Copyright 2016 by Morgane Brun

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Written 09/12/2015

I always thought that I’d run a marathon by the time I hit 25.
my dream is to have seen as much of the world as humanly (and financially…) possible by the time I’m 30, to have climbed the highest mountains, to have met the most different of people, encountered the most bizarre creatures, dived the deepest waters.
Then, a couple of weeks ago, I had a series of strokes – 3 or 4, according to doctors. “Luckily” for me, I was already in hospital when they occurred, being treated for a kidney failure of unknown cause. So they were able to respond quickly, but apparently with strokes, quickly is just never quick enough. I couldn’t walk. My left leg had – quite literally – swollen to double the size of my right and the pain was agonising. My eyesight, already pretty awful to begin with, suddenly took a whole new turn for the worse. I couldn’t – can’t – open both eyes together without being faced with a Picasso-style cubist version of the world, where everything existed in more states and shapes than it should.
Now, as I write this about ten days after my last stroke, my left leg has returned to a normal size and I’m relearning to walk through daily, painful physiotherapy. I can walk now, but it’s strenuous and I’m at a danger of toppling over at any moment. I’ve lost all sense of balance and coordination. I cant walk up stairs. Forget about walking around outside for weeks still – the wind could, and would, blow me over. I cant run errands, because I need both hands free at all times in case I suddenly fall over for no apparent reason.
I’m writing this with one eye closed. It’s easier than expected, thankfully, but reading has become a chore. I did my Bachelor’s degree in English Language and Literature and I was doing a Master’s course in Publishing before this happened, so reading at five times the pace I uses to, and with a constant headache, is heartbreaking.
Yesterday I saw an eye specialist. Turns out there’s nothing I can actually do to improve my eye function. I can wait, and I can hope – from one week to six months apparently, but that’s just for some people; for others, their vision never fully recovers.
I googled ‘young stroke’ earlier; it’s defined as a stroke before the age of 45. It’s my 21st birthday in a few days, so I guess I’m an exception to an exception. Not a particularly good one.
My husband and I are moving to Australia next year; I want to go into animal conservation, over there. But that requires a lot of brute strength, not to mention constant awareness and coordination. I don’t know if I’ll be able to do that anymore. I’m lucky that I dove the Great Barrier Reef once, but I wanted to do it again. I wanted to climb Uluru and the mountains of Tasmania. At this point in time, I can certainly cross those off my bucket list.

Eventually, I was going to become a political editor, my true passion. That probably wont be possible now I can’t read properly anymore.

So where do I go from here, then? I don’t know. I get discharged from the Hyper Acute Stroke Unit of Charing Cross Hospital in London tomorrow, so I guess I get to go home; I can’t wait. I really can’t, but I’m so apprehensive of what awaits – or rather, doesn’t – me there. I’m scares that at soon 21, my life has been changed forever – and why? No one knows. A whole team of specialists is baffled. Young stroke is rare, but a series of strokes at 20 and, now, permanent brain stem damage, is practically unheard of. I’m not entirely sure why I’m writing this…I guess there’s just too many emotions to keep bottled up inside.
I’m the wise words of Renton, I would’ve chosen life. Now I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to.