Two years ago today I awoke at 0600 unable to use my right arm, half of my face slumped and with a very wonky walk. After my brush with Bell’s Palsy two years prior (the symptoms are similar), I knew the tests that checked to see if you’ve had a stroke. My heart was racing faster than I had ever experienced with panic attacks and depression. In short, I felt like I’d been run over. There was no pain, however, but I had zero strength.
The ambulance seemed to take an age but was probably only 10 minutes. They were only in the house for about 20 minutes and then I was bundled in the back of the ambulance and driven to hospital.
I finally got to drive on the Northern Expressway, but it was not an ideal situation. My life had changed and not for the better.
Little did I know but the stroke was the least of my troubles. The first inkling of those troubles was receiving media enquiries within 30 minutes of arriving at the hospital. How did they know? It caused me not inconsiderable stress, and I know who those pricks are and they will never, ever be getting anything from me ever again.
With such a massive privacy breach I was loath to stay at North Shore hospital, but in any case it was decided to transfer me to the Stroke Unit at Auckland Hospital after several tests and scans.
While I waited I was in a room where a work shy fat bastard opposite me was told that the reason he had collapsed at work the day before was because he had diabetes. “The diabetes” he said. His equally enormous wife was in tears as health professionals explained to him that a diet of pies and 10 litres of Coke a day wasn’t a good idea. The reason I called him work shy was because after the doctor had told him he was good to go and could go back to work the next day because they’d topped him up on insulin and sorted his new medication regime his boss called. I know this because he had the phone on speaker, so every one in the ward heard his conversation. He then told his boss that he would be off work for at least until Monday because he had “the diabetes”. His boss was less than impressed, and told him that he’d been telling him for years to cut the Coke out. After his call from the boss he then set about ringing his mates and planning a fishing weekend away. I really was too sick to bother with it all, but that episode is one of the few that stuck in my mind.
I don’t know if you know, but when you have a stroke some things are not obvious but seriously affect you. One thing that affected me was my hearing has become extremely sensitive. I can hear people clearly talking across a room, even if they are talking in hushed tones. I can also focus on a conversation across a room even if there are others around making lots of exceedingly annoying noise. But sounds in general have become annoying. Especially whining or squealing children.
Another side effect of my stroke, because of where the stroke was located, was my already low tolerance for stupidity, coupled with a propensity to say out loud what others would only think was heightened. In other words I just blurted things out. I had no control over it. And so you can imagine what the work shy fatty thought about me as I was wheeled out to the ambulance to go to Auckland Hospital.
The biggest issue I had was my exceedingly high blood pressure. It hovered around 200/100 for a couple of days until through trial and error they stabilised it via medication.
I slept a lot and had many, many tests. MRIs, CT Scans, a TOE Test. The TOE test was on the morning of my 50th birthday, it involved a dose of Fentanyl, then an echo sounder being fed down my throat so they could scan the back side of the heart. The TOE result was fine, the Fentayl was awesome. I arrived back at my hospital room high as a kite to have a birthday lunch of whitebait fritters and black pudding.
One test, performed on the day of my discharge, after a week in hospital, was to establish clinically if I would ever regain the use of my arm again. It involved placing a figure of eight shaped electrode over the site of the stroke on my head, and recording electrical impulses in my arm on electrodes down the arm. The grim faces of the medical guys conducting the test told me everything I needed to know. When they wanted to do the tests again then I knew it was bad.
They told me I’d never use my right arm again, it was that blunt. They got the neurologist to come and explain it to me. That was a pretty low moment. Thankfully the neurologist then told me I’d have to learn to do everything with my left hand. I asked “Like what?” He said “Like writing”.
“Great” I said, “Pass a pen, no time like the present”, and started writing something on a piece of paper. What I wrote was, “You clearly haven’t read my notes, I’m left-handed”.
That certainly lightened the mood. But at that moment I resolved to prove the “experts” wrong. Can’t isn’t a word I recognise, and a word I seldom use. Can’t is what other people say. I told the specialists they were wrong, and I left hospital determined to prove them wrong.
I was sent home then, but the next morning I was pretty crook. My blood pressure went through the roof again, and the doctor called an ambulance. Back to the hospital, I went, and back to my privacy being breached again at North Shore hospital. Suffice to say I was back in Auckland Hospital under an assumed name, where they found that my potassium levels had dropped to dangerous life-threatening levels.
It was sorted, by pumping potassium into my arm via a drip. That was extremely painful and meant I didn’t really sleep that night. But 24 hours later I was back home and started the long and sometimes tedious journey to recovery.
It was now that the things that were out of control started to take a toll. People I was engaged with in litigation used my health issues for their own benefit. One set of litigants even had a specialist in Wellington write a diagnosis of my condition to say that I was perfectly OK to be cross examined by them in court. My medical professionals were shocked at the callousness. One of my lawyers also quit and even turned up at the hospital to get me to sign some documents. I have no idea what I signed but the effect was he disappeared never to hear from him again.
This is where Brian Henry stepped up. He’s a true professional, and he told me not to worry, he’d step in and work out a pathway forward. By February 2019 it became apparent that the other litigants were keen on pressing the advantage of having me incapacitated and fighting them would in all likelihood kill me. Brian advised me to just stop fighting, to declare bankruptcy, and focus on my recovery and let them all do whatever they wanted. I took that advice. If they wanted to carry on and fight a guy who was wrecked mentally and physically, then all power to them. I chose to live.
It was Brian who also put me on to the most amazing physiotherapist, Rebecca, at Peak Pilates Takapuna. For the next six months, I went seven days a week to physio. Then the next six months five days a week. It is the sheer dedication of Rebecca who has steered me through recovery. I also saw a second physiotherapist, Gilly Davy, who is a specialist in neuro-physiotherapy. It was her concentration on building muscle memory that saw fine motor skills start developing again, and through Nordic walking fix my walking.
The both of them have worked in tandem to get me where I am today. The gains were microscopic at first. But as time has progressed I’ve slowly but surely inched my way back.
It was Gilly who told me to get back shooting, and I have. I have taken up trap shooting, and have now gotten rated for Paratrap competitions because of the impairments I still have. There is a long way to go, but it is now part of my recovery to find me shooting Trench at the club twice a week.
I also went and saw a mate in Rarotonga, Uani Katoa, who is a traditional healer. It was Uani’s deep muscle massages that got my arm really moving. When I went there I needed a wheel chair and assistance, after a week I walked off the plane and my arm was no longer in a sling. He really performed a miracle.
In 2019 I had many health issues to overcome, including a frozen shoulder, which is extremely painful. Reactivating muscles and tendons is rather painful too, but I never gave up, never gave in, and went day after day to physio.
At the start of 2020 I changed things up. I had regained some fitness, and now only go twice a week to physio. The other days I fill with more shooting or gym work.
Then in March the Chinese plague hit and all physio ceased. You can’t fathom how frustrating that has been, and how detrimental to my recovery as well. But that’s Jacinda Ardern’s kindness for you.
There is still a very long way to go. I’m good for one article a day. It takes me absolutely ages to concentrate, line up my thoughts and type one-handed. The podcast is even harder. It takes me a day to write it up, then a day to record and edit it.
I still can’t remember much in the two weeks before the stroke or the two weeks after. I still struggle with names of people but strangely I can remember my internal nicknames for them. Black James, Skinny James, The Minister, The Hunter are just some of them.
During the start of 2020 I participated in an AUT study into stroke recovery. Many of the things they teach were largely important to learn right at the start of the rehabilitation journey. This is where a disconnect happens for stroke recovery.
I was admitted to Auckland Hospital, but I live in the Waitemata DHB area. There was no handoff between ADHB and Waitemata DHB. On top of that, it took 6 weeks before anyone bothered to contact me from Waitemata DHB to discuss Occupational Therapy and assistance. It took a further three weeks before I received the first visit. It is vitally important to start rehab immediately as every week that goes by without rehab lessens the ability of the body and brain to recover. But if you wait for the health system to work then your health will suffer. I had spent my time in the hospital learning what was out there for support. Sadly there isn’t much, or it is aimed at older people.
One thing I did learn was that there is no financial assistance whatsoever for stroke victims, unless your stroke was the result of an accident, or medical misadventure. The vast majority of stroke victims get next to nothing in assistance. Consequently they have poor health outcomes, or just accept they will be crippled and unproductive for the rest of their lives. If you are young when you have a stroke, like me, then you are missing out on your most productive times.
This means that you must do it yourself and you must not wait. When the OT came to assess me I had already made great strides in recovery. I was past whatever support they could offer. That’s because I backed myself and got superb assistance privately. That is also why I continue to attend physio. I am still finding improvements as each week goes by. Normally, people find they plateau after 6 months. I never have and I put that down to my dogmatic, and some would say selfish, single-minded mission to recover.
When I left the hospital it was with a prognosis of never being able to use my right arm or hand again. They said that things might improve slightly for the first 3 months, but by 6 months it would plateau and stop improving.
I told the doctors they were wrong.
I had my grip strength tested this month. It is a regular test and a benchmark for my recovery from the stroke.
12 months ago my my right hand had an 2kg grip strength, and I could barely lift a 2kg weight.
6 months ago my right hand had an 8kg grip strength.
One month ago it was 12kg
This month it was 18kg
My left hand is 48kg by comparison…but big improvements are now happening faster as a result of my continued physiotherapy. My arm and hand has never stopped improving, but then again I’ve never stopped doing physiotherapy.
It just goes to show that my pig-headed stubbornness and never say die attitude is a help not a hindrance.
But imagine how much better I’d have been if we didn’t have the lockdowns which prevented even more physiotherapy. Stopping critical physiotherapy for stroke victims is hardly kindness. How many stopped altogether rather than keep on trying to recover?
It’s disappointing, depressing, challenging, and at the same time rewarding, invigorating and satisfying to see the little improvements happen. It has been mentally and physically draining recovering from the stroke. It’s why I took a whole year off. It is why I only do a post a day. Just so you know, to do the podcast each week takes almost an entire day.
When the lockdowns came there were many media stories about how to cope. For me, it was actually easy, mainly because I’d essentially been in my own health imposed lockdown for more than a year. I’ve become very comfortable spending long periods of time thinking and reflecting. I think it has given me a better perspective on life and also in my analysis of my work. It also gave me time to think and plan for future endeavours and you will start to see that vision emerge over the next 12 months or so.
The thing you find out when you have a life-changing medical event like this is just precisely who your friends are. Who are there for you and who are not. Those who are not aren’t worth the time. I’ve cut them from my life and don’t miss them at all. What is astounding to me is the cheek some of them have. Like my local MP who has three times in the last two years enquired as to how I am of my father. Each time he’s told my Dad that he will come and catch up with me. He hasn’t so much as rung, texted or even sent a card. The last time he asked about me my father pointed out his lack of honouring his commitments so he really didn’t believe a word he said. That MP was last seen scuttling off from the group he was just embarrassed in front of. What has been amazing though are the heartfelt texts from opposing MPs in Labour and other parties, out of nowhere they’d text to ask how I was, and offer support and understanding. Only one MP in National has been a constant support and you can all guess who that is.
Those who are there for you are treasures. Those of you who were there for me know who you are and I thank you most profusely for the support you’ve given me and those around me.
The team that helps in the back end of The BFD really stepped up. I am truly grateful that you all helped keep the site running and the content flowing. I consider team members as part of my loyal family. You died in a ditch for me, and know that I’ll die in a ditch for you.
Same for the site’s loyal readers and members. It is for you that I am fighting to get back in the game, albeit on new terms and conditions. Your loyalty is something to be treasured and is a constant bafflement to my detractors. They clearly have no concept of loyalty.
And so now two long years have elapsed. The struggle continues. I’m still here, I’m still fighting, and I’m not going away.
But I will continue to develop a better life/work balance. I’m taking up new hobbies and starting some new projects for relaxation. Though I’m not sure building a 1800 Baker Rifle from scratch will be relaxing. The key thing is it will be different, and different is good right now.
There are certainly many more challenges ahead. Finding out what continues to deplete my potassium is a work in progress. But like everything I will eventually solve that one too.
Contrary to what the doctors predicted I do have the use of my right arm. I can’t yet type with that hand, but it is getting slowly but surely stronger and more dexterous. It won’t recover fully, and there will always be an impairment, but even so I’m a better person both mentally and physically, despite my impairment, than most people. I describe myself as enhanced rather than impaired.
At some stage I may write a book, or sit with someone who will write it for me. There is so much to tell about, not just the past two years, but also the things I’ve done in my life that few people know about. I’ve certainly had plenty of time to think about it, and there is lots to tell. Eventually the otherside of what the media and my opponents have said will need to be told. Then people will see the real me, and not the dark cartoonish persona my opponents attempted to pigeonhole me as. The truth will out, and that time is coming.
For now, I will keep on keeping on. I know that the mere fact that I am living and breathing gives my political enemies cold comfort. I still live rent free in their tiny, feeble minds. And the funny thing is, even after a serious stroke like I’ve had I’m still better at what I do than all of them combined.
I’m well on the road to a near full recovery, and I have lots more that I want to achieve. You will see them happen because I won’t be deterred from achieving those goals.
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