Ever closer to fine

Having a brain haemorrhage wasn’t in my plan. It’s not on anyone’s though, is it? I didn’t even really know what a ruptured brain aneurysm was. That is until, three months ago, I experienced it myself.

It hadn’t been an easy few weeks leading up to that moment. Life had been throwing me a few curve balls, but I’d been through those stresses before and come out the other side. I assumed I’d do all the things I needed to do and I’d be OK.

But no, not this time, or not yet. I found myself in an ambulance (thankfully) and having neurosurgery the following day. I won’t go into the details of the two weeks in hospital, because that’s not the point. 

The point is, what did this experience mean? Or more accurately, what meaning have I made from it? 

It is teaching me a few things and I hope I’ll remember them. In sharing them I hope it’ll help one or two other people who might also be having one of those inflection points in life. Yours might not be a medical event, it might be something else, but we all have these reset moments. I want to hold onto the good things that have come from it for me. A moment like this does wonders for gratitude.

Pain can mean progress

After a brain haemorrhage, blood is trapped in some weird places and your body doesn’t like it. As that blood gets reabsorbed, it hurts, like it really, really hurts. One doctor said that blood is an irritant. Yeah, if that irritant is like a fire travelling through your spine?! 

Anyway, the pain comes and goes, but with some of those pain spikes some miraculous progress is seemingly taking place. One experience I had was double vision (and not anything to do with the drugs!). The double vision lasted for a few weeks and I was worried that I’d have it forever. About a month into my recovery I had a sudden pain spike. It was a really rough two days. Then I woke one morning and my vision had completely cleared. Whatever painful things my brain and body were doing, it seemed to have healed me. Accepting the pain of that experience may have given me back my vision. I’ll never forget that. In the pain spikes I’ve had since that time, I remind myself that my body is probably busy doing some intensive healing. A helpful way of managing short-term pain for long-term gain.

Community is everything

I have never before had the fortune of experiencing the powerhouse of my community at its fullest. I can’t even begin to explain the depth of my experience and gratitude. How overwhelmed I’ve been at times with love, support, care, nurturing, food and care packages, listening ears, walking partners, encouragement and hugs. I’ve lived as a migrant in Wellington for over 15 years. My UK-based family flew here to support me and I’ve also had my New Zealand whānau alongside me every single step of the way. Not a single day has gone by without someone asking me how I’m going, or how my kids are. Or without someone offering practical or moral support. It wasn’t just while I was in hospital, it has been every day for more than three months. That’s incredible and the biggest single thing that has helped me through my recovery. To every person who has been part of that, thank you, from the very bottom of my heart. I hope I’ll be there for you when you need me and please don’t be afraid to ask.

Nourish yourself (even when you’re not hungry)

Something happened with my appetite, which meant I didn’t often feel hungry. Sometimes I would feel pain before hunger. I eventually realised that eating something, even when I didn’t feel like it, reduced my pain. 

I can take this literally, especially while my appetite reestablishes itself. It’s also broader than simply food and water (or tea in my case!). Making sure I nourish myself every day and go gently has been core to recovering well. I have given in to my impatience, of course I have, but I’ve also had to learn to pace myself to a whole new level. I put my health at the centre of my decisions in a way I’ve never quite managed before. Long may that last!

Goals and celebrations matter

When I was in hospital, the doctors told me that I had to stay for at least two weeks. It seemed like an eternity. I couldn’t imagine being in a hospital for that long. I don’t even stay in one place that long for a holiday! How could I spend two entire weeks in a hospital? Well, I did and thank goodness for that. I am beyond grateful for the care and medical support I had every moment of those 14 days. 

My first goal during that time was to recover enough to feel bored in the hospital. Bored was a goal over pain. As my recovery continued, the goals kept evolving. I asked my friends to celebrate my little goals with me, whether it was walking to the shop for the first time, heading back to the gym, or getting my driving licence back. The goal wasn’t the point, it was the marker of progress that mattered. I could acknowledge my recovery in increments by setting a goal and seeing myself achieve it. Asking my friends to help me do that gave it that much more meaning.

I want to carry on doing this, setting and celebrating meaningful goals, however small they might be. My favourite one coming up is a birthday party. When I was in hospital I got hooked on the idea of having a big party once I was well enough, so next month I’ll be celebrating the fact that I get to have another birthday. 

Progress is non-linear

My final reflection is that progress is rarely a straight line. Sometimes I plateau with my recovery, but within just a few short weeks I’d learnt that this was normal. The benefit of a plateau (or even a dip) is that a marked improvement eventually follows. The certainty that my recovery path would remain unpredictable meant that I was more able to accept the rough days. Knowing that this was all part of an overall upward trend, looking back and seeing the little goals I’d already achieved, with a lot of help from my friends and family, kept me calm(er). 

As the intensive recovery is behind me, a friend asked me the other day, “Has this changed you?” In some ways it has, but I’m essentially still me and I always will be. I’m now at the point of returning to work and life is feeling ever closer to fine. I’ve still got a way to go, but haven’t we all?