August, 2012
At St Vincent’s, the neurologists told us that the mass in my brainstem wasn’t a tumour after all, but a bleed. I had suffered a stroke—a hemorrhagic cavernoma. Every doctor agreed it was too deep and too large to operate on. One of them described the brainstem as “tiger country”—a place where surgery would likely do more harm than good.
The plan was to put me on steroids to reduce the swelling in my brain and monitor my progress. I stayed in hospital for a week before being discharged—on my 32nd birthday. I hadn’t improved, but thankfully I hadn’t worsened either. The doctors advised rest, with the hope that recovery would come slowly over time.
I returned home to Jan Juc, where I was cared for by the best girlfriend in the world. I managed short walks with a stick for balance, but mostly I just rested. Ollie, the dog, was also recovering from surgery—so we became rehab buddies.
