Alex Murphy is a pro ice skater, who has appeared on Dancing On Ice in the UK and in the Netherlands. Alex had a stroke nearly 10 years ago whilst performing on a cruise ship aged just 24. Here we sit down and talk recovery, guilt and life after stroke.
The minute I learned to walk, my mother had me running around the house in diapers and ice skates. Skating has been, and always will be, part of my identity. Instead of taking a scholarship for college aged 18I began traveling the world skating. I was working with huge production companies like Disney performing in different countries on a weekly basis.
When I turned 24, I was working on a cruise ship as a professional. I had been onboard for 10 months. I absolutely loved the show and was excited as I only had 4 shows left before I would be home with my family in the US. I had performed HUNDREDS of times by this point, never missing a single performance in 6 years.
It was November 6th 2012 and I had just finished the curtain call, I took my final bow, and skated off the ice. I walked to my seat backstage and attempted to take my skates off
Being that it was an ice rink, I figured my right foot was numb from the coldness and bent down to take my skates off. My right hand wasn’t working and I couldn’t untie my skate. I took off my costume and went to put it on the costume rack, now in my tights and underwear, attempting to hang it up. I couldn’t move my arm high enough to lift it onto the rack. I put it down, went into the bathroom, and at that time stared at myself in the mirror. I didn’t know who I was. I started to bang my right hand on the sink to see if I could feel it. I couldn’t.
It was then that my castmate opened the bathroom door to see what the commotion was, spoke to me, but I could not speak back. I was staring at him blankly, face drooping, right-side fully numb, and could not speak. He caught me as I slowly started to fall and sat me down, calling for the medical emergency team. The entire cast rushed to find me blankets, clothes, and take my skates off. I still wasn’t speaking…
I was wheeled down in a wheelchair by the medical team to the small hospital ward on the ship. The team laid me down and my heart rate went through the roof. My blood pressure was so high, bordering on the risk of having a heart attack, and I was completely hyperventilating. Angelo a choreographer and friend was with me and spoke firmly to me, covered my eyes with his hands, and told me to get control of myself and start breathing deeply. It worked, and at this point my heart rate slowed and I was able to speak a few words. A few minutes later, they sat me up, and the blood clot to my brain continued.
I lost all speech, right side function and felt like I couldn’t breathe. They brought me to another room, gave me a shot of Valium and I passed out for 3 hours.
I woke up unable to talk and unable to move my right side. I couldn’t read or write and had zero forms of communication with anyone. I was only able to cry. The medical team drug tested me, as they weren’t sure what was wrong. How could an elite athlete at 24 be showing symptoms of a stroke? They didn’t believe it was possible.
Lucky for me, the Valium broke up the blood clot in my brain – a complete fluke. I still didn’t remember my mother’s name, how to spell my own, or who all my friends around me were. It wasn’t until another few hours later that I screamed from the room “REST ROOM, WASH YOUR HANDS!” The nurse came in to see me reading the sign on the toilet from my bed. Slowly things started to come back.
I stayed in the hospital ward over night as we cruised towards Tenerife. A fellow cast mate accompanied me to the hospital for an MRI. They all spoke Spanish, and my slurred and broken English was hard to understand for them, so I had zero idea what was going on.
After the MRI the one English speaking doctor came back and said, “Well good news is, we don’t think it is a brain tumor or MS, but we need to do more tests. There is shadowing on the brain.”
They rushed me back to the ship and my cast helped me throw 9 months of things into bags.
After lots of tests and my slow improvement with reading and writing, the company flew me to Miami to undergo more tests. It was then confirmed in Miami that it was a stroke. It was on that morning I received a call to tell me that I was going to be on the Dutch version of “Dancing On Ice”. They did the final test, a transoesophageal echo, and found a hole in my heart. A few days later, with a PFO confirming the cause of the stroke, I had heart surgery to put a device in my heart to close the hole.
Less than 3 weeks post-op, I went off to compete in the Dutch “Dancing On Ice”. I was tired and physically not in the shape I had been a month ago. It was almost exactly three months to the day of my stroke that we won the entire competition!!
The 6 months after my stroke were a total whirlwind. Between the surgery and winning the show, my life had completely turned upside down. It wasn’t until my life slowed down that I realised how drained I was. I had constant “brain fog” and was always tired. My skating wasn’t what it had been pre-stroke. My reading and writing ability wasn’t what it used to be. I was highly emotional, and my moods were all over the place. I was in complete denial of what had happened to me.
I realise now, 5 years later, that those emotions were all a form of PTSD from having such a horrific trauma. I was in denial of what had happened to my body and I was almost angry with myself. I was completely embarrassed and didn’t want to talk to anyone about it.
I hated the way people looked at me when they found out. I hated the pity they had for me because I was so young. I hated the way my smile was now crooked. So, I pretended like it didn’t happen. I referred to it as “that time I was sick”. This went on for a few years before I realised it wasn’t healthy. I started to reach out to other stroke survivors. Just hearing other people talk about their strokes made mine seem real and normal. I was so afraid of not being normal.
My job was in jeopardy anytime management asked for medical history to be able to perform. It still is to this day. When people ask for it, I still get anxious. I am otherwise healthy now, but it still is a badge I must wear.
I’ve become so good at my “elevator pitch” I can now talk about my stroke without getting flustered. But it took years to finally wear that badge as a ‘Badge of Honour’.
Since doing Dancing On Ice this year, I’ve received an unbelievable response to my story. Not only has it made me so grateful and realise how lucky I am to still be able to do what I love, but it has also touched me so personally knowing that I might inspire other stroke survivors to not give up. The more stories I hear, the more I realise how important it is to share my own, not only for the people out there suffering, but for my own self-therapy too.
I can’t emphasis enough how important the support of a community is. I have been so blessed with family and friends around me, but not everyone is part of this special club or understands what it is like to be us, so having those “stroke friends” is so important.
I hope by sharing my story, and letting people know that there is life after stroke— maybe even a BETTER life than you had imagined— that they will be inspired to keep pushing through their own rehab, be it physical or emotional; because at the end of the day, you can either choose to be a victim or a survivor. I choose the latter. And day by day, lucky for me, I’ve grown to love my crooked smile.”
There are 100,000 strokes in the UK each year with 1 in 4 happening to somebody of working age or younger. Different Strokes aims to promote independent stroke recovery and help these younger stroke survivors reclaim their lives.
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Join us on 2nd July in this FREE webinar and Q&A, led by Laura Barlow of Bolt Burdon Kemp.
We are delighted to announce that Richard Djan-Krofa has been awarded the 2025 Different Strokes Outstanding Contribution Award. This annual honour recognises a volunteer who has gone above and beyond in their service to the charity and wider stroke community. With more than 15 years of committed service, Richard is a truly deserving recipient.
We are proud to announce our Fundraising Heroes of 2025: the extraordinary Tom Collins Fundraising Team. This recognition honours not just their dedication to raising vital funds and awareness, but also the love, friendship and strength that has inspired a legacy of hope in the face of heartbreaking loss.
This is a story of friendship, family, grief and legacy.
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