Portrait: Megan
People around me noticed changes in my behavior and questioned if I was okay. Despite multiple visits to the doctor and medications, it was numbness in my face and tongue that finally led me to visit A&E.
Thanks to my mom’s unwavering persistence, I was given a CT scan which revealed shadowing on my brain. An MRI then confirmed a 3.2 cm giant aneurysm near my brain stem, posing a significant rupture risk.
A little bit about Megan
My name is Megan Robson, and I am a 27-year-old survivor of a giant brain aneurysm that dramatically changed my life in September 2023.
What made me seek help
Looking back, I can now see how ill I was and recognize the warning signs that were present but, at the time, I was none the wiser. In the early stages before my diagnosis the most bothersome symptom I experienced was headaches. The dull achy headaches we often associate with stress. As a sports therapist and a lecturer in higher education I had come to accept these stress headaches as a part of my life. They began as mild and infrequent but gradually escalated to unbearable “thunderclap” headaches, rendering me incapable of functioning normally. As time went on, I started to feel a persistent sense of fuzziness inside my head, but I attributed it to being “under the weather” and continued with my daily activities. People around me noticed changes in my behavior and questioned if I was okay. Despite multiple visits to the doctor and medications, it was numbness in my face and tongue that finally led me to visit A&E.
The journey to getting the help I needed at A&E was long and arduous. Despite my alarming symptoms, I was initially told my headaches were stress-related and was nearly sent home without a scan.
However, thanks to my mom’s unwavering persistence, I was given a CT scan which revealed shadowing on my brain. An MRI then confirmed a 3.2 cm giant aneurysm near my brain stem, posing a significant rupture risk.
From that point, my condition deteriorated rapidly and I felt like a shadow of my former self.
I was urgently transferred to the nearest specialist hospital for surgery. I spent two weeks in the hospital, during which I underwent surgery to stent and coil the aneurysm. While the aneurysm couldn’t be removed, the treatment ensures it won’t grow any larger and will gradually shrink over time.
My new “normal” - the recovery process and my supporters
Following surgery, I had to relearn how to walk and talk, while managing a range of initial symptoms such as double vision, one-sided weakness, swallowing difficulties, and loss of fine and gross motor skills. In the early stages, I was unable to care for myself. If it hadn’t been for my incredible partner and family, I wouldn’t have been able to return home.
At 26, you don’t expect to rely on a zimmer frame or need help with basic tasks like washing, dressing and eating. Yet, a year ago, this was my reality.
My recovery demanded immense strength and resilience. It wasn’t easy, but my support network made all the difference. My partner was my rock through everything, and my mum, the strongest woman I know, was indispensable. The rest of my family and close friends were also instrumental in my recovery. There are too many people to mention individually, but they all know who they are, and I love them dearly.
But it wasn’t just my family and friends who supported me on this journey; many healthcare professionals played a crucial role as well. My neurosurgeon and his team saved my life, and for that, I am eternally grateful. I was fortunate to receive neuro physiotherapy, which provided me with the tools needed to rehabilitate my physical fitness. Alongside physiotherapy, I had regular occupational therapy appointments that helped me understand my injury and work on my neurological rehabilitation, all the way through to my return to work.
Many fantastic healthcare professionals assisted me along my recovery journey, and with my own knowledge of rehabilitation from my profession, I believe I was able to significantly push my recovery forward.
Recovery challenges and returning to work
The hardest part of this journey has been accepting that my life is no longer what it once was, and that I can’t operate at the same pace as before.
Before my brain injury, I worked long weeks, and my work was my identity. Now, I’ve realized the importance of putting myself first. If only it hadn’t taken a life-threatening injury to make me see that.
Being told that I might never be able to do the job I loved again was daunting and incredibly scary. I spent three years training to be a sports therapist, and the thought of losing that was heart-wrenching. However, I was lucky and incredibly determined to recover from my injury. Physically, I have achieved that; my dream of running onto a pitch to treat is now a reality. My cognitive recovery is taking a bit longer, but that’s okay. My brain is still healing, and I need to give it the time it needs. At a year post-surgery, the most bothersome symptoms I experience are fatigue, headaches and difficulties with concentration and cognition.
A message of encouragement
My advice to anyone facing similar challenges is to trust your instincts. You know your body best, so don’t ignore symptoms that could indicate something more serious.
In my case, a scan saved my life. Don’t wait until it’s too late — advocate for that scan.
Surround yourself with supportive people. You don’t have to go through this alone; everyone wants to help, but they might not know how. It’s hard for others to understand what you’re experiencing because a brain injury is unlike any other injury. Be patient and help them understand.
A spirit of determination
My experience has only fueled my determination to help brain injury survivors in the future. So far, I’ve raised over £3,000 for the hospital that saved my life and by cutting off my hair, which I also donated to the Little Princess Trust. And I don’t plan to stop there.
I refuse to let my brain injury limit me.
Before my injury, I had started a PhD and I am determined to finish it one day. It might take me longer than expected, but that’s all part of the journey. I need to adapt to my new “normal.”