next option was to do a tracheostomy. This was a tube for breathing that is directly placed into the throat. The surgeon said he would give me 24 hours, and if I didn't show improvement he would have to do the operation. Amazingly after that I started to improve slightly. This meant that I could use a mask, instead of the tube. I was starting to breathe 20% on my own and 80% with the mask. It doesn't sound like a lot, and now I just take for granted breathing but at that stage this was a big deal. So things improved. 30% of breathing on my own and 70% using the mask etc., but still I had to use the tube in my mouth for feeding.

After 3 weeks I had been in a coma, and now I was slowly starting to wake up. Another week and I was moved to the High Dependency Unit. The medics started to reduce the medication. Every now and then I opened my eyes. But I didn't actually register in any way. I just closed my eyes after a few seconds. One of the other problems was that the vital breathing mask was very uncomfortable and of course I didn't understand what it was for. So while I was asleep I used to pull the mask off. Sometimes people carefully pushed my hand away from it, and other times my hand was bandaged up to stop this from happening. There were other similar problems with the feed tube. I used to pull the tube out while I was asleep. The tube went through my nostril to my throat and down to my stomach, which is nasty, but it's worse when it comes out and has to go back in. Like when you snort up water. Painful.

After 4 days I had been in the High Dependency Unit and finally for my family, there was a breakthrough. As my husband was leaving my bed late in the evening, I reached out to him with my arm and hugged him. I actually have a memory of when that happened. Every now and then we talk about it and we understand what it meant. After that I was starting to understand instructions. At times my nurse said, "Don't pull the tubes out Michaela". Automatically I stopped, but I looked at my Mum and Dad, just to check whether I had understood the instruction.

I was now stable enough to move to the next ward. Now, here is my account of what had happened after I had fully woken up. Panicked, scared and frightened in every way. I was totally paralyzed down the right hand side. Literally I didn't have an inch of strength in my whole body. Headache isn't a big enough word to describe how bad the headaches were. They were a bane in my life, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. When I tried to fall asleep to try and have some respite from the pain, I had terrifying nightmares. These are nightmares I can now remember in detail. I was incontinent, and it's a horrendous thing to cope with. I couldn't sit up on my own, so every morning I was put onto a crane (hoist) so the nurses could wash me. If you have ever seen one of those cranes, it's the loss of dignity that made it so painful. In my whole life this was my worst moment. As you would think, I was very depressed. Sometimes in the evening it was time for my family to leave. I used to feel terribly jealous at how everyone else was able to stand up and walk away from the hospital whenever they wanted to. "I don't want to do this anymore. Why hasn't anyone taken me away from this?" I wanted someone to make me feel better. I just wanted to go to sleep and never wake up.

Due to high medication it meant that I was crying non-stop. When my family came to see me I cried and when they left I cried. And then sometimes I burst into hysterical laughter for no apparent reason. It was like my brain hadn't yet decided what cry was and what laughter was. Even now when I'm very tired, I laugh and cry for no reason at all. As well as that, temporarily I had amnesia so much as I couldn't remember names or faces apart from my husband and my Mum and Dad. I knew there were lots of cards and flowers for me but I didn't know whom they were from. It was when my brother came to visit me and straight away I knew who he was. After that I looked at photographs and gradually I started to piece together my family and friends like a jigsaw.

At this time I was understanding what had happened to me. None of this has been easy but it has made a difference to know that there was always a chance that I could have a bleed, but it was the classic, "It'll never happen to me"

The nurses always warned my family that I would have some speech difficulties. So then, and now, I suffer from Aphasia. Aphasia means that your mind works perfectly well, but it causes difficulty in communicating. When I started speaking I didn't notice that I had a speech disorder. I assumed everyone else had the problem, not me. I kept thinking to myself, "Why doesn't anyone understand what I am talking about?" It took me about a week to decide that maybe I had a problem. My aphasia was very severe. For me, to loose my speech has been the hardest thing out of all of this.

Another week went by and I advanced up to using a beaker for liquid. Then I was onto very small solid foods. I had lost the skill of concentration and so at lunch time people asked me what I wanted to eat. There were 3 choices. I listened to number 1 and 2, but before I started to listen to number 3 I had forgotten number 1 and then I couldn't remember number 2. There was no point in saying, "Could you tell me again please?" because for one thing no one wouldn't have understood what I was talking about and secondly because I couldn't remember the choices again. In desperate situations you have to quickly learn how to deal with new strategies. Amazingly and I don't know why my aphasia hadn't affected my ability to say numbers. So when it was time to decide what to have I used to pick a number. "Number 3", I just got what I was given. It was quite funny if I think about it now. There were worse things in my life than whether I was going to have a ham sandwich or baked beans!

Another week went by and I was strong enough to start having physiotherapy. Well, I was so excited. I remember the first morning and I didn't really understand why I couldn't walk. Five weeks ago I could walk, and apparently now I can't walk. I decided everyone must have made a mistake. I sat on the side of my bed, put my feet on the floor, stood up and obviously fell straight over. It was like I had only got one leg instead of two. It was a very odd thing to understand. After that I agreed that I couldn't walk and my right arm was useless as well. I started physiotherapy. I only did 20 minutes each day but all of it made a difference.

I'd been in the Walton hospital in Liverpool for seven weeks and finally I was told I could be moved into the National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery in London. It was a very special day for me. I live in London so it meant that my family could all go back home instead of living in a hotel for weeks. I decided if I was strong enough to be moved to London then one day I would be able to go home. Obviously I was looking forward to going, but there were a lot of 'thank yous' to the surgeon and all the wonderful nurses and I will never forget them. When I arrived in the London Hospital I had to have an MRI and an angiogram, to make sure things were improving. When I got the all clear, the next stage was to see whether I would benefit from rehabilitation. It was only now, that I realize I was very fortunate to be involved in a specialist rehabilitation. I started working with a physiotherapist. All day, every day I worked hard to try and strengthen my muscles. In my mind I knew how to walk and I knew how to move my arm, hand and fingers, so it was up to utter determination that meant finally I was getting movement down the right hand side of my body, but no feelings or sensations. In actual fact I still don't have many sensations down the right hand side of my body. If you look at me you wouldn't notice it, but for example I have to be very careful of hot water. On the plus side, when I had injections every night I requested to have them in my right side because I couldn't feel it.

My movement and balance was improving and it was time to put the wheelchair aside, and try to start standing up, with support. Wow, I can walk! I had to use a frame, look at my feet with every step and I could walk about 2 metres, but it was a start. As well as that I went for my first speech therapy session. My aphasia was still very severe in speech and I couldn't read or write, but all of it helped. After 2 weeks in the ward I met the support team, they felt that I was strong enough to be put into the rehabilitation. I was so proud of myself. It was like having a job interview! A few days before I had fallen over, I begged them not to tell anyone that I had had an accident because I thought I might not be 'good enough' to be in the rehabilitation! On Monday morning I moved up to the top floor, which was the rehab unit. It took me a week to adjust and after that I was very happy there. For the first week I began the physical side. Every day I saw my physiotherapist and for an hour I worked hard to strengthen all my muscles and to improve my cardio-vascular fitness.

Within that first week I also began my speech therapy. That involved having lots of cognitive tests, to work out which part of my brain was permanently damaged, and which bits were temporary. For example, I had to have a vocabulary test. I had to look at pictures and say what they were. It was so soul destroying to be looking at a picture of an apple but I couldn't remember the name! I used to say to my speech therapist, "I am actually a teacher, I do know the answer, but for some reason I just can't reach the word in my brain". Frustration is the only word to describe it. It was like learning a new language. At the end of the tests and I don't know how my therapist worked it out, she knew that with practice and hard work parts of it would improve. (By the way I now know the name apple!) At the end of the week the support team decided I would have to be in rehab for 8 weeks. That sounds like a long time, and it was, but I was too disabled to deal with things at home. The best thing for me was to be in the rehab. I felt very safe being there. Everyone knew me and if anything happened to me a doctor or nurse would know what to do to help me. It was wonderful to hear that I had a final date to leave. When I was in Liverpool I really thought that I would have to live in a hospital for the rest of my life. So when I was given a date I had a main focus. I could go home in December, and be home before Christmas.

The rehab was hard work and because I was so exhausted I was still using the wheelchair, apart from my daily physiotherapy sessions. But, at the end of my second week it was another turning point for me. I had been spending time with one of the other patients, and I asked her when she was going home. I knew that she couldn't walk at all, and I was amazed to hear she was leaving in 2 weeks time. It makes sense now, when patients leave the rehab it isn't guaranteed that everything in life is perfect. But for me, when I was there I really thought that when I walked out of the rehab after 8 weeks it would be all over - finished!

I was on a lot of medication still, and for months I had moved into a different world in my mind. I was shocked to realize that the rehab was only a stepping-stone stage, and the hardest part was to leave the rehab and deal with life without being a healthy, strong and perfect person. I decided while I was there I was going to use all of the opportunities and I could have a rest when I got home.

So, the wheelchair was put aside again and I was given a frame instead. Unfortunately, my room was the furthest away from the physiotherapist gym, the kitchen and the speech therapy room. It was hard work. But through commitment I just kept going.

A couple of times a week I also saw my occupational therapist, which was another vital support. She encouraged me to try and get back to life. What were the things that I used to enjoy? Well, the first outing was for me and my therapist to go to Covent garden. I went shopping! Admittedly I was only strong enough to manage three shops and then back to the rehab, but it was marvellous. My wonderful husband came to see me once or twice a day. My Mum and Dad, my brother and the rest of the family were regular visitors and there was continual encouragement. I was sent never-ending cards from my friends. As patients we became a family. There were twenty of us and we all had our 'jobs'. As I could walk I was in charge of turning the T.V. on and finding the remote control. But because I couldn't read, someone else was in charge of reading the T.V. magazine and deciding what we were going to watch.

I was meeting my speech therapist four times a week, and I was really improving. I found there were new strategies that made a difference. I was talking non-stop to anyone that was patient enough to listen. Gradually my vocabulary was developing and slowly I was using sentences instead of simple words. Another skill was using my mobile and texting to my husband. Only ten words took about an hour but it didn't matter. I had a lot of 'free' time. So I just tried again and again. I wrote it out and it looked okay, so I read it again and then I thought it wasn't quite right so I had another go.

Finally my medication was starting to reduce. There was a dramatic change. I was like a different person. I was on my way! On the 7th December 2001 I'd been in hospital for 4 months and it was time to go home. If I look back now to be in hospital for 4 months is a hell of a long time. People often ask me how I managed to cope with it. Do you know I really couldn't describe how awful it was. You just never know how you would deal with something like this, until you are in the middle of it. In my mind I honestly had only one option - to get better! I was 28 years old and wouldn't accept that life was over. Another thing that made a difference to my recovery was that no one had told me that I wouldn't get better. When I was in Liverpool there was a chance that I would never walk again or never leave the hospital but my family genuinely didn't tell me that. People have different opinions about these medical issues, but for me it was the right decision. If I had to deal with the news that I had to have a tube up my nostril for food for the rest of my life, I don't think I would be able to motivate myself to keep going.

When I left the hospital I liked the idea of leaving but when I finally got home I had to do 'normal' life stuff, like going outside, shopping and answering the phone. It was frightening! I was safe in hospital. I didn't have to feel scared, because people were there to help me. You don't realise how fast, hectic and hard work life is until you have lost your health. Once I was home sometimes I had bad days. It was apparent how much I had lost. Sometimes there were very bad days and I begged to go back into rehab, but it doesn't work like that, I had to keep going.

I was lucky enough to have stacks of help from my wonderful family, my friends, and professional support, from my therapists and counsellor. All of this and my own determination has made my recovery much faster than it might have been.

You would think everything that had happened it was time to finish the story. But it continued. I had an embolization in Zurich in November 2000 and I always knew a year later I would have had a final one. Because of what happened in August 2001 I kind of missed the operation date, but it still had to be done. So I was given my new date and in February 2002 I went to Zurich. I had had so many operations that I didn't have the energy to feel worried or anxious anymore. To me, I felt that it couldn't get any worse.

The operation took about 4 hours. It was successful but there was still more to be done. The surgeon explained that because of what happened in August I wasn't strong enough to cope with a longer operation, and he hadn't completely tackled the AVM.

For another year my life was on pause again! After I got back from Zurich I felt so ill for months. It reminded me how horrendous all my operations have been. I've been told that for every hour you have been operated on it takes a month to get over. So for me, this will take years! It was upsetting to know that every day I was fighting so hard to try and get better, and then knowing that in a few months time I was going right back to the beginning again. But whenever I felt down it reminded me that 6 month ago I was in a coma and when I had those shocking thoughts I realised I am lucky to be alive.

During that year sometimes I felt scared again, because I knew the AVM was still there. It was still risky but I pushed it aside and focused on my new job - getting better. I achieved so much within that year. I was able to go out and go on the train on my own. I was happy to meet up with friends and I went on holiday too. After the last Zurich operation, I don't know why, but I could read as well. How amazing is that! I hadn't been able to read for 6 months, but it was like a miracle. And from perseverance my handwriting escalated so quickly, and that's why I have been able to write this story.

In March 2003 I went to Zurich for that final embolization. It took about 6 hours and when I woke up the AVM was gone. There were tears of happiness and there were tears because I was exhausted. I've had the burden of knowing about the AVM for 5 years and now I didn't have to be frightened anymore. It was the end.

It's been two years now and I've done miraculously well. Physically I can walk and I can go swimming without support. Sometimes when I get tired I do fall over still, but it's because I have a balance problem. I still don't have many sensations in my leg either but I hope this will gradually improve. Clearly I can write now, but this story took me months. I had to be very motivated and at the end of it I was proud and glad I had persevered. Speaking is easier now. I don't have to think about how I'm going to get something across, before I speak. Sometimes I only make a few mistakes throughout the day.

My life now isn't so much bad it has just changed. Things are much slower now. For example, I can't drive now so if I want to pop out for something, it is like a military operation! I haven't been able to work as I still have fatigue issues and I still take medication. Also because I now have aphasia to teach with children in a classroom isn't an option. But I have different interests now. I regularly attend an aphasia support group and I've been doing some voluntary work. In some ways from all of this, it's okay to know now I can be a bit selfish. I can do what I want to do.

Every day I do think about what happened. Sometimes I have vivid nightmares and now I know I have a lot to be thankful for. It's silly to pretend as if it didn't happen, this has completely changed my life, and yes I will think about it every day for a very long time.

Next year I'm going to Zurich for a final scan to ensure there is no sign that the AVM will grow back. So, this is the end of the story. What have I learnt? Well I know who are the people who have made a difference. I still have professional support regularly and above all the endless love and support I have had from my family and close friends. I have learnt about priorities in life. I don't waste any time worrying about things that are not important. I feel like I'm a bit special now. After my experience, in my personality I'm exactly the same person I was, but now a little bit wiser.

Thanks to Michaela 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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