The morning of 11 December 2024 started much like any other. I had woken up on the sofa in the living room of our tiny two-bedroom flat at 7.30am, having slept there because I had been suffering with an aura migraine for the past two days. Today was day three. I realised I would need to order my middle daughter a school dinner for that day as my headache had left me unable to do my usual weekly shop.
I took my phone with me to the bathroom, sat down, and opened the school app. Without any warning, a sudden ripple made its way up my spine and shuddered through my skull. A moment may have passed – I can’t be sure – but the next thing I remember is seeing my phone on the floor by my feet. I hadn’t realised I had dropped my phone. I reached down with my left hand and attempted to pick it up with my left hand. But instead, it hung limply by my side refusing to respond to the signals my brain was giving it. I knew at that point that something was very, very wrong.
My story starts back in 2021, when I was diagnosed with gestational hypertension during my pregnancy with my third child, Oscar. I was a little older for this pregnancy and a little heavier, but I didn’t anticipate it being any harder than my previous two. I battled to keep my blood pressure within normal levels for the duration of my pregnancy and delivered Oscar on the 4 January 2022 by elective caesarean section.
Read more:
- Inside the UK’s first NHS boxing gym: ‘You can pick yourself up no matter what’
- This is how to get fit without time, money or space
- ‘You do not need eight hours’: Sleep expert The Sleep Geek shares top tips for getting better kip
I continued taking my blood pressure medication as prescribed for approximately a month before I began questioning its benefits and ultimately decided I would lower my blood pressure by losing weight. But in the few years leading up to my stroke I was floored by trauma after trauma. My partner lost his job. I lost a friend to suicide. My dad was diagnosed with cancer and my mum’s Parkinson’s disease continued to progress.
We were living in a tiny two-bedroom council flat which was riddled with severe damp and mould – despite our pleas to the council to be moved. I became helplessly depressed. I found myself drinking more and more to cope. I hardly slept. I never wore make-up and didn’t cut my hair for three years. I was drowning, in every sense of the word.











