Her whole life Charlotte Warhurst, 30, from the Wirral, had on hold… ahead of her. But a ticking time bomb put everything
Nothing can stop us
Pulling into the drive, I switched the car off and put my hand to my head. Rubbing my temples, I groaned to myself. It was 2011, I was 21, and in the middle of my nursing training.
Now, after a long day, I had a splitting headache.
‘What do you want for your tea, love?’ my mum Pat, now 59, called as I plonked my handbag just next to the front door.
‘I’m not really hungry Mum,’ I sighed, walking into the kitchen.
But as soon as I walked into the room, a rush of pain hit me in the head, as if I’d run into a brick wall.
The worried face of my mum became blurry in front of me, and I suddenly felt incredibly nauseous.
‘Are you alright?’ Mum asked, her voice sounding so distant.
‘My head’s going to explode,’ I sobbed, delirious.
I was terrified – what was going on with me?
Worried, Mum called an ambulance, and by the time paramedics arrived, I was in and out of consciousness.
I heard the faint sound of a siren as I was lifted into an ambulance, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up in Arrowe Park Hospital.
With a drip sticking out of my arm, I’d thankfully stabilised, and was rushed for a CT scan.
A few hours later, back in the ward, the pain in my head had subsided, and
Mum was stood in front of me, tears staining her cheeks.
Just then, a doctor walked in, a grave look on his face. ‘What’s wrong with me?’ I asked. ‘You’ve had a subarachnoid haemorrhage,’ he explained.
‘It was caused by an aneurysm in your brain that ruptured.’
Clutching Mum’s hand, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
An artery in my brain had bulged up for no known reason, and my sudden debilitating headache was that artery bursting, causing a bleed on my brain.
‘You’re very lucky,’ the doctor went on. ‘Many people don’t survive this.’
It was terrifying.
But there wasn’t much time to take it all in – a bleed on the brain was dangerous and possibly deadly, and doctors needed to act fast.
As the doctor explained a procedure called endovascular coiling, my blood ran cold with fear.
It involved a catheter being passed up my groin all the way up to the burst artery in my brain. Platinum coils would then be released to induce blood clotting and prevent more blood from leaking into my brain.
Before I knew it, I was being wheeled to theatre.
‘You’ll be just fine love,’ Mum said.
A few hours later, I woke up groggy.
I’d hoped my doctor would arrive with good news, but instead he returned with that same grave look.
‘The procedure went as planned,’ he explained. ‘But while we were doing it, we found another aneurysm in your brain.’
My face dropped as he went on to say that this aneurysm hadn’t burst – but that it could at any time, possibly killing me instantly. It was a terrifying thought. ‘You have two options,’ he went on. ‘We can either perform a craniotomy to remove the aneurysm, or we can leave it be for now.’
A craniotomy would involve taking a flap out of my skull and going into my brain – a risky procedure – while for now, my unburst aneurysm wasn’t an immediate risk. After much thought, I decided against surgery – I had only just come to terms with having had one bleed, and a major procedure.
My doctor agreed, and instead of going under the knife, I would be closely monitored, have a brain scan once a year.
While I was relieved, I now felt like a ticking time bomb.
Knowing there was an unburst artery in my brain was terrifying.
I was able to go back to my studies, but I was always wondering what was around the corner. Would my aneurysm rupture? Would I die?
But as time went on, I started to think less and less about it.
It was always at the back of my mind, but I was able to qualify as a nurse, to enjoy time with friends, to live my life – and to find love.
Two years later, on New Year’s Eve 2013, I met Joel, now 29.
We hit it off right away, and Joel wasn’t scared away when I told him about my aneurysm.
‘It doesn’t bother me,’ he smiled. After the trauma I’d faced when I was 21, I finally felt like my life was on track – I had a great job, great friends, and wonderful Joel.
Over the next few years, we were living life, enjoying nights out and spending time with friends.
And in June last year, when Joel dropped down to one knee the night before the Glastonbury Festival and asked me to marry him, I couldn’t have been happier.
But with our whole future ahead of us, I got to thinking.
I’d always wanted to have a baby, and now that we were settling down,
It could have killed me instantly
that was a real possibility.
But after doing some research, I learned that while pregnant, women’s blood pressure tends to go up – a real risk for me.
Falling pregnant could cause my aneurysm to burst.
So I made a decision.
‘I want to have my aneurysm removed,’ I told Joel.
It had been eight years since it had been discovered, and while it hadn’t caused any problems, I wanted rid of it for good.
If I was going to become a mum, I didn’t want this dark cloud hanging over me.
I went to see my doctor, and thankfully, he explained they wouldn’t need to perform a craniotomy after all.
Instead, they would go up through my groin like last time and insert more platinum coils into my brain.
Finally feeling brave enough, I went in for the procedure on 2 September last year.
‘I’ll see you soon,’ Joel smiled, squeezing my hand. ‘And then why don’t we start planning this wedding?’
‘I can’t wait,’ I replied. As the anaesthetic kicked in, I imagined walking down the aisle in a beautiful white dress…
The next thing I remember, I woke up feeling extremely groggy.
‘Charlotte, you’re awake,’ Joel said, tears in his eyes.
Opening my mouth to speak, no words came out.
As much as I tried, I couldn’t say anything – what was going on?
‘It’s OK love,’ Joel said, taking my hand. ‘You’ve been in a coma for three weeks.’
A coma?! I thought.
Over the next few days, I was in and out of consciousness, but eventually, as doctors explained it to me over and over again, reality sunk in. During the procedure, my aneurysm had burst.
It had caused a significant bleed on the brain, forcing doctors to perform an emergency craniotomy.
My brain had been left extremely swollen, and I’d been put into a coma to help me rest.
By now, the swelling had gone down, but the damage was done.
I couldn’t speak, and the left side of my body was paralysed.
As tears streamed down my cheeks, I couldn’t believe it.
I’d had this surgery so that I could live my life, and now I’d been left like this.
‘You’re going to get better,’ Joel said. ‘And then we’re going to get married just like we planned.’
His words were enough to motivate me, and I put all the energy I had into my recovery.
With the help of a speech therapist, I slowly learnt to form my words again.
And with extensive physiotherapy, I slowly managed to sit up, then stand up, then take small steps.
I was in a wheelchair most of the time, but after a few months, I was able to walk with just a stick. Joel stuck by me, was my rock. It was him that kept me fighting, and while I spent most of my time in the hospital, I’d keep myself busy reading wedding magazines.
Today, I’m improving slowly, but I still have a long way to go.
I’ve suffered with depression as a result of this, but I’m getting help from Headway, a charity that supports people after brain injury.
I can’t go back to work, I can’t drive, and I need help with pretty much everything – walking, eating, and even getting dressed.
Joel and I have postponed our wedding indefinitely – instead, we’re spending money on getting our house adapted to my needs. But I haven’t given up.
I have a vision in my head of how my wedding will look – the décor, my dress, the cake, and the flowers – and Joel stood at the altar.
I put off having brain surgery for eight years, and when I finally went through with it, it ended in disaster.
But I’m fighting for my future – nothing is going to stop me from walking down that aisle.