Michael Muggridge

My name is Michael Muggridge and I had my stroke in 1999 at the age of 54. My stroke occurred in an unusual way.

I awoke on the day my stroke started with a splitting headache which felt like it was located in my occiput. I didn't think too much about it and went about my everyday things such as having my breakfast and getting my sports bag ready for a game of badminton. I got myself ready for work and cycled to work. I was a keen cyclist and badminton player and had just become addicted to the game of golf. I had progressed to the stage where I could hit a ball and know where it was going and about how far. I was a Local Government Officer and spent most of my working day sat at a desk operating a computer, producing documents and maps. As the day progressed I noticed a gradual loss of coordination with my left hand. I was having difficulty dialling telephone numbers and becoming more and more frustrated. I was trying to prepare some maps for a document I was working on and when I printed this map to check it for accuracy I found that I could not see the work I had just done. This confused me considerably.

By this time it was lunch time and I left my office to have a game of badminton. On trying to play I found that I was unable to hit the shuttle. Because of this I thought that I was having a sugar low. A situation which occurred occasionally when I was low on sugar. I overcame this problem by having some sugary food, so I dropped out of the game and purchased a Mars bar. This had no affect. On my return to my office I found several phone messages. When I tried to return these phone calls I found that I was unable dial the numbers, using my left hand the normal way that I dialled my phone. At no time did it occur to me that I might be having a stroke. I had had no experience of stroke. I found that I was becoming more confused and frustrated. It got so bad that I said to my boss 'I don't feel well, I'm going home'. I did not think I should ride my bike and left my office and started to walk home, a distance of about three quarters of a mile. About half way home I saw a friend in a car. He stopped and offered me a lift, which I gladly accepted. In my opinion this action saved my life. I don't think I would have made it safely home. When I got indoors I think I sat down and had a nap. I did eventually wake up and began preparing the evening meal for myself and my two sons (spag. bol). My eldest son was returning from University.

While preparing the meal I found that I was losing strength in my left hand and was having difficulty cutting an onion up. I was having to bang my right hand on the knife in order to get it through the onion. When my son arrived home he came in to the kitchen and said 'are you all right Dad, your face has dropped? In my usual jocular and dismissive way I said 'I'm O K, perhaps I'm having a stroke. Little did I know.

I finished preparing the meal and when it came to dishing up the food I did not leave myself enough spaghetti, so resorted to a plate of bolognaise sauce.

I don't remember much of the evening, but my wife, who had been out for the evening, takes great delight in telling me that I had locked her out and that she had been unable to waken us and had had to go to a public call box and waken us with our house phone. I was totally unaware of this as I was unconscious in bed. The next morning my first recollection of events was standing in the bathroom staring into the mirror when my wife came in and said: 'come on Mick you'd better lie down' I turned and nearly fell grasping in effectually at the door frame. My wife somehow managed to get me onto the bed while I ranted on about wanting my trousers, she ran next door to get our neighbours to help her. They came in and started to assist me into my clothes. I can recall trying to fight them off and telling them to stop fussing. I think I still had some use of my left arm. While I was fighting my neighbours my wife had dialled 999. When the paramedics arrived they assessed me and put me on a body board and got me downstairs as they were putting me in the ambulance a doctor arrived, I recognised him but did not speak. I do remember the paramedics kept asking me if I knew my telephone number. My wife came with me to the hospital in the ambulance.

When I arrived at the hospital I was admitted immediately, but I did not receive any treatment. My wife was informed by the night doctor that I had had a minor stroke. My wife returned home to let her sons know what the verdict was. On their return to the hospital at lunchtime they were told by a different doctor that I had had a major stroke. It was very distressing for my family seeing me in a lot of pain and I kept saying how my head hurt, unfortunately they couldn't give me anything for my headache as they needed to know exactly what was happening inside my head. My eldest son was very upset as he thought perhaps he could have done something for me the night before but the doctor said that there was nothing he could have done for me. The scan had shown that I had had an enfarct. From its onset, my stroke took 24 hours to manifest itself completely (That is why I say my stroke started in an unusual way). I have never heard of a stroke starting in such a delayed way.

I was taken to a ward for assessment and given a bed. A male nurse said that he was going to give me a shower. He took me into the shower room and tried to wash me down. I was unable to stand and he let me slip and I banged my left hip on a metal hand rail. As the bang was on my affected side I felt no pain and I distinctly remember thinking 'wow there is an advantage to having a stroke'.

After my shower I was returned to my bed, at mid day dinner was served, a chicken and rice curry. I was given a spoon with which to eat it, which was a bit problematic as I am left handed and normally use my left hand to hold a spoon. I did manage to get some of the food in my mouth, but because my face had dropped and I had no feeling in my top lip I was unknowingly pushing food off the spoon. When the tray was removed I found my bed full of chicken curry and rice. I was unable to clear this mess up and when my wife came to visit me that evening she said that it looked as though I had messed my bed. When she asked the nursing staff to change the sheet she was told that they would do it later, which didn't go down well with my wife. Then I needed to go to the bathroom and they got a wheelchair for me and as my wife said she had bought in my pyjamas she came with me. I was helped onto the toilet and then left for my wife to assist me. It seemed sometime before anyone returned to help me by which time my wife was trying to get me changed and back into the wheelchair. I am pleased to say that the bed linen had been changed on my return to bed. While I was in hospital a visiting friend told me of a book that had been written by a chap that had had a stroke. That chap was Robert McCrumb and his book was titled 'My year out'. I understand that he was instrumental in setting up the charity 'Different Strokes'

I was left for about a fortnight before I was offered any physiotherapy. My wife became very upset when she saw that my hand was becoming 'clawed' and asked the nursing staff if there was any thing she could do to alleviate this. She was advised to keep opening and stroking my hand. This she did, also she massaged my foot, and it seemed to be very good advice because within about a week I began to get some movement in my fingers and my foot. While I was in this first ward I was frequently put in a high backed chair which was extremely uncomfortable. I kept falling to the left and was unable to straighten myself. Some time later I was transferred to the 'stroke ward' where we were told I would get more physio and progress at a quicker pace. I was in this ward for several weeks before the physios appeared I was quite elated when they arrived and I got about ten minutes attention where they assessed my movement. I was mortified when they said that I had poor muscle tone, in my trunk, because I did not understand this term and had always considered myself a very fit person. The physio considered that I had recovered enough movement in my leg and arm to attempt some standing and walking and offered me a walking frame, which I was able to use. This gave me a measure of independence as I was able to go to the shower room and toilet without having to call a nurse. I was in the hospital for six weeks when the consultant suggested that I may be sufficiently recovered to be able to go home. Before he discharged me he called a meeting with the staff and me with my wife. During this meeting he casually threw in the comment that I would probably never drive again. I found this remark very disheartening as I thought 'there goes my independence'.

I was duly discharged to the care of my wife and I walked (or wobbled) to the ambulance with the aid of a walking stick. My main goal when I was discharged was to get rid of the stick and try to walk as normally as possible.

My abiding memory of this journey home was 'this is marvellous, I've got scenery that moves'. After 6 weeks looking at the plain walls of the ward I had been going stir crazy. When I got home my next challenge was getting up and down stairs. As there was no hand rail. I did manage to climb the stairs somehow, but coming down was really frightening. My wife said to me 'why don't you come down backwards?' I did this one step at a time, a very slow process. eventually after some months I plucked up enough courage to attempt coming down forwards, one step at a time. Although I have some mobility I have a very inefficient gait and am very slow. If I am out with other people I am invariably lagging behind and I have nicknamed myself 'tail-end-Charlie'

I tried to get back to cycling and found that my left foot would not stay on the pedal and my weak leg would not take me up a moderate incline. In fact I kept falling off my two wheeled cycle. Eventually I took the hint that my cycling days were over. And started searching the internet for special needs cycles.

Ironically I had been interested in recumbent cycles for some time , and I found a cycle dealer that specialises in these. I eventually found a recumbent tricycle (or HPV). They are known as human powered vehicles. that I could manage with specially adapted pedals (SPD) SHIMANO PEDAL DYNAMICS which held my bad foot in the pedal. I duly purchased this machine and was delighted to get some measure of independence back. I used this trike for some two years, but, probably because of my weak leg and the hilly terrain where I live I was very slow on any gradient and got a lot of abuse from motorists. I was frequently told by motorcyclists to 'get on the footway' I would not ride on the footway as this is illegal. I eventually gave up my trike because of the unreasonable attitude of the other road users and purchased a mobility scooter.

I did attempt to get back to driving and I had an assessment at the Barnstead driving centre. After a short drive the assessors advised me to return to the centre. Their decision was that I was suffering from 'left side inattention'. With a heavy heart I returned home. In due course I received a letter from the DVLA and ordered to return my driving licence. This was a cruel blow as I had passed all the tests set by the centre.

After I was discharged I was put in touch with a support group set up by the DART (disability and rehabilitation Team) of the hospital and I am still a member of that group known as the Maidstone Stroke Group, which has some 20 stroke survivor members and in some cases their carers. This group forms a very useful self funding social group which holds regular quiz nights and occasionally some days out to disabled friendly venues.

This is my story, which could have had a much different finish.

Thanks to Michael for sending in his 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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