Stroke Diary (1)

On Thursday 22nd. July I had a stroke. In the morning I'd had some vaccinations for our holiday in Sri Lanka on August 12th. but otherwise it was a normal day. Although it was the school holidays, I had seen a small child at home, as a statutory report was required. The visit had been stressful as the child ran around the room,snatched my glasses, threw things. The parents had seemed reluctant to intervene, perhaps intimidated by having a professional in their home. The father sat on the floor watching me and I was aware that every time I leaned forward, either to pick up something the child had thrown or to arrange some toys on the coffee table, he was getting an eyeful of cleavage. As it was a muslim household, I felt concerned that there might be a complaint about my dress. I also managed to fit in a visit to my hairdresser at lunchtime, to have my fringe trimmed. So it was busy, but not unusually so. By early evening I felt tired and a litle unwell but thought it was a reaction to the vaccinations.
At around 7 pm, I had a severe headache. It was sudden and felt like a vice. With hindsight, I think I felt a hot rush at the base of my skull. The headache was not unusual, I'd had a few as severe in the past. I waited for it to settle and then I started to feel sick. I tried to get to the bathroom but couldn't make my legs work properly. The world spun and I couldn't stay upright. I was sick for 12 hours, unable to move from the bed. In the morning, we rang the G.P and over the telephone, I was precribed some anti-sickness medication. At this point, the vaccinations were still in the frame.
By Saturday morning, although the sickness had stopped, I was no better and we called the out of hours doctor. We were told we were number 25 on the list for a home visit. They rang back and asked to speak to me and I gave a detailed account of what had happened. An appointment was made for me at the Urgent Cases Centre (a G.P. practice) at the Leicester Royal Infirmary. I was reluctant to go as I had to get up, shower and dress but I managed this and was driven in the back of the car to the hospital. I needed a wheelchair to get to the Urgent Cases Centre and found the wait to be seen intolerable. A television on the wall droned with the sound of motor racing and the hot waiting room seemed full of well, lively people. But the doctor was thorough. He took a full history and did some neurological tests. He looked at me and said, 'forget the vaccinations, I think you've had a stroke.'
After that it was A&E, where a CT scan confirmed his diagnosis. I remember the doctor breaking the news. I'd had a bleed in the brain, in the cerebellum. I'd like to say that I was aware of the implications but I think I must have been too ill to care. It seemed more important, right then, to find somewhere warm and sleep. Left alone, we talked about the other patients; middle-aged women who'd had a 'funny turn', the breaks and fractures and those comatose from alcohol.Within a couple of hours I was on a holding ward, freezing cold, asking for blankets. Although the weather had been hot, it was evening and all the windows were open and the air conditioning roared above me. My husband went home to get my night things and my companions were an Asian lady, her husband and a tall, handsome son who spent his time texting. Late at night, clutching my blankets, I was transferred to a wheelchair and moved to Ward 16, my home for the next 5 days. My journey through the quiet hospital, was accompanied by the relentless banter between the nurse and the porter that both excluded me, yet required me to be an amused audience. This model of interaction was the standard fare of life on the wards.
On Ward 16, quickly taking in the open windows, the fans whirring, the patients lying under a single sheet, I clung onto my blankets. My boarding school training clicked in; hoard, hoard, hoard. For the first time I heard the magic letters 'QMC'. They want you to lie flat, a nurse told me, snatching away my pillow. No one explained and I didn't ask but QMC (Queens Medical Centre) were clearly in charge. I am Nil By Mouth. I don't care. I would never eat again.