ROAD TO RECOVERY. CHAPTER 5.

In the 1970s, a psychiatrist called Elizabeth Kubler Ross wrote the now famous model on the human grieving process. I believe that we go through this process after any kind of bereavement a death — a divorce, an ending to a way of life that you were happy living. Kubler Ross stated that to heal, you need to go on a journey that takes you through, denial, anger, bargaining, depression and finally acceptance.

I definitely went through a stage of anger and depression after the stroke. Nothing made sense to me — nothing seemed fair for a while. It felt like the life I was so happy living, had been taken away from me without my permission. I felt like I had done nothing wrong.

Would I ever be “normal” again? Would I ever feel like myself again? Would I ever be happy because I was? I had been happy. The Stroke had invaded my happy life; bringing his new hideous friend along with it — Anger. I hated the Anger. I hated the Stroke too. I didn’t know who I hated more; or whom I was more afraid of.

I didn’t want to be this angry; I didn’t want to look this “ugly”.

In the beginning, immediately after the Stroke, I would cry out of shock. The tears were uncontrollable, unstoppable tears of fear and embarrassment. It wasn’t “me” that was crying. It wasn’t my soul. It was Brain. Brain felt attacked and confused, not quite sure what had happened.

I knew I was being irrational — My “Soul” knew I was being irrational. I just didn’t have the brain power to control it. It felt like my brain had too much water inside and it would just spill over. The emotional filter was out of order.

Mercifully, Brain had managed to successfully get us both out of the rabbit hole. However, it came at a price. Depression was settling in but I didn’t recognise it.

Now it was my Soul’s turn to cry…

I hated my new way of life. I couldn’t see any good in it. I was out of the mental rabbit hole, with nowhere to go from there. I had no job to go to anymore having been on a 0-hour contract. My days were now empty, and they felt meaningless.

In the beginning, I had been too sick, too fragile to care or realise what was going on but now it felt like I had consciousness again. I was bored of being at home on my own.

Before all this sickness, I had had my own money and my own identity as a Nurse. I became increasingly jealous of my husband going out to work and bringing in the money. It felt like this ‘stupid’ stroke had made me lose my sense of self and purpose.

I had been a Nurse working in a Care Home and a Dementia EMI unit. I had just obtained my Nursing degree and was about to apply for a job in our local hospice that I had been invited to apply for by the Sister. I had been volunteering there and had loved it. I was finally heading towards a Palliative Career that I wanted, and I was excited about my future.

My husband and I were also planning on going through IVF, as we were both keen to start a family. I had a lot to be thankful for pre-stroke, and I felt that I needed to get back to that.

Now, post-stroke it felt like all of my plans had abruptly come to an end. I was now 40, and my baby was moving further and further away from me as time went on.

Who was I now? Where was I to go from here?

I raged at God during this time. I took my newfound anger to him, and I cried a new brand of tears, hot and bitter tears that burnt my face and scorched my soul.

My prayers were consistent, constant questioning, “So why bring me here only for this to happen; have I done something unwittingly, so very wrong that this Stroke of mine is punishment? I’m so angry at you for letting this happen to me. I don’t understand you at all.” .Just as a teenager screams at their parents “I didn’t ask to be born!” I yelled to my Father who lives in Heaven.

I prayed constantly trying to gain some understanding of this mess. A friend said “The Lord works in mysterious ways” — I felt like punching her in the face. Not exactly Christian but as I said, I was angry and emotional.

One night, I watched Les Mis DVD in which Russell Crowe was singing,

“There out in the darkness, a fugitive running, fallen from God, Fallen from Grace”…….

Was this me I wondered? Had I fallen from Grace? Perhaps I’d got it the wrong way round. Was it God who was angry with ME and that’s why I was internally suffering?

It finally all came to a crunch when I agreed to go on a self-guided walking holiday taking in Hadrian’s Wall with a mix of my beloved school and old university friends. Sadly my post-stroke volatile, emotional state, single handily ruined that holiday for everyone involved.

I had pretty much been sedentary for the first 10-months after my stroke. Looking back I can see that going straight onto walking for hours was a bad, ludicrous idea. At the time I foolishly thought to myself that it would be just like old times.

I needed this trip I thought to show them all that I was “fine” — that the pre-stroke Sophie was back. I was still capable of being a good friend again after they had all been so good to me felt very important.

These women are all formidable, successful, intelligent and fearless. Attractive and physically fit, I looked at them thinking that they could take on the problem of world peace, sort it out by the end of the day and still be home on time to make their kids dinner and put them to bed.

I love these women, they are my oldest friends, and I admire and look up to them. We had shared dormitories as girls and then teenage adolescent secrets over the years at an all-girls’ boarding school. I have always been the ‘messy, slightly dysfunctional, disorganised one’ but we all love and respect each other (despite them getting exasperated with me at times and usually not without good reason on my part!)

As soon as we set off on this walking holiday, however, I came to the realisation that I couldn’t keep up physically or mentally. I no longer felt like their friend but the weak link in the chain, it seemed as though I was holding them back. As each day passed I kept crying, I had panic attacks and just felt completely out of my depth. One of my friends refers to my behaviour on this holiday as Sophie’s ‘breakdowns’.

They were openly shocked by new physical, fat appearance. I had gained over two stone without even realising it. I had gone from working 12-hour nursing shifts, (sometimes doing four in a row which required stamina, emotional strength and energy), swimming regularly, running around the country to see friends and relatives to have to learn how to regain my strength and balance, spending days in bed doing “road repair sleeps”, overeating, feeling lonely, while watching too much daytime TV..

After the Stroke, I was barely doing 2,000 steps a day. As I have previously mentioned in chapter one, I didn’t feel like I was in my body, so I walked slowly and cautiously. I had no balance and would fall over easily. I was terrified that I was going to have another Stroke again and I started to have panic attacks, so I was frightened to exercise. This was another reason why I chose to stay indoors away from people and gained weight.

Anyway, as the holiday continued my friends had to take to it in turns to slowly walk the route with me and hold my hand over all of the hills, as I lagged behind the rest of the group. I would walk slowly and dizzily whilst tears rolled down my face, as I explained to my friends that I felt ‘funny’ and “spinny”.

For me at that time in my emotional state, it was all just too much. My friends would talk about politics, travel, life but the pace of the conversation went so quickly. I felt as though I couldn’t keep up! I felt mentally and physically exhausted by being around the high energy that naturally exuded from them.

I had no energy of my own — the stroke had robbed me of that. It had taken weeks for me to save up the little energy that I did have to go on this holiday with them and I had come up short.

I felt like I had failed, failed at the walking, failed at providing positive dinner table conversation. I felt useless, exposed. I was terrified that I didn’t belong anymore.

The holiday showed me what a mess I was in both physically and mentally.

My friends were all boldly charging ahead with their lives and ever-growing families, and it showed me how I had become stagnant, getting fatter and socially isolated in the confines and safety of my comfy rabbit hole. I had been in complete denial about my wellbeing.

I ended up going home from that holiday and crying to my husband that I was useless; not worthy to be their friend or his wife anymore. That was the lowest point.

I think Jamie was secretly relieved to get some “time off” and that my southern friends got to experience firsthand and see for themselves how ill and different I was in personality. I couldn’t hide from them on holiday or myself. I was exposed emotionally, naked for them to see my fragile mental state and with nowhere to escape and hide.

One day after this disastrous holiday and I can’t remember the exact moment; I remember thinking that I had finally had enough of this Stroke crap. My mum had helped me to get back on my feet with a routine, and now it was time for me to take charge of my life and reclaim my mind.

It was time to tackle this stroke head on and take back control. I decided that I was going to turn a corner, to fight this depression head on. I was going to find my way out of the darkness, and I was determined to win and come back triumphant. It was time to go to war with this internal struggle and heal myself.

STROKE YOU ARSE-WIPE, LOW LIFE PIECE OF SHIT, Prepare for BATTLE!!! I’m coming to take my life back!

If you’d like to find out more about my recovery, chapter 6 awaits!