Below: A revealing glimpse into life as a two-time stroke survivor in the immediate weeks post the second brain attack when life was truly hanging by a thread
(then totally oblivious that death was considered imminent) in the hospital's neurology ward with a daily flow of thoughtful visitors (old mate in navy blue 'had to' ensure my hospital lasagne was up to his standard for the vulnerable patient, cheers PB, it was much appreciated + a good laugh as usual!).
Fortunately, some of my loving family members had swiftly flown over to London from Australia to collect their Special K for rehab (initially estimated at just 'six months' #hope) Down Under with them. Such absolute angels, as you can see little sister, Jacky Jacky, in action rushing to the London hospital straight after their plane's touchdown from Australia to kindly fix my hair in hospital post brain surgery (it was vital she arrived in time to cover the gruesome stitches). At the time, I was absolutely paranoid that the blatant burr hole in my shaved-and-gooey skull was on full display, an element she has later stated as going near the bloody mess with oozing stitches + staples protruding out of the shaved 'ditch' in my skull as quite the sickening ordeal for herself, not that she let on at the time to a petrified Kitty).
Doting younger sibling, Jack Attack, certainly stepped up to the plate in my hour of need, what a cherished treasure.
Being blessed with an A-grade Mother Duck who was also a registered nurse for over 40 years, even obtaining a handy Master of Mental Health postgraduate degree along the way, in particular, meant I truly was in the best (volunteer) hands for stroke rehab in the 'real world'.
Given the smorgasbord of immediate + vast brain damage effects, I couldn't sort my own (further) stroke-deterring medicine (+ I'd have it countless times a day or go a week without remembering to take any at all, totally unaware of any errors/danger) hence needing to live with someone who knew the complex ins and outs of neurology rehab (it was that or being forced into assisted living, intended for the elderly - like so many young stroke survivors suddenly are still confronted with - post Stroke 2.0).
With all that I/we have continually suffered over the past decade+, I also take great comfort in knowing how incredibly fortunate I have been to have such an insightful neuro pro in my corner + it also didn't hurt that she is the loveliest Mother Duck (/chef/cleaner/chauffeur/PA/roomie) for almost a decade (before I eventually was able to move into my very own home during my 30s, boom!) made for the finest quality of rehab a young stroke survivor could ask for.
Thank you, dearest Mummy & Co.!
Above: Receiving the bare essentials to help beat the 2-in-3 chance of ultimately dying from the stroke/s.
Such selfless acts of compassion can so often outlast the person's memory of doing such as there have been countless times when my own (compromised) memory has in fact retained the kindness and consideration of my support network when it may have been a typical act in their day that they were the ones forgetting moments.
Using clever humour intertwined with tasty treats clearly is the way to this Kitty Kat's heart!
London, the U.K.
July - December 2012
Neurologists would whistle like mechanics if they had a Captain Cook at my bi-broken brain!
Such a somewhat amusing realisation then begs the question; is that something to brag about or be deeply ashamed of?
Being a true-blue Aussie, I shall not only own my shortcomings but also wholeheartedly encourage all to join in celebrating them!
Early on, I was quick to make (incredibly morbid) jokes at my own expense (see above, classic example of medicinal dark humour being embraced from the get-go with a darling British work colleague from school) as well as encourage others to do the same at every opportunity.
One then has to wonder was the (partly) shaved head forced upon my once-long locks whilst at hospital (for a brain biopsy surgery, considered a standard medical procedure post surviving a brain attack when the cause of such isn't initially found during typical stroke testing, a considerable one in four brain attacks are labelled cryptogenic, in fact) absolutely necessary when I've only had long hair for over a decade? Such confronting surgeries then only made for the perfect opportunity to describe the 'fresh buzz cut' as Demi Moore in 90s action film, GI Jane (which turned out to be a minuscule shaved section on my scalp in the end, we still enjoy a laugh about it all these years later, see text exchange reflecting on the 'harsh' new look with colourful memory loss/delusion post brain surgery with little sister below).
Equally so, although we swiftly made light of the dismal situation with humour and tried to focus on what I could continue to do as well as almighty hope in the future, I definitely still needed to grieve all of what I had irretrievably lost from that traumatic instant I woke up one October morning during an official week's break from school absolutely petrified about this new, deeply unfamiliar world I was forced to reside in from that very moment in my mid-20s onwards - indefinitely.
Above: Grateful to still be funny, to still be standing/walking on my own two feet, to still be hungry to learn every day.
Thank you, English playwright, Willy S, for the humbling reminder of almighty perspective.
Below: A classic day in the life of a forgetful li'l Kitty Kat. At least we know I'm good for a laugh!
Below: We all have worth.
Even cute li'l squirrels that regularly forget where they had previously buried their collected acorns (in anticipation of the cooler months to then consume when food is otherwise scarce #forwardthinkers) & then inadvertently create something so much more valuable & profound in the form of fresh blooming trees and thus, a surplus of the adorable rodent's vital bites.
Forgetfulness for the win!
Being quite the harrowing ordeal, I was robbed of having any choice in precisely what I lost in my life (immediately & in the cruel years that followed, even basic choices failed to exist from the get-go) as a direct result of the two unforgiving strokes.
However, I did still maintain control of how I handled what I did next. Was I to be a victim of the ghastly beast that is stroke, fading into oblivion by admitting defeat and succumbing to any belittling titles and nasty presumptions some put upon myself?
Obvious to those who have known this feisty Kitty over the years, I was never going to be passive and willing to go down an easier path I found below me - even with two solid bouts of brain damage acquired. Here stood a strong-as-ever young woman who was now a proud survivor, desperately wanting to regain and conquer despite how humiliating, confronting & brutal the vast path ahead entailed; it all started with making the conscious choice to keep going, to relearn, to persevere, to progress, to reclaim and even to wait - indefinitely in limbo for years upon agonising years.
In essence, all that I have achieved since strokes has been painstakingly earned. There certainly were no simple shortcuts to pave out new neural pathways around the bi-brain damage that violently shook my life to its core in a flash (leaving mere remnants of a life, a tormenting mix of a toddler and an elderly person in life's youthful adult years requiring full-time care but being forgotten and avoided like a misunderstood, dishevelled puppy last left at a pet store) nor magic pills to miraculously fix/lessen the strokes' detrimental effects like fortunately is the case with some other diseases. If only.
Instantly, we (namely Mother Duck, my little sister, Jack Attack, & I) were thrust into a decade+ long perilous endeavour to basically regain (amongst a smorgasbord of loss - direct & indirect - to one's being) my sacred identity, one with distinct confidence, drive, wit and insight that I once (naturally) took for granted.
In those early days/months/years, I would be totally bewildered by witnessing remnants of my life prior to stroke and how confident + capable in myself I once was.
Reflecting, the abrupt shift in life's quality, purpose, direction & progression was like a cruel nightmare lived every day for the majority of my adulthood from merely waking up to a new grim world. Would the end of such immense misery & constant + extreme suffering truly ever come? Why must there be so much left to vague chance and time?
The almighty answer may very well lie in living like resilient li'l Dory, my ultimate spirit animal (from Australia-based films, Finding Nemo & Finding Dory) who put it perfectly; just keep swimming.
Below: Extensive scaffolding (for the most basic of information the rest my age generally wouldn't even have to think twice about) with memory assistance via a smart phone's detailed, helpful calendar is still in frequent use over a decade since inflamed blood vessels ('idiopathic' condition deduced - after never officially finding a definite aetiology via extensive testing - to have been a rare autoimmune disease's doing) obliterated my vulnerable brain's 'memory reception', the almighty hippocampus.
Admittedly, I like to think being aware of what I could possibly forget and then proactively ensuring to set helpful measures in anticipation to guarantee a successful venture just shows how innovative & determined my li'l Special-K brain is.
Here's to forward-thinking prospective memory because I've surely realised just how useful it is in daily life since losing one of my brain's hippocampus pals!
Who knows what sort of marvellous acts caused by anterograde amnesia I unintentionally do that will one day end up being glorious + strong oak trees like the clever squirrel's profound creation above?!
Above: 13+ years post second brain attack yet still reeling with the lasting effects of Stroke 2.0's cruel damage every single day with reminders required to get through each and every day all while in my intended prime years of life.
At least I'm on top of it like a car bonnet and ensure to effectively use prospective memory skills with scaffolding where needed.
You little beauty!
These days, dwelling on what my life was before strokes no longer consumes my thoughts for I now take great pride + comfort in the sheer extent my glorious bi-attacked brain has significantly come since the second stroke struck. Furthermore, those who have continued to stick by an unwell Kitty during the arduous rehab journey have also witnessed just how far we have progressed over the past decade+ since my memory retention (lack there of) at its most extreme was just a few seconds; as soon as something was said it was instantly forgotten, as soon as someone left my hospital bed and turned the corner out of the locked neurology ward, I would promptly forget that they had just spent the past three hours offering the most enriching conversations and deflection along with chocolate treats to help make my extensive time in hospital all the more bearable. The most surreal of experiences that were indeed reality for such a considerable chunk of life.
Frighteningly, the very moment guests would leave it felt like I hadn't seen them in weeks. I couldn't even pinpoint exactly when, only to discover through 'crumbs' left (photos on my phone, treats like above, text messages + emails detailing our recent time together) that they had indeed visited just minutes/hours earlier. Such was a truly petrifying existence and still is to even consider now upon candid reflection all these years later.
In retrospect, the extreme (more or less, total) short-term memory loss my bruised brain (+ life) suffered from (/soldiered through) for most of my adult years could be considered an opportunity for divine awakening, a life-changing liberation of the complex mind that Buddhists aspire to by living in the present.
Now, I am not only able to look like Buddha, but also vibe like them too!
In mindful Master Buddha's wise words, if something is out of my hands (like the strokes, the years of extreme suffering and their ghastly effects, direct + indirect), it needs to also be out of my mind.
Just look at where we are now!
Below: Stroke survivors who are dealt a heavy hand with life-shattering ramifications from their sacred mind's particular damage can overcome adversity to then brilliantly flourish much like a lotus flower, Buddhism's ultimate symbol of perseverance.
Despite the confronting odds stacked clearly against survival after a destructive 'fire in the brain', a stroke survivor can be like a resilient lotus flower fighting on and persistently continuing to prosper with exponential growth + beauty galore
In reality, what happened to my brain & my life (plus those devoted souls who have stuck by someone society deems worthless, thus offering my life purpose & joy) - as tragic as it is - has already happened. Such cannot be changed, now let's focus on this resilient Kitty living my best life as Buddhism's ultimate symbol of perseverence & inner strength, the pure (<< also what 'Katrina' stands for #meanttobe) lotus flower.
Below: Although minor in size, the mind's hippocampus (there is a hippocampus in each of the brain's hemispheres highlighted in red) is crucial for life's ultimate progress + happiness & without it, every day is a confronting, never-ending struggle.
Just ask this Special K!
Bizarre and totally inconceivable but indeed my full-time world for the foreseeable future (provided my dodgy bod manages to survive against all odds) during my early adulthood as a young stroke survivor.
For years, life was a morbid, arduous existence even once back living Down Under (with my incredibly supportive Registered Nurse, Master of Mental Health Mother Duck) in a regional home I hadn't lived in since 18. Yet, given such ghastly poor health with death a likely possibility, I was then forced to immediately leave my youthful, purposeful life in the U.K. as soon as my thoughtful Mummy & little sister had flown over to London to be my selfless escorts back to Australia & under their expert care (otherwise I would surely have been put in a medical care home in the mother country, typically intended for the elderly + there was the dreaded expectation I was to be prescribed menopause-inducing drugs purely to assist in preventing a third stroke all whilst in my 20s & before bearing offspring) for the majority of life's (intended) peak adult years.
Honestly, how did we (round-the-clock Nurse MD for the most part) even get through it?
Above: Recently, my li'l sister and I went down good ole memory lane with a figment of my wild imagination at the time of what instead actually happened after waking from having a brain biopsy that was performed in the immediate weeks following the second stroke in late 2012 (by old mate, Dr Henry Marsh, pictured further below, who did not provide a hair extension like the bruised brain initially & so-colourfully concocted, still offering a good ole giggle when revisited all these years later).
What a sparkling superstar Jack Attack certainly is
(as shown in image at very top, straight out of neurosurgery fixing my matted mane to hide the brain biopsy's ghastly burr hole, selflessly flying over to London with Mother Duck from Down Under during her very own birthweek) to ensure the neurosurgeons ~ aka part-time hairdressers ~ covered such a 'gruesome sight') with a li'l vanity saviour (/blatant bald spot).
March 2025
Old mate/highly-commended brain surgeon, Dr Henry Marsh, was the lucky duck who received the fine honour of drilling a cheeky hole into my skull (as shown in all its gory glory, above) while I was 'vacationing' at London's St George's Hospital (all the while declaring it could very well result in my untimely death at just 26 years of age, not that I was aware then that the strokes themselves had a far higher fatality likelihood with the majority of all stroke recipients dead within five years post brain attack/s) in a desperate search for medical answers.
Fortunately, Dr M didn't then kill this Special K in the process (they 'drilled' the minute probability the biopsy could cause death more than the doc drilled into my skull!) and has lately been busy writing quite the extensive pieces of literature with this compelling article being no different -
Clever life saver, Dr Marsh, was always upfront & honest when explaining the distinct fatality risks (albeit less than 2%, typically a reassuring figure that in fact didn't give my depleted belief in myself any relief) when he visited a confused-&-anxious Kitty Kat livin' it up at St G's neurology ward in the days leading up to the run-of-the-mill brain biopsy (which Dr M performed as a quick 'wedge' between his more serious and urgent daily brain surgeries, no big deal - that is, for the exceptional neurosurgeon #dayjob).
Even though I was grappling with the most extreme case of anterograde amnesia (after the sudden loss of the right hemisphere's entire hippocampus) the medical professionals in charge of my survival had ever worked with (the award for such that they sent my way must have got lost in transit!), I still have retained kind Dr HM coming by my hospital bed post surgery for a li'l chinwag to announce the brain surgery results were inconclusive and also that the stroke/s I endured was/were then labelled as being a cryptogenic type with no determined cause (although a rare autoimmune disease that had then inflamed by blood vessels was later deduced). e
Added to my particular memories of Dr Marsh is St G's tranquil garden we frequented when kind guests came during visiting hours that I since discovered Dr M personally spearheaded. Introspective as ever, Dr Marsh also stated the leafy terrace is his greatest achievement - even more than his large array of remarkable neurosurgery accomplishments - given a garden's renowned ability to reduce stress & encourage lasting progress, combined with the well-known positive impact of lowering one's cortisol levels - just when a vulnerable neurology patient would urgently need such too).
From my own firsthand experience of spending a month+ vacay at St G's, I can attest to the positive effect nature provides considering the calming escape such offered on the daily from the grim reality I was being dealt every single second in the hospital's neurology ward. Each afternoon, I'd have all my daily rota of supportive guests come venture to the rooftop spot.
Such a profound consideration by Dr Marsh made the time with loved ones feel far more soothing even when shrouded in heavy sorrow & angst.
In addition to such, Dr Marsh tirelessly fought to have the mindful garden installed purely to help boost the spirits of those in an otherwise-confronting neurology ward who were going through severe + extensive health issues & concerns, indefinitely.
Cheers to the expert neurosurgeon & all-round decent human, Dr Marsh.
![Henry Marsh Collection 3 Books Set (And Finally [Hardcover], Do No Harm, Admissions A Life in Brain Surgery) : Henry Marsh: Amazon.com.au: Books](https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/616mEHINlKL._UF350,350_QL80_.jpg)
As a top British neurosurgeon (hence why I 'chose' such a stupendous soul to perform the sneaky li'l brain biopsy as shown in all its glory, above!), Dr Henry Marsh, has also been quite the dedicated + celebrated doc and author (see above #busybloke) -
Do feed your mind with enriching substance today!
Considering the notable positive effect nature has on the mind, such as the aforementioned lowering of one's cortisol levels, it would come as no surprise to you that therapeutic gardens have also been implemented in other psychiatric facilities on top of the one at the particular London hospital I was vacationing at for over a month post the second stroke (as showcased below with one of my devoted mates who kindly looked after all my 'housekeeping' issues & came on the daily for over a month - in a ghastly outer transport zone - just to hear one sick little buddy repeat the same few frets/thoughts/queries every couple of seconds so I felt reassured + loved #whatasaint).
Healing nature for the bodacious brain-win!l
Above: Just another day at the 'office' for Dr Henry Marsh, keeping busy saving lives through advanced neurosurgery.
Considering such a wondrous, exceptional mind as Dr Marsh's, it is no wonder he is a fellow error appreciator who also sees the value in learning from such blunders (+ in nature's identified ability to lift moods).
Boom!
Ensuring to look on the bright side (classic British comedy troupe, Monty Python, told us to), at least my mind is still almost all cylinders.
Keeping our chin up, we must explore + focus the vast range of capabilities that are still hanging in there including the almighty heart perfectly pumping away thanks to the crucial brain stem's medulla oblongata that also controls blood pressure + breathing, along with other involuntary cognitive processes such as standard respiration, plus the basal ganglia's voluntary movement & the cerebellum's motor coordination that can be suddenly stripped if someone survives a catastrophic stroke.
One day, you have a fully-functioning human brain that is out there making the most prestigious of leaps & bounds - as intended in your youthful 20s. Then the next, you're instantly confronted with a drastic loss of higher-level cognitive functions (including complex reasoning & conscious thought) + vital hygiene together with being rapidly stripped of impulse control all because of a life-shattering stroke in the frontal lobe. Such harsh attacks of the mind can also abruptly deprive one of the temporal lobe's processing of speech & language or their 'fusiform gyrus area' at the brain's base (for high-level visual information such as reading literacy, colour processing + facial recognition, see below), as well as key comprehension that involves both the Wernicke's area (in the temporal lobe) + Broca's area (also in the frontal lobe). Without warning, one can find themselves with a total loss of social cues, emotional responses, processing of rewards & even motivation after a destructive fire in the brain specifically striking its amygdala.
All these advanced functions of the superior human mind are all responsible for making you, glorious you so I am truly fortunate to still have most of my unique 'Aussie battler' brain still shining away despite waking to severe cerebral carnage while in my life's prime 20s.
As a London friend so wisely declared within days of abruptly waking up in the throes of a savage second stroke, 'you're still as funny as you were pre-strokie'. Boom!
Also, let's not forget (this dazed Dory has certainly retained!) Dr Angelo's (~accurate~) physical examination + declaration of 'perfect anatomy' upon performing my (free) 'body massage' (a.k.a. standard hospital assessment post stroke to check for blood clot/s) once admitted to St G's looking for the cause of 2012's detrimental second stroke.
When you consider all that I possibly could have irretrievably lost along with the disturbing two-in-three chance - close to 70% - of death within five years of experiencing a stroke from quite a baffling autoimmune disease (which was eventually deduced - after all other typical causes of stroke were found to be negative - as the culprit responsible for inflamed blood vessels blocking the flow of vital blood + its oxygen in my 26-year-old brain in order to try protect my rundown-&-fatigued body, thus resulting in two ghastly brain attacks instead) + prompt/appropriate treatment of such, I came out of it all extraordinarily well.
Below: Some of the fascinating lobes & areas of our sophisticated human mind including the aforementioned temporal lobe, frontal lobe, fusiform gyrus, (old mate) hippocampus & cerebellum.
Become a brainiac all about brains!
It'll certainly make you a hit with clever neurologists + psychiatrists & even the notoriously-impaired brain enthusiasts, zombies!
Ultimately, the drastic + sudden loss (<< this cannot be stressed enough, there was absolutely no easing into complex ABI life nor the luxury of waiting for acceptance with a total lack of choices available, worst-case scenario from the get-go of the stroke's abrupt, unforgiving devastation which can truly be traumatic as hell) of valuable neurons (in the mind's occipital lobe + hippocampus ~ see their precise location above ~ 'fire in the brain' expertly depicted below) meant continuing as an independent young adult with the standard progression and purpose like what was the norm among all my peers + what is typically expected in your younger adult years was then instead merely a cruel pipe dream.
Below: Envisage being struck by stroke as a raging fire permanently causing mass destruction in the vital brain.
Every second matters, what is swiftly scorched in the immediate minutes & hours your brain loses oxygen to its vital cells can never be regenerated.
The refined neural pathways that once gloriously glistened have since been disintegrated with hope the only way forward in the immediate aftermath of surviving & a focus on almighty perseverance to make it another day.
Slowly but surely, a damaged brain can generate new pathways around the demolished lobe through vast rehabilitation (years of such - with the extent of brain rerouting/neuroplasticity never promised) to then successfully send messages through to a fresh region paved out.
However, in cases of hefty brain damage, it will never return to what it once was and the compromised brain along with its intricate pathways which made your life (that was previously just getting started for a young stroke sufferer) what it once was are dead forevermore.
Added to such a devastating downfall, it too is distressingly abrupt; one day you had your young, fruitful life in your hands with the most promising & exciting future ahead, the next you wake up to a surreal, petrifying & reduced form of life you no longer recognise, forced to accept it will most likely end in the near future, every moment a vast struggle. Irrespective of the unfathomable loss & immense uphill battle, we must accept the new normal in order to go on. Essentially, a catastrophic neuro fire just means we can then demonstrate just what we are made of.
Regardless of such extreme shortcomings and an ongoing limbo life, let's instead celebrate all that is still in full bloom and also what has so proudly returned, a glorious bouquet of strength, perseverance & of course, wit.
We're all fired up and ready to GROW #punintended!
At just 26 years of age, it quickly became clear that life's freedom & choices were hurled out the window instantly from that petrifying October morning onwards and with it, the raw realisation that being healthy is knowing your life has possibilities.
A deeply-desired luxury I no longer had in my youthful life's grasp despite every other peer relishing in our prime years & such stagnate, vastly challenging conditions were considered to carry on indefinitely.
Foolishly, six months was the initial (+ grossly inaccurate) diagnosis + rehabilitation expectation given by the wise London docs before I'd be able to return to my former life; it has now been 14 years which is 28x the original estimation and still growing (will death be the only way such prolonged suffering ends?!).
Now upon poignant reflection, the sheer ignorance in the immediate aftermath fortunately came with immense relief for all we had at the beginning was hope that it would all 'be over within a couple of school terms & then we'd all get back to a real + typical life'. Initially, such was all that was getting us through such a dismal + dire situation/life that is (in a flash) chronically deprived of opportunities, progression & choices.
Despite still possessing the ability to effectively talk (#ChittyChat), self-monitor, breathe, walk, hear, smell, see (for the most part, the first stroke's RHS visual field loss just meant the scope of what I could/can see was/is reduced, still do have perfect 20/20 vision though!), problem solve, complex reason, sympathise, empathise, joke, even (easily) win board games + recall the most abstract facts about anything and everything (+ about those I know, I have always have been like an elephant in that regard, often much to others' dismay), I couldn't tell you what I had done throughout that very day in any depth merely a few hours later (often times just minutes, unbelievably even seconds during the initial torturous year, any recall of an occasion/event I had partaken in - even the most delicious of meals eaten that very day - would more often than not be completely decimated, with what was faintly recalled later dependent on just how memorable it was and/or its emotional connection to my mind, that of which I could not consciously control) in those excruciatingly tough years.
Above: 'The worst feeling was the loss of my independence,'
hits the nail on the head of what I too have had to constantly deal with as a young stroke survivor in my intended prime years of life.
For the most part, the mere remaining 1/3 of stroke sufferers who do beat the bleak odds to survive past five years do not necessarily have the luxury of an end to the vast mental & physical suffering.
Cruelly, the acquired brain damage's lasting ramifications can mean being dependent on others around the clock while being forced to live a new, reduced form of life most would not consider worth living with the end of such greatly challenging conditions never promised.
Thank you to the kind, considerate souls who continue to include and assist this young stroke survivor (+ those who stand by fellow stroke survivors too) when there is nothing in it for them, they surely have insight, substance & compassion by the bucketload.
Intriguingly, if someone helped successfully jog my memory about a recent instance & I then managed to faintly recall a highlight of such, it would seem so far back in my past that being told it was in fact only the day before (for example) would understandably scare the bejesus out of me (which in turn, certainly would have frightened the kind memory jogger themselves even more so).
Unsurprising to those who were consistently by my side at the commencement of such brutal turmoil, the second stroke was a paradoxical nightmare for someone in their prime 20s; the most morbid of existences one can imagine.
While all my peers were going about their typical work day full of purpose or preparing to become a parent or in the midst of travelling on the other side of the world (as we should in our young adult years), even just doing mundane (<<to the independent) errands for that matter (without requiring a humbling entourage + thorough planning), my life (for years) instead entailed being in a constant petrified state fearing I could very well die at any given second (/was already dead and all I was suffering hauntingly was instead the afterlife). Added to such a terrifying existence, my bruised brain required mass rest so I slept the majority of my days yet being utterly confused throughout conscious occasions (far more tormenting for my caregiver, darling Mother Duck, who remembered it all & didn't have the luxury of promptly forgetting such distressing moments throughout like I generally did) and also anguishing over the sheer devastation caused & just what my life had suddenly been reduced to as a direct result of waking up without a key element of my young brain, its 'li'l seahorse', the hippocampus.
Below: An example of one of my visual impairment screening assessment results (shaded boxes reflect areas not being visually processed by my mind at the time), years after the stroke that demolished my mind's occipital lobe (in its right hemisphere) which initially caused an abrupt 50% visual field loss and now years later, sits at around 25% at last official analysis #neuroplasticity. During one otherwise-typical July morning all the way back in 2012, I had woken up for the last day of the school year with pristine 20/20 vision as well as a 180° visual field.
However, by day's end, I had suddenly lost all of my visual field (homonymous hemianopia) on my right-hand side, after my mind's occipital lobe was starved of oxygen in its left hemisphere due to inflamed blood vessels.
After official visual impairment screening testing once at hospital, it was established my visual field had indeed become deeply compromised over the course of those lost precious hours trying to sleep off a (presumed) 'headache' (~occipital lobe stroke~) at an end-of-school-year party and later, being dismissed as 'inebriated' once at the nearby hospital's A & E department (when my clever colleagues knew something wasn't quite right, begging for us to be taken seriously once at A & E).
While I didn't notice the sheer extent my visual field was impacted myself (those 'Aussie battler' eyes of mine were instinctively working double time despite a distinct visual field reduction!), it was quite evident to those present as I'd constantly bump into anything on my right-hand side to which holding hands with people (I was only 26 years of age after all) became a necessity (during the initial weeks as I adjusted to the sudden visual field loss) for any treks, shockingly even brief ones to a nearby bathroom.
Let's call it a new take on 'getting blind'!
During the extensive hospital hiatus (post the second stroke), there was no other option but to have an unsettling tool (aka a small drill - aka cranial perforator - you'd typically see the likes of in a tool shed) hollow out a decent part of my skull to steal some of my precious (/a minuscule sample) brain tissue (unfortunately, I was not asked to play any instruments during such an extreme operation like the musical connoisseur performed, below), together with dyes being washed through the circulatory system via a large artery in my groin & cameras shoved down my throat, all the while accepting I could very well die before my mum and little sister even made it to London and the likely possibility of being put on immunsuppressant drugs that can then shockingly induce menopause within a few short years (while in my youthful 20s/30s + before bearing children) just to be kept alive (such was not optional had I stayed living in the U.K. after the second stroke).
Instantly and without an ounce of compassion, choices - & a youthful life - were annihilated as I woke on that otherwise-peaceful day off work during a week's scheduled break with my mind's vital hippocampus brutally obliterated.
Above: The actual laminated sheet a clever OT so kindly made that I had constantly by my bedside while in hospital for those intense six weeks in late 2012 when memory retention sat at mere seconds (if that!) to help ease my unshakable & intense anxiety about what was actually happening to my life (& why I had absolutely no idea why such was the case, I knew I should be remembering my life from just moments earlier, especially important information from the medical team + Mother Duck and yet I couldn't even remember what hospital bed was mine after a quick dash to the ole water closet throughout the month+ St G stint, sheer confusion that was then mixed with fully-intact logic caused an inner mental battle every single second), whether I was even alive & would I then be able to survive in time to see my Mum and little sister fly to London in early December before I was to (presumably) die so we could have a proper goodbye.
Reflecting with divine perspective in the years that have followed, such an unfamiliar memory aide (due to my brain's particular amnesia after Stroke 2) from my extensive time in hospital is quite nerve inducing as it is a frank reminder how extremely difficult life was (for so many of us, not just the one strokin' out!) and the mammoth journey we have embarked on day in, day out to get here, over 14 years later.
St George's Hospital, London, the U.K.
November 2012
Even though I was eternally grateful for the vast supply of jokes about the ghastly strokes and feeling so utterly loved by those genuine souls who have stepped up to the plate in my hour/s of need, life after the second brain attack was the most petrifying of existences you can imagine. Added to such immense loss, ongoing ailments, restrictions, obstacles & intense fear of a looming death, the struggle was real (for years) when it all was combined with just a few seconds' worth of short-term memory retention before such was promptly reset and an absolute lack of spatial navigation.
Merely finding my way back to a room I had been awake & alert in for hours, briefly leaving just seconds earlier was utterly out of my capabilities, plus the bitter realisation that friends/'friends' were dropping like flies once I was labelled 'worthless' + 'hard work' together with seemingly developing low social status in the strokes' wake (& such being rubbed constantly in my face), all combined with the distressing assumption (in my bi-broken mind) of hauntingly fearing I was already dead and all I was experiencing was instead a disturbing afterlife.
After all, how could what I was suffering logically as well as possibly be considered 'real life'?! It sent my already-tender brain into such deep turmoil that I never had beforehand fully grasped the degree one could suffer mentally and for such an extensive time post surviving a catastrophic brain attack.
Although now upon glorious reflection, haven't we done exceptionally well to get through years of such bewildering chaos & vast suffering to rewrite the script for a young (dual) stroke survivor who has defiantly battled unimaginable brain damage and ongoing loss?! Just look at us now!
Below: Making light of such a serious situation as brain surgery is all about finding humour wherever you can, even at the expense of others like this clever chap experienced (+ then voluntarily shared with the world) himself.
My devoted Klubbers know this all too well as they also bore the brunt of dodgy jokes & unique banter throughout the aftermath of surviving stroke.
Of course, they also used risqué humour just like this smart sibling, which was so dearly appreciated, even now it still brings such a wide smile to my dial.
Below: Despite being in hospital for an accumulated six weeks (busy making mates with fellow patients & staff alike), there was never a shortage of kind + thoughtful amigos as well as British family members & school colleagues visiting every single afternoon before some of my Aussie family selflessly flew over (once it was established I would require extensive rehab & 24/7 care) to then take a seriously unwell Kitty back home Down Under for vast rest combined with regular occupational + speech & language therapies #treatedlikeacelebrity.
Interestingly, as it would come to be, I ended up seeing my social network far more often when I was in hospital (daily visits!) than what was the norm before brain damage.
Soon it became quite clear that I am still valued, prioritised and loved even with a bruised brain, what a reassuring realisation!
Such sincere sorts didn't just offer empty words of support (that tends to be more about stroking one's own ego than genuinely caring about the ailing person at death's door) but actually showed up for hours on end, often with yummy choccies and nibbles in their hand, offering brand new undies as well as PJs and colourful anecdotes from their lives galore.
Above: Thanks for the titillating conversation, mate.
There is absolutely no sarcasm intended despite being captured on his phone as such a kind pal was offering his reassuring A+ company whilst needing to complete important tasks he should have been at work doing but instead was at a confronting ole hospital with someone on the verge of death (+ absolutely petrified death had already come & every experience was the afterlife/a delusion, repeating the same fretful thought to the considerate guest/s every couple of seconds like a real-life Dory).
Good ole buddy still prioritised helping me to feel at ease for a few precious hours most days over the month+ (in a locked neuro ward) vacay (when survival was at a bleak 1-in-3 chance) by taking such considerate + vast measures (including regular medicinal Macca's Happy Meals & stroke-smart choccies - for the endorphins!) even though the extreme
case of anterograde amnesia I was suffering from at the time would mean his second-to-none presence & calming, prolonged efforts over many hours were considered as just brief seconds to my hindered mind + it was expected such would be swiftly wiped from my compromised memory
bank the very moment
old mate left hospital for the night.
Frankly, other types of people would not have even bothered. Would someone suffering from extreme amnesia even remember + appreciate any of the efforts made?
At the time, that was certainly unclear as well as doubtful and any visits to the somber neurology ward could have easily been deemed as performed in vain.
As it turned out, despite experiencing the most severe amnesia the internationally-renowned neurology ward had witnessed (+ my very own mental health Registered Nurse Mother Duck too! #awardwinningamnesia), I still remarkably retained all the tremendous effort such a long-term amigo gave to my hospital experience (he also was the noble quality control inspector of the NHS meals, as shown kindly 'taste testing' the delicious hospital lasagne at start of blog entry, above!), even paying all my bills initially when I 'conveniently' forgot passwords & pins to access my banking.
Such important personal information eventually came back to my bruised brain with glorious time when the stressful pressure of such had subsided + neural pathways around the two ghastly infarctions had rerouted but initially, old mate would pay it all with absolutely no questions asked. When the pin was later recalled, PB would then get physical money owed out of my bank account from an ATM like it was the old days before convenient Internet banking. Selflessly, he'd then make a venture to his own bank ~ presumably on his brief work lunch break ~ to put my cash into his own account so that he could pay my bills online that came through from the very moment I woke up stroking out all confused & flustered in late October, right up until I left GB in December with the ever-so-thoughtful family members who had flown over from Australia the following month when it became clear I needed full-time care in order to survive.
Talk about a mind-numbing ordeal (that is, for PA, PB)!
Like Addie and I, we'll be friends forever.
Here's to genuine pals like Paddy B.B.
St George's Hospital, London, the U.K.
November 2012
Below: Speaking of a remarkable violin virtuoso (like P.B., above), how about the extraordinary ability to undergo complex brain surgery while in the midst of jamming out Beethoven's Symphony No. 5?
Surely, such an advanced skill beats all the clever multitasking dads who insist they're still watching the footy on TV when they're instead clearly falling asleep on the couch #partytrick!
The queen of multitasking -
Gifted violinist, Dagmar Turner, along with her intricate neurosurgery's medical team are even more impressive than someone rubbing their belly while simultaneously tapping their head (which always impresses our socks off in itself)!
Undoubtedly, D.T. has the winning anecdote to share when meeting someone new with this remarkable feat. Here's to the magnificent medical team & also the exceptional Dagmar Turner.
Earlier this year, former Aussie Rules footy player + sports presenter, Sam Newman (pictured below in a Melbourne hospital for analysis & treatment) temporarily lost speech as well as strength in his arms caused by two TIAs & fortunately lived to tell the graphic (+ somewhat amusing, due to his keen sense of humour) tale -
Mini-strokes also get the blokes (acting FAST).
Above: Mr Newman, who bravely shared his firsthand experience of two TIAs to his fans and the media to help spread much-needed awareness about concerning cerebrovascular diseases that are ever-so prevalent
is certainly the way to go, Sam!
Mr Newman also made the point that they'd have to first find a brain in his head, clearly showing the Aussie larrikin has still got it.
Alfred Hospital, Melbourne, Australia
March 2026
Below: Stroke heroes act FAST.
While some of us are familiar with the official stroke mnemonic's letter meanings (Face, Arms/Ask otherwise-simple questions, Speech, Time), this alternative translation shines a light on the current state of society when it comes to a medical emergency that is debilitating + deadly (yet still largely misunderstood) stroke.
Below: Be aware that stroke can happen to ANYone & at ANY age.
Additionally, one in six people WILL have at least one stroke in their lifetime (with such a rate being upped to one in four for adults over 25) with every 4th stroke sufferer being UNDER retirement age.
Do share your clever wisdom about complex neurology, especially that (otherwise healthy) women (+ men) who are in their prime 20s (distressingly, even children & babies) certainly do suffer from strokes & diseases of the mind that directly cause them.
Be stroke smart by becoming familiar with even 'just' a (fierce + sudden) headache can be a symptom of stroke (Ã la the occipital lobe's stroke that attacked my youthful 26-year-old brain with many of us - including medical professionals - initially dismissing it when it struck at our staff party on the last day of the British school year in July 2012).
Such valuable insight could very well save a life when time is of the essence #actFAST.
.Spread the word, stroke heroes know to act FAST
Below: 'What if you woke up and you were no longer you?
Above: Stroke is swift. Stroke is brutal.
For those survivors who are unfortunately struck with a decent dose of catastrophic brain damage, stroke is life crumbling from the very moment it strikes, out of nowhere, even when you're about to celebrate your last day of work for six weeks or merely rising in the morning during a week's break from work (Ã la both strokes inflicted on this Kitty).
Unfortunately, stroke has little consideration for what you had previously planned + deserved to do in your life.
Simply waking up to this grim new world with absolutely no way out of it while in your 20s is an utter nightmare and caused ongoing, immense pain (for my biggest supporters, Mother Duck & li'l sister, Jack Attack, as well) but much like my ultimate spirit animal, Dory, we just keep swimming.
Below: As many fellow young stroke survivors & their supporters can wholly attest to, stroke can steal your independence in a flash and halt your life's progress exponentially
(typically cutting the life expectancy of survivors by a shocking one-third, with one-half of all initial survivors dying within the following few years, totalling a 2-out-of-3 - majority - fatality-rate-from-stroke-within-five-years expectation).
Even if your mind manages it through such absolute mental mayhem for you to then carry on
(1.9 million neurons, 14 billion synapses + 12 km of myelinated fibres destroyed every single minute after the stroke strikes before appropriate *<< operative word* & timely medical assistance is administered),
it can become a cruel & uncertain form of life for those young survivors with considerable damage who previously had most of a lifetime ahead.
After countless chats with various walks of life, it is no longer a shock when someone (ignorantly) questions why I had a stroke whilst still so young, plus looking perfectly 'healthy' & 'fine'
(implying I must have done something myself directly to cause it, knowledgeable docs have officially stated the opposite after extensive medical analysis).
Ensuring to keep such an important conversation alive that young (seemingly-healthy) people have strokes too, a considerable 1/4 of all strokes in fact (the concerning rate of such doubling in the last 30 years) which remains a key focal point of mine as is giving young stroke survivors, in particular, a much-needed voice.
We are still here, we are still worthy, we are still us.
Above: Recognise the serious threat of stroke in your prime years of life -
Do spread the sobering statistic, share your mental health wisdom + compassion and be proactively stroke smart.
Your brain will certainly thank you for it!
"I remember I need to floss, I just don't do it."
- The larger part of society
Tooth be told, my flossing habits certainly have increased exponentially since strokes; maybe that is why there have been no further neuro attacks to the Special-K brain in over a decade.
Mint!
^^Puns intended.
Above: If ever there was a reason to floss after every meal, lowering one's risk of blood clots seriously has to be it.
These days, I am one frequently-flossing fiend & encourage anyone (lucky enough to be) in my company to floss regularly too - for the brain.
The good news is you only have to floss the teeth you want to keep, boom!
Below: Get your mind working even 'feta' with a tasty li'l bit of flavourful cheese
The impressive brains at Harvard Health have done the important groundwork nobly researching why you can justify that delectable cheesy bite -
It'll 'brie' a 'grate' life if you feed yourself medicinal cheese!
Soft cheeses for the mental-health win -
'Gouda' you doin'?
#cheeseplatterofpunsallintended
Above: Baxter, the clever border terrier pooch/sidekick from naughties comedy film, Anchorman, was clearly chomping down on the whole wheel of cheese for its impressive brain benefits.
While on the subject of beneficial brain bites, who knew we were also being healthy by consuming scrumptious sauerkraut (with copious steins of the ~blood-thinning~ German amber nectar to wash it all down) at Munich's Oktoberfest?! -
Above: 'Brie' mind strong #anothercheesypunintended.
Pungent (+ cheesy) garlic breath is mindful medicine!
Booze clues -
Learn the compelling neuroscience behind having a cheeky tipple, it'll make you a surefire hit at parties!
Above: Unsurprising to those who are well aware of my particular mind's abysmal condition after the second stroke, new memories are first processed by the brain in its limbic system's hippocampus.
It would also then come as no shock to learn that alcohol directly affects the brain's hippocampus, contributing to alarming blackouts & short-term memory lapses.
Next time you wake up with a hazy memory of the drunken night before, you can take it as the perfect opportunity to connect with my full-time world as a forgetful li'l 'Dory'.
In the wise words of one John McClane (/fellow brain battler + ultimate Hollywood action movie star, Bruce Willis), welcome to the party, pal.
Although you definitely don't want to hinder the almighty hippocampus in the long run, take it from this amnesia-ridden pro!
Below: Making jokes about strokes.
It may astound you to learn that memory loss most definitely can have its positives including this particular meme I had sent in a text exchange showcasing a forgetful sort humorously sharing with a mate the renowned effect alcohol can have on one's memory formation, processes & recall.
Something that I certainly would be guilty of living as Special K
(if I didn't have supportive family & PAs offer reminders + proactively employ a range of effective scaffolding measures myself as a necessary precaution in anticipation which I generally know to do in such unique instances #focusonwhatyoucando).
Below: Given the complexities of the sophisticated human brain, while I needed full-time care in a neurology ward in the immediate weeks after the second stroke, I was still able to analyse remarks family and friends would make by stating I needed less of. Surprisingly, while some first thought repeating hopeful affirmations combined with smooth deflection would help, such was quickly deemed detrimental due to my unique case with incessant paranoia about being dead/in a coma becoming heightened when I'd hear/read something that I had earlier effectively processed that then caused doubt in my mind about what was reality, Everything I was experiencing was questioned and how people were handling the situation with repetition like some morbid nightmare with certain phrases being used on a loop which only intensified my death paranoia even more so.
As you can see, the long-term memory was fortunately still going strong with my query to a big bro about my li'l two-year-old nephew/godson due to their existence being important to my hindered mind & proficiently lodged in the ole noggin prior to strokes.
Clever deflection about the eventful lives of loved ones was such soothing therapy in the wake of extreme & ongoing turmoil that I recommend wholeheartedly when one is suffering from such a massive, severe loss plus complex + savage destruction & an uncertain future that is brain damage caused by stroke. Especially when such is combined with an impending death presumed (which I deduced was increasingly imminent, disturbingly resigning to my nearing demise). Instinctively, we knew to focus on finding elements of life that brought joy instead of the confronting statistics clearly stacked against my survival and the uphill battle we had on our hands just to make it out alive.
Initial weeks post Stroke 2.0
St George's Hospital, London, the U.K.
Nov 2012
Below: A day in the life of Kitty, the two-time stroke recipient.
Above: Surviving brain carnage that inflicted such a diabolical dose of dead neurons as the second stroke specifically did is just the beginning of the extensive, murky path with an bleak+ unknown future one must embark on for an indefinite + inordinate amount of time (years after you were discharged as an inpatient from hospital post stroke/s).
Added to the constant medical appointments (thank you to my dear Mother Duck for always assisting & generously offering up her own time for such in those initial years, a true selfless angel) for regular analysis of my circulatory, immune + nervous systems is the fact I am still on daily blood thinners so any needle or incision will cause excessive bleeding and added to that, unsightly bruising is a frequent occurrence
(see below for a recent example of life as an anticoagulant enthusiast/young stroke survivor).
Fortunately, it is far less intense these days (now limited to 'momentous' occasions) than those first few tough years suffering from visual field neglect (that was suddenly reduced to 50% within a few short hours as I tried to sleep off the first stroke/presumed headache) when I forever was one black-&-blue, fierce-looking pin cushion
#youdonotwanttomesswithkitty.
Above: How does one even get a gnarly bruise in such an obscure location in the first place?! Leave it up to this Special K. At least we know the prescribed anticoagulants are clearly doing their job!
Below: Not even my recent 40th birthday celebrations were spared from nasty bruises due to the side effects of still missing half of my RHS vision (field neglect = clumsy bumps are the norm) + daily blood thinners that are needed to essentially help prevent any further strokes.
Gloriously living on without any further brain attacks since catastrophic 2012 is definitely something to have a toast to despite yet another unexplained spot on the body falling victim to the tender blood-thinner life.
Proud battle wounds of any decent celebration.
Gold Coast, Australia
November 2025
Above: Despite such substantial strikes to the bod on the regular, I can't even precisely tell you any entertaining anecdotes about how I got such a massive bruise and that is partly due to anterograde amnesia but also because I bruise so easily, especially when on 'blood thinners' (prescribed ones + alcoholic beverages #medicine). Eventually, we've come to accept monster bruises as part and parcel of my life as a stroke survivor on daily anticoagulants; at least the unsightly contusions can offer some commendable street cred!
Below: As former British prime minister and admired wartime hero, Sir Winnie Churchill, once so smartly explained,
if you're going through hell, keep going.
Perseverance combined with patience plus an unshakeable spirit surely will help you break on through to the other side (The Doors style).
Your future self will undoubtedly thank you for it and you'll certainly acquire some exemplary life skills (maybe even a few blokes too), boom!
Ultimately, the depth of someone's true character can only be measured by how they respond when times are tough.
Experiencing adversity in life to some degree is inevitable but how we then react to such is what makes or breaks a soul, consequently learning, adapting & evolving from such are the optional factors.
Since late 2012, I have been on one mammoth journey of self-discovery through a chance encounter the brain attacks caused which has then redefined my young life from here on in.
The striking metamorphosis to my soul that the ghastly stroke/s provided has offered some solid substance, triumphantly attained through the most extraordinary of circumstances.
Keeping my head held high, I continue to strive for better and more out of a life constantly challenged to then boldly (& eventually) accept what tragically happened to my mind and the vast loss in various facets of my young life (that struck instantly as I woke to the second stroke). With sincere support by my side at every corner, I continue to keep my chin up, to soldier on, to then defy the odds and to eventually prosper as a consequential result of defining who I am.
Of course, stroke that inflicts catastrophic damage & ongoing drastic ramifications + restrictions on a young soul may be an utter tragedy for someone to suffer, but surviving and thriving after absolute carnage is one magnificent triumph.
Initially, managing to live on after such an abysmal stroke with severe damage (as the diabolical second brain infarction) for a young stroke survivor can be awfully belittling & downright formidable. Not only as a result of the detrimental effects & loss caused by suddenly being stripped of that vital brain lobe + its intricate functions, but also because the drastic neuron death violently shakes you (& your genuine support network) to your core & such is for an extensive + undetermined period of time. So much so, you anxiously (+ naturally) struggle to identify with the person you used to be (prior to the brain attack/s) and still are deep within. The very being your most genuine supporters can still see throughout, even on the bad days battled through with such unfathomable grief and ongoing loss. Those extraordinary souls never give up on you. Honestly, that's just what is required.
For most of my adult years, I've painstakingly strived to simply regain what is a typical life for a young person, to rediscover + reclaim my previously celebrated and established abilities & traits, all the while accepting what my life had instantly become with unimaginable loss & complex, ongoing hardship littered throughout.
Frankly, to live just like my peers get to live (with freedom, purpose, progression, inclusion) is all I've wanted since utter neuro and life catastrophe at just 26 years of age. Despite what has been cruelly thrown my way for so many years now, I refuse to admit defeat by instead tapping into a deep reservoir of inner strength combined with sheer substance from within whenever it is needed (with the unyielding support of those sincere souls I am fortunate to have in my corner).
As you've surely noticed yourself, adversity does not necessarily build character; it more likely tends to reveal a person's true character.
Fundamentally, how one reacts when the chips are down has also shown the sheer substance they are actually made of and this Kitty Kat is certainly no chocolate teapot but rather a sparkling diamond in the rough, brilliantly evolving to gloriously glisten away despite the harsh conditions that have savagely engulfed most of my adulthood. In essence, such pitiful conditions have only shaped me for the better. Throughout this ongoing ordeal, I have ensured to consistently carry my burdens with bold courage and conviction, even at times, powerful pride.
This is life, this is substance, this is who I am and for well over a decade now, I have made the conscious decision that dignity and disability are seldom opposed.
Despite what has happened to me, I am still worthy and I (+ my supportive Mother Duck) have consistently strived for my life to return to a worthwhile + meaningful form through a proactive approach at reclaiming what was so tragically + instantly lost and slowly but surely progressing in all of life's endeavours.
Below: Strokes get the blokes,
mere weeks after surviving the first onslaught that totally obliterated my brain's occipital lobe in its left hemisphere which resulted in an abrupt 50% visual field deficit from the get-go (the stark & swift change from abled to disabled that hits immediately on the day one survives a massive brain attack with no end of such extreme suffering known + what the future was to entail being trapped in an uncertain limbo cannot be stressed enough) hence 'requiring' assistance (while with another travel buddy who considered such was a sweet candid moment of life after stroke to capture) when walking the cobblestone streets of picturesque Prague. Little did we know a second, far more severe, earth-shattering stroke was waiting in the shadows ready to pounce and causing far worse devastation than the first brain attack.
Life as a newly-acquired stroke survivor at the ripe young age of 26.
Take One
('Czeching' out) Prague, Czechia
August 2012
Essentially, being forced into the all-consuming edge of darkness (after surviving the two brain attacks) - for an indefinite period - has meant I was able to show the resolute, unwavering strength & conviction that has always been within to continue to smile & make punny jokes as well as proudly moving forward in my life (+ wanting to move forward in life), slowly clawing myself back to a worthwhile one.
Throughout the darkest of days/years, I knew the chapters ahead held far more worth & substance than what my life had already painstakingly endured.
To be honest, one of the hardest aspects of life as a young stroke survivor with such detrimental effects for over a decade now is not about my drastically-hindered wealth progression or other superficial aspects (that are very much present & increasingly difficult) but is instead actually the confronting byproduct of how I am now treated &/or excluded/avoided/banished by some people I once thought were genuine friends. Frankly, it still breaks my heart how in my darkest moments, I have had to deal with such a cruel secondary effect as a young stroke survivor.
During interactions with other young stroke survivors who too have such serious lasting effects (direct + indirect) from brain damage, it has been revealed they too experience such poor treatment when support is indeed paramount. Fundamentally, a person's true intentions and character tend to be exposed when the simpler choice is staring them in the face; whether they choose the easy way out and abandon a years-long friendship/'friendship' or make the deliberate effort to be mates with someone society now deems unworthy, to offer them simple human connection through mere presence when their mate surely needs it. Too often it has shown, I have had fickle people in my life during a time I simply needed the warmth & reassurance of human connection whether it be virtually online or a physical presence by being included in their life during the most (otherwise) mundane activities of their day (that I actually relish being part of) or welcomed at life's peak occasions such as weekends, holidays and celebrations like I was prior to strokes.
Through my own firsthand experience with being a young stroke survivor, I have found ultimately what works and what doesn't in support.
Those authentic supporters of stroke survivors (we love your work) who actually show up and understand that desperate need for simple human connection and consideration during such extensive trauma lived day in, day out, who also grasp the desire to still be included in life and not be treated as a 'bucket fish' that is only contemplated when all the other 'fish' are not biting during the low-demand times. We are still worthy, we are still us, we are still here regardless of any misconceived assumptions that some have ignorantly + harshly placed on us as stroke survivors/full-time brain battlers.
Contemplate this, when life is struck with a fierce storm's rage, we do not need someone to tell us how we should be handling it or that we should be grateful our whole life hasn't had the storm, arrogantly thinking they can be our saviour. Rather, what is required are compassionate supporters who offer an anchor to ground us during such vast, ongoing struggles during the savage storm (that is brain damage, its direct effects and all its ghastly byproducts) as it violently rages on.
From my own lived-in perspective, we are not asking for others to take away the pain or fight our battles as saviours but rather consistent companions who offer reassurance that a stroke survivor is not alone, understanding just what the complex + intense experience is without trying to improve it with offerings of their simplistic ideas and ruthless judgement. Because of the authentic supporters I have been fortunate to have, I know we can navigate through this drastic new 'life' together without them trying to change who I am, instead showing that I am still worthy of love even with what my brain and life have become.
In essence, all that a stroke survivor needs (in my own firsthand experience) is someone to simply hold their hand while they try to regain the strength to keep going.
Unfortunately, feeling alone has shown to currently be a common byproduct of stroke survivors who have lasting effects and while it is reassuring that it simply is the ignorance (presently) expected when you have brain damage, it doesn't make it any easier nor does the hurt of being abandoned lessen.
Being a young stroke survivor means I perpetually dream of a life that has progression, inclusion & possibilities; an unattainable luxury (yet standard for my peers) that was cruelly and suddenly stripped from my existence as I woke up one otherwise-typical day at just 26 & callously continues to be the case now in my 40s.
As I boldly try to balance immeasurable loss and grief with hope and grandeur, I also strive to move forward no matter how small & insignificant it may seem to others. Initially, one of the hardest aspects of experiencing stroke while in your 20s was that I was living in a world that was gloriously moving on without me.
Rightly so, the lives of all my peers were evolving, even progressing, yet my life was instead suddenly hanging in the balance with limited choices & development, considered worthless to society, being excluded from countless occasions and judged for then being upset about the thoughtless restrictions (direct + indirect) some placed on myself and such harsh abandonment by some. Even now, close to a considerable 14 years later, the majority of my adult years now have tragically been lost to living/struggling with brain damage, its lingering ramifications and the secondary social effects (which have particularly caused far more tears + angst than the brain damage itself) of stroke as well. Cruelly, such ongoing, extensive suffering seems to never have an end in sight. Yet the focus ultimately remains on the little wins in progress that I still bear witness to in my life all these years later. Your Special K is a shining achiever no matter what.
Instantly (<< operative word), the substantial loss of everything in my life that made it youthful, enjoyable, purposeful & free was an utter tragedy that has continued to mercilessly drag out for most of my adult years now. Despite such ongoing suffering that violently shakes one to their core, making them question who they even are, why they survived and just how loved they are by others, I refuse to be defined by what has happened to me. Instead, the focus has always been on striving for more out of my life and continuing to regain what was suddenly stripped from my being all those years ago while also refusing to concede defeat by having a steadfast focus on all the glorious strengths I still have in my possession ('you're still as funny as you were pre-stroke' = a common analysis by my support network that has been music to my ears, I am still appreciated + valued, yes!). Ultimately, I have accepted what has tragically happened with arms wide open and jokes at every corner to then accomplish the once unachievable, as well as to defy the odds as this courageous Laird lotus (see above) persistently fights on.
No matter what, I was brought up to get on with it, to soldier on & to continue to blossom even/especially in the darkest & cruellest of conditions.
After all, the most powerful warriors are time & patience, and they have certainly been by my side (along with those sincere consistent supporters + all the lads too #strokesgettheblokes) throughout this strenuous battle we have courageously fought since late 2012.
For now, let's continue regaining, retraining & relishing in this glorious life I still have in my possession while my brilliant brain ferociously perseveres.
Your fierce Kitty Kat has got this. Yes!
This brainy blog post is dedicated to -
dearest David,
the delightful, definitive bloke.
You will be forever missed and always honoured.
I'll see you in my dreams (& yap away just how you like it) until that special day we are reunited in heaven.
Thank you for coming into my life and filling it with vast joy, purpose & unconditional love for the last couple of years.
An extraordinary + sincere soul, you will eternally be remembered, even without my brain's hippocampus, that's how simply sublime you were and will continue to be in memory forevermore.
The big boss, Brumby, along with your treasured ballet master, Madame, your bestie, Jamie, and your maternal grandad will all be looking after you until we meet again for cosy cuds & cup-of-tea time.
February 1988 - June 2026
