My story is rather straightforward – I had a bleed on the brain, which I term a brain attack.  I think the term ‘stroke’ is not technically the right word.  You stroke a pet, or a good shot in tennis or cricket is known as a stroke – quite unlike a brain injury in my experience and my opinion!

27th of December 2012 was my brain attack day.  I was at my sister’s house in east Berkshire and we were off to meet with some long-time friends in Hertfordshire that we had not seen for a long time.  The ‘we’ being my girlfriend and I and our, at the time, new-born son Raphael.

Then it suddenly hit me with a blinding headache.  I have a pretty stout pain threshold, from many years of martial arts and boxing, so I knew this was serious.  I asked my sister if she had some paracetamol.  She handed some to me and I couldn’t get my left hand to close on the tablets.  I felt hot and cold at the same time.  My nephew Reuben, who was 4 at the time, said ”Uncle Glen, you don’t look well at all, I think you are having a stroke”.  At the time there was big television campaign about how to spot a stroke.

A few logistical questions entered my mind and as I knew the area very well.  I figured that we would get to the hospital immediately, so my girlfriend Penny drove us to Wexham park hospital.  I was able to direct her, and we double parked and I staggered in – my girlfriend was in panic mode and our baby was crying.  They placed me on a gurney, as by this stage I could hardly stand up.  They then wheeled me into the emergency room and attached various drips and monitors to assess me.

I fell asleep and when I woke up, my headache had partially lifted.  It was early evening and I was in a hospital ward.  I sat up and looked around the brain injury ward I was the only person there what was the younger side of 70, to all appearances!  The doctor came and spoke to me and she said that I’d experienced a bleed, a haemorrhage of my brain!  I was in a state of shock!  She said that the prognosis was not as bad as I thought it could be.  I should be able to walk again in time….

Then the medical team left me to rest for a while.  I needed the toilet, and just getting out of bed was a struggle and I crashed along the corridor, dragging along my drip stand until I found a toilet, not even aware if it was the gents or the ladies.  I didn’t care, I just needed to go!  On my way back a night nurse spotted me along the corridors, and she helped back to my bed and ward.  From her accent she was from eastern Europe, or maybe a former Soviet bloc country.  If she reads this, I want her to know her help was most welcome.  I slept deeply for many hours.  When I woke my girlfriend and my baby son popped in to visit me and then later my mum and sister came to visit.  They brought books, a laptop, some magazines.

I had another doctor come to assess me and to ‘rollock’ me for not buzzing the emergency button to assist me in getting to the toilet.  He said (and these words never left me, so I will quote verbatim) “You are very fortunate that you got yourself here quickly.  That could be the difference between walking again or being reliant on sticks or a wheelchair!”

I had only been living in the New Forest area for two years and I had joined with a local running club and ran two or three times per week, took part in local races and as such it was a big part of my life.  Being told my mobility was at risk instilled a determination and intensity that was scary to behold.  I demanded to be taken to the in-house gym to start training my body and my mind.  I took it as my personal mission to prove them all very wrong about what I could achieve.

I was kept in the hospital for ten days and then the medical team said I could return home.  So Penny came to collect me and we headed for home, via my mum’s, with a rucksack full of medical supplies as well as car boot full of my clothes.  I had a couple of friends in the area who came to visit me when I was in hospital, and they met me at my mum’s before I could return home.  I was exhausted trying to explain what had happened and how I felt.  Just being home with my little family was a comfort in a way that cannot be explained in mere words.

The next few weeks passed into a daze of taking tablets daily, while feeling very cold indeed.  I did venture out into town.  I had lost loads of weight, but I could just about operate the pushchair with Raphael in it.  Our first walk was to a coffee shop to get some green tea.  That wore me out and I came home and napped for the afternoon.  The next day I ventured with Raphael all the way to the beach.  Now that I am at full strength it is a 15-minute walk of just about a mile!  I had to phone Penny to come and collect us from a cafe that we had stopped off to rest and I couldn’t manage the journey home, but nowadays I run between 25-40 miles each week!

I started back after eighteen months doing parkrun and eventually after two years I re-joined the running club.  They had kept my membership valid and insisted that I wouldn’t pay until I was working again and training regularly.  In my non-running times I found many internet groups for survivors of a stroke, or brain haemorrhage or injury.  Different Strokes appealed to me as it is not exclusively geared towards pensioners and is all embracing for those who want to be increasingly mobile or to return to work.  I hope to chat again soon about my ill-fated returns to the workplace….