On the 17th of September, Friday, I was 20 years old and developing my independence; I had moved out of home with my boyfriend, I had a job at a pharmacy and I was experiencing what it was like to live as an adult in the “real world”. 

I was at work when I developed a slight double vision.  I dismissed it as computer eye strain and the need for the weekend.  By the next morning I had a headache and still had the double vision.  I was due to work that morning, but I drove to work and told my boss that I wouldn't be in today and went in search for a weekend optometrist. I found one, how ever I had to come back in the afternoon. By then my head was throbbing and I noticed one of my pupils had dilated and wouldn’t return to normal size. The optometrist couldn’t find anything wrong, so referred me to a specialist. I returned home and fell into bed, hoping that sleep was all I needed to rid myself of this excruciating headache.

On the morning of the 19th of September, the headache had unbelievably gotten worse. By this time I was hugging the toilet bowl, I had lost some co-ordination so I was rolling about on the couch. My boyfriend took me to the doctor who took one look at me and told the receptionist to call an ambulance. I passed out on the way to hospital

I was in intensive care on life support for 2 days. When I gained consciousness, my mum told me I had suffered from a stroke. A stroke? At my age?

I spent a total of 6 months in hospital, spending the majority of time in a ward called Brain Injury Rehabilitation Unit (BIRU). It was a locked ward, for the safety of patients who had lost their memory. I had a schedule of speech, occupational and physio therapy every day of the week.

It felt like a prison at times, but I knew that I needed all the help I could get. During this time, I learnt how to “adapt” to having a non functioning arm. Putting on socks was a master task! I very slowly begun to walk (and found out a had an attachment to the wheelchair), clinging to the walls like a bat.

I spent my 21st birthday in hospital and as a present I was able to go home for the weekend. Being reunited with my dog Bonzai was a highlight, as well as being surrounded by the people that meant the most to me.

When the day came for my discharge I had mixed emotions. I was so glad to be getting out of BIRU, but scared of what the Real World had in store for me. My boyfriend had broken up with me by this point, leaving me in a fragile emotional state and with not much confidence.

I wasn’t completely detached from the rehab scene.   I still had day hospital which I attended for approximately a year, I progressed further with my rehabilitation. It’s not back to “normal”, and I don’t want it to be. I’m still progressing, even if it’s in a little, tiny steps.