Peter Mann
I was fortunate enough to have been offered generous voluntary redundancy from Reuters at the age of forty-nine. The package included a retraining component. I chose to do an esoteric, year long agricultural training course based on the teachings of Rudolph Steiner, this was followed by a three month ocean sailing course and an HGV driving course (where I learned the mysteries of driving thirty ton articulated trucks. The next four years saw me moving onto a small holding in Kent I had bought earlier, my intention was to develop a marketing scheme for organically grown vegetables. You can imagine, my level of exercise was well above that of most young men.
I suffered a heavy blow to the head early in 1994. However, my life went on without any discernible problems until the following March. Then driving down the M3 motorway, I suddenly felt weird, sort of spaced out. I had the strange feeling I was about to die. Foolishly I carried on driving and after about 20 minutes the feeling cleared. This I learned later was a TIA, a transient ischaemic attack.
On April 30th 1995 I experienced a dense CVA. It happened on my way to the picnic table for an overdue cuppa; my arm suddenly fell uselessly to my side and my left leg dragged like a lead weight.
In my opinion the earlier blow and the CVA were linked.
The family arrived at the hospital in full force, looking as bemused and shocked as I felt. Within a few days the dreaded physios had their way with me, they introduced me to the Bobath technique and eventually got me to my feet so I could actually stand.
I was moved to a rehabilitation unit based at St. Joseph's Hospice in Hackney. Here I was to receive specialist care and, I was told, intensive physiotherapy. Six weeks later I was about to be discharged as I had worked my way through the system, but only got two hours treatment for that last week. It was terribly disappointing and there was no discernible change in my physical condition. My emotional state was not improved by my feeling that I just had to learn to live with being a "cripple".
I had organised a brief convalescence in Devon at my cousin's house and had managed to get myself referred to the local hospital for some more physiotherapy. When I returned home to East London, I fought like crazy to get some more treatment at the original hospital. They got rid of me as soon as they could and so I began a correspondence with the Chief Executive of Forest Healthcare. Meanwhile my GP felt it to be an imposition when I asked him if he would monitor my blood pressure regularly. I subsequently moved to a more understanding doctor who organised more physio at another hospital. Three visits later they discharged me. Mind you I was lurching better and faster than ever. I had returned the wheelchair some months earlier to the NHS.
I recently saw the Channel Four programme about the work being done at Salisbury Hospital with the "Bionic Woman", that day I wrote to Salisbury District Hospital, got my GP to sign the letter and sent if off as a referral to the Biomedical Department.
I visited the hospital and found, to my delight, that I appeared to be ideal for the treatment. My initial concern is to be able to walk as well as possible. I am hoping electrodes will improve my foot drop and help me to bend the affected knee. Both these actions will be activated by switches on the unaffected leg, the first on the heel, the other on the ball of the foot.
The most important thing I have learned is that unless we take the initiative ourselves, stroke survivors will almost inevitably become stroke victims. Sadly I have yet to meet a proactive medical person unless there is a degree of glamour in what is being done. Medical electronics is one such glamorous field and I hope to get a slice of that action. Finally, as if a switch had been thrown, about three weeks ago I realised that it was me back inside my head, it has taken nearly four years but now the real me can continue the struggle for recovery.
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