Portrait: Jon
Something didn’t feel right. I felt like my vision had changed. I was aware that I couldn’t see the full windscreen from my position in the driver’s seat. This was odd. I thought it was a migraine so I decided to leave the car, take my son on a short walk to my father’s house, take some paracetamol and have a lie down.
A little about Jon
It was July 19 2012, and I was taking my 3-year-old son to watch his older brother's primary school leavers’ assembly. I drove us to the school but we were a little late, so we had to stand at the back of the hall as all the seats were taken. At the end of the assembly, there was a song to sing and the lyrics were projected onto a screen so we could all join in. I noticed that I found it hard to read the words but thought nothing of it. At the end of the assembly, we waved goodbye to my eldest son and drove back home.
Something didn’t feel right. I felt like my vision had changed. I was aware that I couldn’t see the full windscreen from my position in the driver’s seat. This was odd. I thought it was a migraine so I decided to leave the car, take my son on a short walk to my father’s house, take some paracetamol and have a lie down. On the way to my dad’s, I remember trying to keep calm for the sake of my young son, but I was beginning to panic. My field of vision was noticeably smaller, and it didn’t feel right. I decided to call 999 as I was beginning to worry about being in charge of a 3-year-old with worsening symptoms.
They sent an ambulance to meet me at my dad’s house. I remember getting there first, making my dad aware of the situation, making sure my son was safe and then seeing the ambulance turn up. That’s all I remember about July 19 2012.
Waking up to a new reality
I woke up the next day in intensive care attached to lots of tubes in all sorts of places, with a shaved head and a metal bolt in my skull. I had suffered a spontaneous intracerebral brain haemorrhage.
All my family had been summoned. Apparently, I was lucky to be alive. My vision changed forever, I am registered sight impaired as I have hemianopia, or blindness on my left-hand side. This also means that I am no longer able to drive. However, physically that is all that is wrong with me. Mentally though, there were more struggles. As I mentioned, my inability to drive resulted in a career change.
Adjusting to seeing half the world was tough too. Busy crowds were daunting and new places were scary as I would often get disoriented and live in fear of walking into something, or someone and look stupid! To the naked eye, I look “normal” so I have no excuse for being clumsy or lost.
Looking towards the future
All this is a small price to pay for still being alive and I am grateful for that. But the fear that the same thing could happen again (or worse) never leaves me. Inwardly, I panic at every headache, every odd sensation from the neck up. It’s a battle that counselling helped me with.
A local charity (Headway) supported me, so much so that now almost 12 years later, I am a qualified counsellor myself. I volunteer for another local charity that helps cancer patients and their families. My experiences have helped me show empathy. I also have a much better understanding of people suffering with life-altering symptoms due to a medical condition. Counselling is very rewarding work. My family and friends have been a great help, even if they don’t allow a score handicap when ten pin bowling!
Advice to other survivors
Having a support network is really important, but so is a space where you can let off steam and process the changes and losses you experience following a brain injury without the fear of upsetting someone. But you can do it. You are already strong, but you can come out even stronger.