A Rolling Stone Gathers No Moss

'Sometimes on the way to your dream, you get lost and find a better one'

- an entrepreneur I aspire to be, Lisa Hammond

My alter ego, Miss Laird, has officially been welcomed back into her haven that is the mighty familiar classroom! Yesssss *insert a few air fist pumps right here*. I imagine you too are picturing that inspiring scenario as Dangerous Minds and School of Rock meets Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and 50 First Dates with a little touch of everyone's favourite Kitty comparison - Finding Nemo (am I *Dory* also befriending Nemo? Well he'd be a pretty good catch). Memory loss seems to be quite the profitable theme in Hollywood. Well, us who are lacking memory are mighty entertaining and unique souls (occasionally modest too)! It is rather intriguing to acknowledge the extensive range of entertainment that is dedicated to the trials and tribulations of people experiencing memory loss. Some are light-hearted and entertaining ala The Hangover, whilst others are tormenting, depressing and downright confronting.  Think Fight Club, The Iron Lady and The Notebook (...where is my Ryan Gosling?) to grasp the negative elements to losing the part of your brain that processes memories. Some do wonder and yes, I still have the damaged part of brain (to the power of two) hanging around in there - they are just out of action, retired, have put out their detour sign.  There are various intriguing reasons for having strokes which are based around a lack of blood flow to the brain (it constantly needs the oxygen in your blood to feed its hungry neurons in order for them to survive and thrive!).  However my reason is a rather rare case (in other words, I'm special and famous! Just ask Mother Duck).

The docs in UK deduced that I lost part of my brain due to the blood vessels deciding to become inflamed (aka vasculitis), first in July 2012 in the first few hours of my 6-week s
Summer Holidays - whilst at my work party - and then again during a break from school as I lay in bed on the morning of October 31st 2012 (ah, so it's ultimately a Halloween thriller style movie with hints of comedy and an action twist!). As far as I know, I was awake for just a few minutes before Stroke #2 struck and it didn't hurt nor was there a loud brain explosion or even Kitty tears of agony. I was far too ignorant and confused to realise the severity of my situation at the time and I honestly thought everyone else was being strange about what was happening; not myself who couldn't retain why I was at my friend's house on a 'school night' (there was no school, phewwww), or where I had gotten my maroon pants. Mere seconds before memory was wiped - reset to my life of yesteryear. I was essentially living in the past and could not retain any new information. A danger to society and especially to my profession, but mostly to myself. If I had escaped from hospital (a guarded, locked ward made this near impossible), I would have forgotten what I was doing as soon as I stepped onto the street and with a severe lack of spatial navigation as a result of the strokes, it would make for a concerning situation (to put it lightly).

Even when I was at  St George's Hospital for six weeks after Stroke 2 (while the medical superstars maintained my blood vessels to ensure no further strokes + trying to find the cause of the two strokes), I continued to downplay what we all initially thought was a virus and because I couldn't recall my Internet banking details or my key card's pin, I had to organise a dear (and generous!) friend to pay my upcoming month's rent and my Christmas ski holiday payment, as well as constantly being shouted Happy Meals whenever a loved one would visit and they'd also bring in clean clothing, Twirl chocolates and new notebooks to write in to refer to where memory failed, as well as my laptop for the week I envisioned I'd be in there bored (fyi I was never bored for the entire month I was in there. Yet another superb positive to short term memory loss!). As you'd expect after being told you had a virus (not another stroke), I casually told my colleagues (mostly via text message!) that I'd be back in a week and most of my concern lay with my class and letting my school down by being unwell with a 'virus' to the extent I was often in tears (cue newfound patient mates for soothing spoons, cuddles and English chocolate).

Today, I make a distinct acknowledgement of my health's dismal situation and take full responsibility of combating my short-comings by whole-heartedly trying to generate new routes around the two cerebral infarctions (dead brain chunks) that are causing all the distress, with tasks as simple as a 300-piece African Safari puzzle (got it for all the kitty kats) and a Lumosity Brain Games IPhone app, to more complex tasks such as offering my expertise in my older sister's classroom when I visit Brisbane and most recently, my newly acquired regular volunteer stint at a school in my neighbourhood for a few mornings (currently at two hours each day before brain burns out) every week. Believe it or not, I was so thrilled to venture back into the classroom, that I even insisted on purchasing a few classroom-appropriate pieces (I have left most of my clothing in London with the vain hope I'd be back before end of July. Hmm time flies when you're having strokes). My aim is simple - to help in any way I can, whether it be through guided reading or assisting a student with encouraging the use of particular numeracy strategies I taught during my teaching stint in London. This will encourage those neural paths, as well as regain my confidence and of course, offer students someone who is not only going to facilitate and encourage their learning, but also entertain them so much they get sore cheeks!

On top of my daily cocktail of steroids, I also have some optional drugs for this little brain of mine.  I used to giggle at a former flame who insisted on having fish oil capsules every morning for his brain (which is a pretty impressive brain) and now, here I am taking them so often, I'm partially hoping that on top of the ole brain becoming even more fantastic (and 'plastic' - a term neurologists use to describe the brain's ability to heal/adjust/re-route), that I turn into a cute little mermaid. My thoughtful friends also send anti-melting-agent-free chocolate all the way from ole London town, just so I don't go through withdrawals. It gets even better; I generally no longer feel ill post-meal consumption, which was the case after every single piece of food I consumed initially. My brain is goin' places and there ain't much dead brain left in sight!

It's not always my brain's fault for such shortcomings. My steroids (that help prevent any further strokes) give me a cute (not cute) child-like chubby face and they also affect my reaction to the endorphin releasing, Vitamin D-infused little light of ours called The Sun. If I stay exposed to the elements on a hot Aussie day for more than a mere 30 minutes, I get chronic sunburn. The kind you can't bend your knees with and you have a rather fetching watch *red* tan. Sunscreen just doesn't work in this instance. So apart from the memory, every day I am affected with sensitive skin, some loss of vision (explains the 'interesting' taste I have in men now, but what about pre-stroke?!), steroid fat face, pseudo pins and needles down my RHS and feeling lethargic after most meals (the list goes on). Quite a testing time for this Kitty - and I'm mostly talking about my family and friends who have to deal with my constant complaining about such frustrations. The good news is it's no big deal in the real scheme of Life and the fat steroid face means I haven't felt the desire to break any hearts lately. Lucky lads.

Due to my sight defect (that is slowly decreasing - it was once over 50% missing and is now sitting at less than 25% deficit), I'm still not permitted to drive (I'd also end up in Alice Springs and wonder why I drove there), so I have to rely on loved ones constantly. As you are aware, I am no longer in London; I am in North Queensland, with everything in the city spread out and public transport lacking, so I have no independence and need a chauffeured car to get from A to B. Imagine how this must feel being 27 years old and feeling more constraint than when you were 16 wanting to go to a party your Mum didn't like the sounds of. Occasionally, my brain finds new paths around the damaged parts (to the power of two) and it is quite the celebrated event. In terms of eyesight, it is a distinct improvement as when those messages finally get through after all those months being denied access, what I see is similar to when you are walking under a tree and the sun is shining through its leaves, which make your eyelids slightly flicker at the frequent contrast in sunlight and shade. A feeling that once made me reach for my sunglasses in order to promptly dismiss the distracting eye flicker is now celebrated as my brain doing a good job at re-routing. If I was in my classroom as a student, that achievement would get a green brick or a Class Dojo! Something to brag about, without a doubt!  Furthermore, I may just use this missing eyesight card when hungover to ensure others perform the tedious task of driving to the Sunday breakfast spot. Kitty is makin' the most of what she's got!

You may regard my strokie tale as a debilitating life experience and something that is challenging for a 27 year old woman in her prime and at times, it is rather confronting and devastating, but in the big scheme of instant life-altering events such as strokes, I have come out on top, thanks largely to my support network and my attitude to persevere despite such alienating obstacles.  Furthermore, after two strokes, that is one major feat - it has been a vital building of my Kitty-Character. Although strokes are more common for women (due to birth control pills, pregnancy, history of preeclampsia/eclampsia or gestational diabetes and post-menopausal hormone therapy), there are many men who have also experienced such torment with their health.  I was moved to my core upon learning about French Elle Magazine editor, Jean-Dominique Bauby, who at first, could only move his left eye after he had a stroke.  He has since written the book, The Diving Bell and The Butterfly (you know how much I like my butterfly analogies!), to shed some light on such an unfamiliar and adverse life experience.

When I discover people like Bauby, it honestly puts my situation into perspective and I am utterly grateful for the range of capabilities my little Kitty brain still has in its possession that strive for growth every day. I am (and my large contingent of super-duper Kitty Supporters are too) constantly being surprised and impressed by its optimism, perseverance and plasticity that is continuously being showcased. After I received rather high level results in a numeracy IQ test (/obviously genius level pre-strokes) at a rehabilitation session, I have now acknowledged that I must have inherited my father's mathematical mind (he was a teacher and an electrician before our family's horse trail ride business) or my mother's wise nursing skills and it won't be long before I am again teaching the times tables through a catchy rap complete with dance moves.

Never a dull moment with Miss Laird in charge! Strokes won't affect my entertainment value. Ever - that's a promise.