A letter to... My brave man
IDear Geoff, t’s been a tough few years hasn’t it? I’ll never forget the terror I felt in March 2019 finding you on the lounge floor. ‘Geoff,’ I cried, but you didn’t react.
Your mouth drooping, it was obvious to me you’d had a stroke.
But you were an active 48-year-old, a regular gym-goer.
Didn’t smoke, only drank occasionally.
‘Girls, call an ambulance!’ I screamed upstairs to our daughters Georgie, then 17, and Paige, 22.
As paramedics loaded you into an ambulance, I climbed in behind.
‘Call your brother. Meet us at the hospital,’ I told the girls.
Sirens blaring, we sped to Broomfield Hospital where you were whisked to resus.
I paced the waiting room until a doctor came in.
‘Geoff’s in a critical condition,’ he said.
He gave you just a 5% chance of surviving.
I could barely think. But when the girls arrived with their brother Josh, then 20, I held it together.
Sent them home when the docs told us you were stable.
Only as I slept in the hospital, you deteriorated.
Your brain had swollen, so they rushed you to Queen’s Hospital.
But you stopped breathing and had to be resuscitated.
Then you needed an op to remove part of your skull to stop the swelling causing too much pressure.
‘Otherwise he’ll die,’ the docs warned.
Thankfully, the op went well.
You were left with a huge dent in the left side of your head.
But you were still here. Twelve days in critical care followed, until one day, you pulled down your mask.
‘I love you,’ you gasped.
Tears falling, I whispered how much I loved you too.
A few days later you were moved to a stroke ward.
Conscious, but unable to speak well or understand much.
Your right side was severely damaged, couldn’t move your arm or leg.
In May you were transferred to Homerton hospital for specialist care for stroke patients.
Every day I took three trains to visit, and on the weekends the kids came, too.
‘You will walk through the door at home,’ I promised. Five months later, after intense physio, speech therapy, neurotherapy and determination, you did it. I watched in tears.
You had a titanium plate fitted to fix the dent in your skull and eventually, we were told you had a hole in your heart. You had an op to close the hole in September 2019 and then in 2021 we discovered you had antiphospholipid syndrome (APS).
But now you’re at work, independent and you’ve found your voice again.
You can ride a bike and in August 2022 we climbed Snowdon with other stroke survivors and loved ones.
Something docs never thought you’d do!
You still struggle with complex situations, like banking, can’t drive and aren’t as mobile.
But you’re still here, thriving and improving.
Life is different, but you’re my same brave, remarkable hubby.
The doctor gave you just a 5% chance of surviving
FIND OUT MORE
For more info or support on dealing with brain injuries, visit headway.org.uk.