Mark Tolley

I was 14 years old when I had a brain haemorrhage. It was 28th July 1995, about 3pm, when I started to feel all dizzy. I tried to walk, but I couldn't keep my balance. I fell down the stairs and made it to the kitchen on my hands and knees. I can still remember feeling strangely calm about it, but I was really scared in my mind. I lay on the floor praying for my dad, who was in the shower at the time, to come and find me. After about three minutes he found me and I can just remember hearing him calling a doctor before I blanked out.

I was rushed to hospital where a series of tests were done on me (I was in a coma at this time, so this is what I have been told). They told my parents I may have been taking drugs, but that was not the case! Eventually they took me to another hospital for emergency surgery. I was operated on for about 8 hours to stop the bleed in my brain. When they had finished correcting the bleed, they sealed the ruptured blood vessel with metal clips. I was given a 30/40% chance of ever coming out of my coma.

After about 3 days, I did wake up, though I had totally lost my memory, I couldn't see, hear or move my body. I did regain my hearing and sight after a couple of days. I started to talk a little, though it made no sense to the nurses or my parents. I can remember this, because I was, in my mind, perfectly fine. I was moved off life support after 5 days. On the seventh day, I was transferred again so I could receive visitors, which helped me a great deal. I regained my speech, but I couldn't express myself properly. I was given different tasks to do by the Occupational Therapist, like manoeuvre my wheelchair about, make tea and do jigsaws. 7 days after that, I was allowed home.

My treatment in society for the next few weeks could be described as stereotypical. I was talked "about" instead of "to", even if I was in the room. I had to go everywhere in a wheelchair which I got used to, and rather enjoyed. I lost all my friends because they felt awkward with me. I spent my fifteenth birthday alone, which was shady! I couldn't talk to anyone about my problems, because my parents didn't want to talk about it. I bottled it up for weeks, but then I was sent back to hospital for a test called an Angiogram, which involved a fibre optic camera inserted into me and fed up through my body into my brain. I was under local anaesthetic at the time, so it was OK.

The test showed that I needed to have another operation, though this was not life saving. I cried for ages knowing that I would be set back again, but I was sent back to hospital and operated on. I lost all my memory and co-ordination again, but I had regained it quicker that time. It was embarrassing because they had shaved my hair off on one side of my head only. More scans and angiograms were done on me.

These showed that I needed another operation, I kept reassuring myself that it needed to be done. So off I went to the hospital for my third operation. I didn't lose my memory this time, but I couldn't see for a while after. My haemorrhage was caused by my being born with weak blood vessels in my brain. They simply gave in under the rising pressure.

I needed physio to combat the weakness on my right hand side, educational therapy to get back my knowledge of simple vowels and OT to help me around the home. I still needed my wheelchair, though I could just about walk. The worst part was going back to school and everyone not speaking to me or avoiding me in case they said the wrong thing.

I took my mock GCSE examinations and I got a U in every subject - so all the teachers wrote me off and moved me into the lower achievement. I decided to myself that the only way of getting myself better and showing the world that I could make it was to work harder than I had ever done. I managed to get my grades from "U" to C & D, which I was amazed at. I decided to take Health and Social Care and it showed me really how to express myself in a way that would make everyone look beyond my disabilities.

It may sound strange, but I am glad that I had my haemorrhage, because it showed me what life was really about. I look at the positive in the whole event even though it has left me with epilepsy, a stutter and poor memory, not to mention a great big scar across the top of my head! Never mind! It also pointed out to me how lucky I actually was, and the support I had was tremendous.

I am now 18 years old, but I cannot forget what happened. I pray that it never happens to anyone else or me again. I am better, as I can walk unaided and I can use the right hand side of my body better. I have been looking for some friends now who would listen to what I am feeling as I am feeling more confident about talking. it usually helps to write it down in a diary or a letter like this. If you are a survivor yourself, just take things one day at a time and never give up - there's always light at the end of the tunnel. I promise you that.

Thanks to Different Strokes, I have found support from others in the same boat.

Thanks to Mark 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!)

• c/o PROFILES,
• Click here for address