24/09/2025
From Jules, "It was July 2012. I was 38 years old when everything changed in an instant.
I remember lying on the loungeroom floor, unable to explain to Dad why I was there. I couldn’t move my left arm. I couldn’t get up. All I remember feeling was this sharp, excruciating pain on the right side of my head. Dad kept asking me what I was doing on the floor, but my words were jumbled, and nothing I tried to say made sense.
I’d been staying with my parents because I’d been unwell with a virus and had been vomiting on and off. They called 000, and the operator said I’d likely had a stroke. Mum said, “It can’t be, she’s only young.”
The rest is a bit of a blur. I spent a week at Royal Melbourne Hospital before being transferred to rehab in Brunswick. Just ten days later, I had my second stroke and went straight back to Royal Melbourne.
During those weeks in acute care, my whole world shifted. Suddenly, I needed help with everything; going to the bathroom, getting dressed, cutting my food. I was given a wheelchair and told this was how I’d get around. I remember thinking - how did my life get here?
Looking back, I don’t remember a clear moment of coming to terms with it all. It was more that each day I’d have doctors and nurses come in, asking questions, doing physical assessments, taking daily blood tests, and sending me off for MRI scans.
But in those early days, a few things kept me going. My parents were my advocates when I couldn’t understand or process what was happening. Mum would sit by my bedside, even when I drifted in and out of sleep. Just knowing she was there, explaining things and reassuring me that I’d be okay, was a comfort I’ll never forget.
I was about to mark 12 years of working at UniSuper, and my colleagues generously bought me an iPad so I could stay in touch with the outside world. It might sound like a small thing, but when you’re stuck in an unfamiliar place, it meant everything.
Once rehab began, first at Parkville and later as an outpatient at Clayton, I was surrounded by incredible Allied Health staff who cheered me on for every little improvement. They became friends and a listening ear on the hardest days.
Some things stand out vividly. Like how I couldn’t swallow Panadol and had to drink that vile soluble version every four hours for pain management. My sister, bless her, kept a secret stash of Mint Slice and Tim Tams in my drawer, so I’d have something nice to wash the taste away. And the outings my family took me on when I was finally well enough - those days felt like gold.
Recovery wasn’t linear, and there wasn’t any quick fix. I’d been through a lot even before the strokes. Just a few months earlier, I’d gone through a marriage separation that had taken a huge emotional toll. Strangely enough, that experience had made me emotionally stronger, so when the strokes happened, I knew I could face hard things, even if this time it was my body that needed rebuilding.
I truly believe it was my positive mindset and my determination to take things one day at a time that got me through. I learned to celebrate every win, no matter how small, and to be patient and kind to my body as it healed. Despite it all I always wear a smile on my face.
After three months in acute care, I was discharged, but I couldn’t go home yet. I moved back in with my parents and relied on them for everything, from driving me to appointments to helping me with daily tasks I’d never imagined I’d need help with.
Thirteen years on, I’ve made peace with my new life. I’m happy. I’m active again, I’ve even taken up bike riding. I live independently in my own home, and I work part-time in a job I’m passionate about, with a team that genuinely supports me. Most importantly, I’m surrounded by family and friends who love me exactly as I am and who see far beyond my disability.
If you’re at the start of your own recovery journey, I want you to know there is still a life to be lived after stroke. It might look different from what you planned, but it can still be fulfilling, with some adjustments and a lot of self-compassion.
My advice? Put in the effort, because progress doesn’t happen by doing nothing. Be patient and kind to yourself. Listen to your body - fatigue is real, and sometimes a little nanna nap will do wonders. Reach out to people for support and give everything a go. If you can’t do something on your own, there’s no shame in asking for help.
Above all, remember you have two choices: you can curl up in a corner and give in to defeat, or you can try to make the most of what you have. I chose the latter, and I’m so glad I did."
