Debut Book Release

‘Stroke? But you’re so young!’

I often heard that at the beginning of my recovery. Even thought it myself at first—What the ...? But I’m only thirty-eight! In my brain’s infinite wisdom, it decided to have its stroke while I was travelling through Vietnam with my three young daughters and their mother, leaving me paralysed from the neck down. Talk about pulling the rug out from beneath you, bursting your holiday bubble, squashing that travel bug—you get the picture.

There we were on an adventure of a lifetime, six months in planning and several weeks of learning to say ‘thank you’ in Vietnamese—‘cảm ơn’. Organising a holiday takes longer than the holiday itself, but we often don’t remember that bit. Our mind wipes it from our thoughts, deletes it from our files. In this case, it was our family holiday that was almost entirely erased from our memories.

A near-death experience is likely to overshadow tales about cruising across the muddy waters of the Mekong River, after all, or walking through fields that once staged a horrendous war. One moment I was listening to the tour guide talk about how the Viet Cong ambushed the American soldiers and the next, shortly after, I was lying in an Intensive Care Unit beneath fluorescent lights, listening to doctors speak about stroke.

Stroke is such an unglamorous name, but then I guess there’s nothing glamorous about it; it just takes possession of you. I was a complete stroke novice before it happened to me. Suddenly, I was thrust into a world of needle jabs, oxygen masks and medical terms I couldn’t spell.

One of the things I immediately learnt, through firsthand experience, was that stroke doesn’t only happen to old people. In fact, it’s reported that even babies in utero have suffered from this awful disease.

My only prior understanding of stroke was that it’s caused by a blood clot that travels to the brain. This, I knew, as my mother had once had a minor stroke.

After the initial shock of almost dying in a foreign country, I made some decisions. Firstly, I wanted to understand what the hell happened and learn about this illness, what caused it, how it affects your body and, most importantly, how to fix it.

My palms tingled, and my eardrums rumbled. Odd, but I didn’t give it too much thought. Little did I know it was an early warning—a preview to the main feature where I played the leading role and my family, supporting roles.

I grabbed our bags and stepped off the hot, sweaty bus into the face of a typical humid Vietnamese midmorning. After purchasing our tickets, I proceeded to enter the grounds with my family. ‘Here we are, about to enter underground tunnels built during the war …’ I reported while filming, unknowingly capturing the last few steps I would ever take as an able man. The line in the sand was about to be crossed.

The gate attendee ripped our tickets in half and directed us towards a shelter to watch footage of the Vietnam War, or, as the Vietnamese like to call it, the American War. We entered the open structure and sidestepped through rows of seated people to find some empty seats four pews back from the large suspended video screen.

‘Hi! Has everyone commented on how crazy you are for travelling in Vietnam with such a young family?’ a young Aussie mum seated behind us asked, crouched forward. ‘Hi. Yes, you’re right, they have. Where’re you from?’ ‘We’re from Brisbane. How about you guys? ‘Melbourne. What do you think of Vietnam?’

Like a transmitter radio losing reception, the conversation coming through in waves.

‘I need to get some air,’ I interrupted, stood, excused myself and headed for the exit.

The source of my physical abduction had begun its invasion.

I stepped out from beneath the shelter onto the patchy grass. I bent forward, placed my hands on my knees, the ground shifting and swaying as though I were on a small boat in a turbulent sea.

Full of her usual joy, my five-year-old daughter appeared in front of me.

‘Molly, I don’t feel well.’

‘Yeah, yesterday my ears hurt,’ she replied in her squeaky young voice, so innocent, so cute. I’ll never forget that reply.

Excerpt one:

Wrapping my head around my own acceptance of myself was only at the beginning of this triathlon, the gunshot sound of the starter’s pistol still ringing in my ears. The flipside to self-acceptance is else-acceptance—acceptance by others—and maybe the flame had been turned off, but the heat needed time to cool, simmer down into forgotten lukewarm bath water. But right now, it was still too hot for me to even dip my toe in.

Excerpt two:

Never in my entire life had I ever experienced dizziness quite like that. Even as she held me still, keeping me afloat, the aftereffect of the nerve-racking transition into the pool and the overwhelming intensity of the heated water sent me punch-drunk into a tumbling distant stupor. After a minute or two of deep breathing, the surroundings began to form into recognisable shapes—understandable reality—and as I arose from the rotating state of consciousness, like a reassuring voice waking you from a deep sleep, the Goddess’s repeated words connected. ‘Good, just breathe. Good, just breathe. Good, just breathe,’ she repeated, the message getting through.

Excerpt three:

Maybe so, but time, that precious thing we all have so little of, was the hidden treasure concealed behind the challenge of my adversity, and if used correctly, it could be my silver lining. Willy Wonka’s golden ticket.

Snippet one:

But slowly, as the light grew brighter and hope drew closer, I began to set my sight on the grand prize: walking.

Snippet two:

A newfound energy began to arise. ‘One day, I’m gonna ...’ turned into ‘Now I will! I must! I have to!’

Snippet three:

The whole recovery journey of working towards personal growth came unconsciously coupled with me finally feeling, for the first time in my entire life, like a whole person—complete.