Renowned English Stage Designer Joe Vanek on life almost five years after a stroke.

Following my stroke in 2019, there were days during my three-month hospitalisation, when I despaired whether I would ever walk again?  Viewing my body in a full-length mirror, and the distressing sight of it canted alarmingly to the left, only reinforced this ever-present anxiety. Yet here I am, almost five years later, taking daily strolls round my neighbourhood – without even a walking stick – and endeavouring to live my ‘new normal’ life to the best of my altered – if limited – capabilities. How I have coped – and in some cases not coped – has been the subject matter of seven of my previous Irish Heart Foundation articles.

A few days ago, during one of my walks, as I rounded a familiar corner, my attention was drawn to an elderly lady on the other side of the road. Looking sad and vulnerable, she was clutching a wheeled walking frame whilst looking at a crumpled black object on the edge of the pavement.

“Are you alright?” I shouted………..(probably too loudly)

Turning to me with a startled expression, she gave a weak nervous smile, but saying nothing, returned her gaze to the mysterious object that lay between us. Several seconds passed before she turned to look at me again, and in a quiet voice, gave her forlorn answer……….

“I can’t pick it up”

Without a second thought, I shot across the road, bent down – almost double – and picking up the black woollen glove, dusted it off and handed it to her.

Inevitably, my head was now reeling – a wakeup call from brain to body, berating my speedy reaction, and the sudden and extreme physical contortion that followed; will I never learn? Anticipating an appreciative thank you – despite an effusive smile – the lady appeared lost for words, and in the silence, I felt the urge to share with her, my stroke history, and bleak encounters with walking frames.

“Well I certainly couldn’t have done this five years ago.”

She looked at me blankly, yet still remained silent; I ploughed on regardless.

“I had a stroke………… I couldn’t walk……..I was in hospital for several months.”

“Oh God love you!………..and, how are you now?”

This sudden animated response certainly stopped me in my tracks. Yes – I thought – how am I now?  To be honest, this question gets asked less and less these days. Most people who cross my path, tell me how well I look (noticing the significant weight gain) and assume I am on a trajectory of incremental recovery. However, the stark truth is that I rarely feel this to be the case; I sense I have plateaued. Despite exuding an aura of positivity – after all, I am still here – some days feel as if I am marking time in a grey nebulous world; enduring this perception, is both unwelcome and enervating.

But, back to the lady: she had asked a question, deserved an answer, and didn’t need an on-the-spot analysis of a stranger’s physiological state. As my head was still reeling, all I could manage by way of an answer was a garbled reiteration of my opening comment, with the exultant addition of “But look at me NOW!” Listening attentively and nodding sagely, I waited for her response, but then, much to my surprise, saying nothing more, she turned back to the walker, and trundled away until eventually lost from view.

Setting my sights for home – a little nonplussed by this briefest of encounters – I started to recall early faltering days in the rehab gym at Saint James’s Hospital. I had not consciously thought about my lengthy recuperation there for almost five years; was it now time to test the reliability of my memory? The answer was undoubtedly yes, because once I set my mind to the task – to my amazement – those endlessly bleak weeks in the Misa wing, flooded back in vibrant detail, as if illuminated by a bolt of lightning!

Considering a stroke can have a devastating impact on memory, I count myself fortunate in being spared this additional trauma. In some cases, a stroke has the ability to eradicate a past life entirely (retrograde amnesia) – or more alarmingly – the recent present (anterograde amnesia). In layman’s terms, the stroke patient experiences either the loss of their long term or short-term memory. Whilst avoiding this cognitive impairment, the fear that memory loss could still occur – due to a further stroke or simply the passing years (I am currently 76) – fills me with a quiet dread. However – to my relief – I can still vividly recall an enthralling novel I read more than a decade ago. Written by the esteemed American author Joyce Carol Oates, The Man Without a Shadow, depicts the clinical study of Elihu Hoopes. Elihu suffers from a rare neurological condition, whereby his inability to retain thoughts, facts or emotions for longer than seventy seconds, results in his existing in a perpetual present; intriguing yet alarming in equal measure, the novel is not for the feint – hearted.

Although the author benevolently allows Elihu a seventy seconds grace period before all recent knowledge evaporates, in the real world, the worst case scenario for short term memory loss, post stroke, can often be for as little as thirty seconds!

Returning to my kerbside gymnastics, during the early days in the rehab gym, regaining the lost art of balance seemed an impossible ask. Yet, as the weeks of exercises – between parallel bars – stacked up, and my balance cautiously returned, it soon became evident that the stroke had failed to eliminate my survival instinct. That I retained this innate attribute, was an unforeseen blessing, especially as it was coupled with my undiminished willpower; thus mentally supported, I tackled an exhausting exercise regime. Aimed at a variety of goals, the most pressing – as I recall – was maintaining balance whilst picking up a variety of objects placed on the floor.

Working within the safety of the parallel bars, once rudimentary balance and walking abilities were re-established, Andy – our tireless and enthusiastic instructor – then proceeded to ‘wrong-foot’ us – literally – by laying thin slats of wood on the floor; the challenge now being to walk, step over them, and still maintain stability.  Then, with the floor cleared, he added a further challenge, by asking us to bend or crouch down, and pick up a selection of everyday objects – and no using the bars for support! These objects ranged from large balls and boxes, diminishing gradually to tennis balls, milk cartons, cigarette packets and –  what seemed to us like the final straw – a credit card!

That I managed to achieve this precarious balancing act of retrieval, with a constantly woozy, ‘lost in space’ sensation in my head, felt like a minor miracle; that I still can – five years later – testifies to my euphoria following the spontaneous act of picking up the distraught lady’s glove.

During our labours, Andy repeatedly warned that GRAVITY WAS NOW KING, and proving true to his word, once home – to my dismay – many breakable domestic items, together with cutlery and clothing, required constant rescuing from wherever they happened to land. Dropped by my left hand – which now had a mind of its own – this exasperating habit was due to the persistent curse of ataxia; compromising muscle control and coordination in the body, it significantly disrupted my fine motor skills. Though stressful to cope with on a daily basis, this was certainly preferable to the misery of attempting to live one’s life, with an absent memory.

On the day of my stroke, the sensation I will never forget, was of being struck on the right side of the head, as if by a thunderbolt. Released no doubt by careless gods on Mount Olympus – as I liked to imagine – how this impact failed to destroy my memory is yet another miracle, (this time a major one), for which I am eternally grateful. After all, my brain’s resilience – illuminated by that bolt of lightning – allowed me to write this article.