(1) The bleed

So two years ago today, out of the blue, I had a brain haemorrhage.

‘It must have been so scary!’ said pretty much everyone I have ever spoken to about it. But it really wasn’t. Unless my memory is playing tricks again…

‘How did it happen?’

OK this is the awkward embarrassing bit that I wish people didn’t ask, but hey, it’s an innocent question.

Maybe it was due to my excitement over meeting Mr Tickle earlier that week, maybe it was due to the little crash that I had on a bike where I’d banged my head the week before, or maybe, as mum likes to think, it’s because I was trying to do too much. Although the doctors in the hospital wouldn’t back her up on that one, no matter how much she tried to persuade them to tell me to slow down…

The fact is that a lot of brain hemorrhages occur after a sudden rush of blood to the brain, during physical effort or straining; coughing; going to the toilet; lifting something heavy; or having sex.

And that is how it was with me; I had just had sex, and as soon as I had orgasmed, I knew that something was wrong. People use this phrase ‘thunderclap headache’ but that wasn’t what really sprang to mind for me. I guess I’m less poetic. For me, it was just ‘pressure from the inside out.’

I had a headache, but not the sort of headache where it changes depending on standing up or sitting down, being stroked or opening the window. Nope, this headache just WAS, it was constant, and it was pressure from the inside out. My exact words were ‘I feel like I’m having a brain hemorrhage.’ Wow, how self-aware am I????? (Incidentally, self aware people are apparently modest. Which is a real shame for me, because I know, for sure, that if one day I happened to be modest about something, I would be making a MASSIVE deal about it. Shame, because I would really quite like to be self-aware…)

I lurched around the bedroom trying things to make my head feel different. I lay down, I stood up, I headed to the window desperately trying to open it, but not managing, then it was the bathroom. I vomited, poohed, vomited and poohed again and curled up on the floor, asking my new boyfriend who wasn’t even my boyfriend to call the NHS.

When the paramedics came, they vaguely gestured over my head that there was a brain issue. I knew what was going on around me, but I was in a lot of pain and I felt sick. Talking felt hard, so I let them go on talking about me as though I didn’t understand.

They carried me down the slippery metal steps in the rain, and I felt guilty about how heavy I was, as I vomited into the cardboard vomit hat, and apologised.

Cardboard vomit hats – what a great invention! I guess it just got impractical, all that washing of bowler hats full of vomit, so when cardboard turned up on the scene, whoever it was that invented the cardboard vomit hat must have been VERY proud of themself. I, for one, am happy that I wasn’t vomiting into an actual hat – I felt guilty enough about being carried down the slippery steps in the rain, without adding guilt about soiling a paramedic’s lovely bowler hat.

There were two people I knew of who had had brain hemorrhages – my best friend’s brother, and an old colleague. Both of them had died. So in my head, that was what happened after a brain hemorrhage. In the ambulance on the way to the hospital, I made my peace with dying. I’d had a good life I thought; at least I’d given the whole ‘making a living out of performing’ thing a go, and I’d succeeded. Plus, that day I had done my absolute favourite act, and it had gone well. It was just me, as a gnome, dashing around greeting as many people as I could. Yes, I had finished on a high – I could die in peace.

At the first hospital we got to, they injected me with morphine, which makes me feel sick now just remembering it. I hated it. No concerns that I will ever become a heroin addict. After that, they did a quick scan and announced that I’d had a small bleed on the brain.

“Will I die?” I asked.
“Not on my watch.” he smiled.
Those were not reassuring words; his watch ended shortly after the words were spoken, as I was promptly shipped off to a larger hospital.
“Not on my watch.”
I remained convinced I was going to die. And honestly, I was OK with that.

When we arrived at the larger hospital, around 5 hours after the bleed (and over 2 hours driving), I eventually said, ‘OK, you can text my mum and brother, but don’t call them; I don’t want to disturb their sleep.’

I find it ‘funny’ that I was convinced I would be dead soon, and still, I thought: ‘Well, sleep is important, so they might as well have a good night before they find out the news.’ Or is it that I have a real issue about troubling people, or asking for help…

That night, I lay in a dark ward, with an awful headache, vomiting intermittently, unable to sleep. I was so busy feeling sick that I didn’t have much chance to feel scared. The dark night was broken up with the odd trip through the bright corridors for a scan, and every so often I would get a visit from a nurse who would get me to push their hands away, or pull their hands towards me, then ask me a couple of questions about my name and where I was. Apparently the accuracy of my responses started to deteriorate the following day, and I ended up hallucinating, answering that I was at a party of gnomes, back in my home town.

I had developed hydrocephalus (too much fluid on the brain), and surgery was required. They planned to insert an EVD (extra-ventricular drain). It involved drilling into my skull and inserting a drain that would then be secured under my scalp with staples.

THAT bit was scary – for mum and my brother, who had only just turned up, and the guy with me. The risks were read out; it was the least dangerous form of brain surgery – but it was still brain surgery. There were plenty of risks.

Scary.

But not for me; I was at a party full of gnomes, having a mad old time, and it’s not often you’re at a party full of gnomes.

Actual footage of the gnome party. Ok, fine, it is the best I could find from a quick Google image search. Please let me know if you find a more appropriate image. (Not outdoors though. Yes, my memory of the gnome party is hazy, but I am pretty sure it was a house party.)