Sam’s Story – Coming to terms with life after a childhood ischaemic stroke aged just 4, 20 years on
- Greg Hollingworth
Looking back to the time of my Stroke
On 23rd January, 2006, I survived a major ischaemic stroke of the middle cerebral artery. At the time, like any 4-year-old live wire would, I believed this to be my ‘Spider-Man moment’, comparable to a bite from a radioactive arachnid. And yet, rather than gifting me with superhuman abilities, life just got that bit more challenging. 23rd January, 2006, is a date that has since rooted itself firmly in my mind, prompting reflection with every passing year. Now, 20 years on, its impact still lingers. However, the one thing that has also stood the test of time – is an unwavering refusal to let my stroke define me. That said, my understanding of what it means to let your past define you has shifted over the last two decades.
Growing Up Having Survived a Stroke
For a long while, I saw my stroke as something to either beat or be beaten by, and in keeping to my goal, I was adamant not to let it win. I thought by conceding that my stroke had left behind a trail of limitations in its aftermath, unresolvable through grit and determination, I had given up the fight. Committing to this way of thinking meant my stroke gained tangible power as the villain of my story, as a lifelong antagonist I could not shake. There were times I imagined my finger teasing the trigger of a pistol in some spaghetti western stand-off, and it was my adversary. Every shot fired was an attempt to disentangle myself from the symptoms it caused and pry open the physical and mental grip it had on me. But still, it always found a way to return for the sequel.
In truth, it was easy to cast my stroke as something that existed outside of myself. Keeping it at arm’s length meant my stroke could not seep into how I viewed myself and become a defining facet of my character. At the same time, by treating it as a malevolent figure that lurked in the shadows and smirked at my shortcomings, I gave it the agency to torment me. I became consumed by the thought of ‘it’ always having a presence in my life. Every limp, every one-handed fumble, every time fatigue got the better of me could be traced back to the day I had my stroke. The frustration was excruciating. But with time, I began to realise that the obsession I had with not letting my stroke win, was the very reason I allowed it to define me. In creating a monster, I welcomed it to haunt me.
Learning to Live Being a Childhood Stroke Survivor
My stroke is not the villain I first believed it to be, but simply an extension of myself. The malevolent figure I tried so hard to overcome was nothing but a construct of my imagination, and I refuse to spend the rest of my life chasing shadows. I have come to see that my stroke has not reduced, but enriched, who I am. To dismiss how it has shaped me and strengthened my resolve would be a disservice to myself. Besides, I would hardly be able to humbly show off my one-handed shoelace tying skills without prefacing spectators with a backstory.
I would like to say that this shift in mindset was seamless and hinged on a single enlightening experience that changed everything, but this would be a barefaced lie. Over the course of two decades, I have experienced every emotion you could possibly think of under the circumstances, on rotation to the point where each became tedious. Anger, resentment, guilt – and everything in between – have all taken turns to cloud my perspective.
But eventually, I grew out of the cycle, not through some powerful revelation, but through the sheer monotony of harbouring the same rotten feelings, time and time again. Although a tough habit to break, pulling myself away from this monotony is how my stroke finally became less definitive of who I am.
Now the day I had my stroke lies well and truly in the distant past, a speck beneath the horizon behind me, I look back at that time in a more positive light than before.
Shifting My Perspective Helped
While the relationship I have with my stroke remains a complicated one, I feel a sense of gratitude whenever it drifts to the forefront of my mind. Each time, I am reminded that having had such a life-altering experience at a young age has set a precedent for me to tackle any challenge life throws at me. It has given me a kind of strength I don’t think I could have mustered any other way. There was once a time when the idea of being grateful for my stroke, and the lasting impression it had on me, seemed unthinkable. But the passing of time has shifted my perspective – reframing my stroke not as a burden, but a catalyst for growth.
As I have (somewhat) matured over the last 20 years, so too has my understanding of what it means to live with a chronic disability. I still refuse to let my stroke define me, but exactly what that refusal entails has changed in my mind. I have come to learn that acknowledging how a past experience has inevitably shaped you is not the same as being defined by it. Instead, to me, being defined by a past experience means wilfully allowing the negative emotions it caused to fester until they consume you whole. I no longer see strength in denial, nor resilience in resisting looking back. I now see that strength lies in acceptance: taking ownership of past experiences as integral components of who you are. It took a full two decades for me to reach this conclusion – but now I have, the feeling is liberating.
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