Getting down to business

In last week's post, I mentioned that I'd started a daily run around Tamworth Castle Grounds in preparation for my sponsored 5km run next month in aid of stroke-survivor charity Different Strokes.

As is often the way with such things, of course, no sooner were the words out in the blogosphere than there was a glitch. While out running on Friday afternoon, in good weather and ideal ground conditions, I started to feel my left hamstring tighten. It began to get very much worse very quickly, so I stopped running, started to try to stretch it to ease the pain and gave up running for the weekend. With my now-weekly trip to Emily Smedley (breathebalancebeactivated.com) due on Monday, it seemed sensible to let her deal with it.

As soon as I reported it to Emily on Monday morning, she diagnosed the problem. I've been running barefoot during our sessions but wearing big, thick, training shoes to run around the Castle Grounds. The foot reacts differently when wearing such shoes so I really need to keep running barefoot, or in shoes with a very thin sole, she said.

Given that training shoes were the only thing I was planning to wear during my naked run, she has recommended such 'minimalist' shoes for the event itself. These can be expensive, but they will surely prove to be worth it.

And Monday morning's session was typically intense, but typically worthwhile. She resolved my hamstring problem with her usual agonising pushes, pulls and prods as I lay on her treatment couch ("Go on, you can scream and frighten the new kids'' she said as Derby College's induction day went on outside the physiotherapy room) before I began running up and down stairs, then moved out on to one of the football pitches. I surprised myself by managing a couple of laps before she upped the ante and had me testing my hamstring by dodging in and out of a series of cones.

Tired but quietly elated at having achieved that, I thought we were done. But no; we now began doing squats, which have previously proved tricky because my stroke-affected left side wouldn't come down far enough to reach the floor. As you can see from the accompanying photograph, this milestone has now been achieved. As I've kept saying throughout this process, there is no such word as 'can't' in stroke rehab. When the photo on the left was taken, back in June, what I achieved on Monday seemed a long way away. But now I've done it. I'm not saying that running 5km just 21 months after nearly being killed by a stroke will be easy - it won't. But thanks to the support of Emily and all the other people who have helped me on this journey (you know who you are), I feel it's within reach.

If you would like to give a donation, my fundraising page is at http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/MartinWarrillow

Up for a challenge? Oh, go on then......

I often talk in this blog about stroke-rehab being full of small steps. Well, this week I feel as if I've taken two huge leaps into the unknown.

Firstly, I've really stepped up training for my charity 5km run next month (details of the event and how to donate are at uk.virginmoneygiving.com/MartinWarrillow). Up until the weekend, I was mainly intending to wing it and think that a combination of running, walking and staggering would get me to the finishing line. But now I've paid my registration fee to the organisers, my attitude has changed.

An intense 90 minutes with therapist Emily Smedley on Monday morning, during which I did more serious running than ever before, and ran faster than ever before, has helped to change my attitude. Now I've started running daily around the Tamworth Castle Grounds, just over the road from Warrillow Towers and am really enjoying it. All that agony on Emily's treatment couch over the last few months seems to be paying off and I'm now looking forward to my daily run, something which I don't think I've ever said in my entire 51 years.

I'm doing all the relevant exercises and thinking that by the end of September, I should be well up to running the distance if I do it properly. After all, 5km isn't that far, is it?

My second huge leap has been into another piece of 21st-century technology which I had previously avoided. Have you heard of Periscope? It's a Twitter app for iPhones that 'lets you broadcast live video to the world."

I found out about it a few weeks ago through a tech-savvy friend and have been following a small number of people since then, while trying to work out how to use it to broadcast myself. On Sunday evening, I got involved in a Facebook discussion during which various people were challenged by a mutual friend to 'take the plunge' and do our first broadcast. Ever up for a challenge, I said I'd do it and yesterdayTuesday, posted an 18-minute video about my stroke experience. It's not perfect, I suppose it was never going to be, but I've had some positive feedback and I will be posting one a week at least from now on.

The major first-time glitch was that I didn't know how to title the video (I do now - thanks, Chris Marr) but if you get into Periscope and search for me as @warrior martin, you should find it. I hope you find it interesting. Right, now I'm off for a run......

A 21st-century peek into ways of helping charities

"When you don't know what you don't know, you don't value it"

Well, obviously, there are plenty of things I didn't know on December 15 2013 that I know now and yes, I value them all (even the fact that my stroke has apparently taken away my ability to distinguish between 'now' and 'know,' lol).

I didn't know (now?), for instance, that 'content creation' is what I'd call journalism and that 'content marketing' is the 21st-century term for what I've been doing all my life, namely writing words and trying to make a living from it.

It was through mutual friends in the networking world that I stumbled on a Facebook group for writers, bloggers, content-marketers and the like called the Content Marketing Academy. The people involved in it seem to be mainly Scottish, so it has widened my contact base enormously.

Through it, I was introduced to a lady called Caroline McKenna. I think we initially met by contributing separately to a discussion on CMA, but I mentioned this blog and she mentioned that she runs a website called charitypeeks.com. That website tries to help smaller charities improve what they do and how they run themselves.

I explained about my charity run to raise money for Different Strokes (shameless plug - feel free to donate at http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com.MartinWarrillow) and the conversation continued to the point where she invited me to be interviewed for a podcast.

That interview took place this morning and I talked about my stroke experience, how I get involved in helping charities (not just DS, also Headway and the Stroke Association) and how I work to promote understanding of stroke. When it goes on the website, I'll give it a proper plug on here.

I left you last week as I was just about to dip a toe back into the frantic world of editorial newsrooms. Since that post, I've done three more half-shifts. I'm thoroughly enjoying it, the people are lovely, the money is going to come in very handy, but it's reminding me that I am nowhere near ready to get back into that mad atmosphere full-time. And given that staff headcounts have fallen massively since I left, I do know that I wouldn't want to now anyway.

Going back to an office after six years

This was the week when the light at the end of our financial tunnel may have begun to look less like an onrushing train.

That it came about was another tribute to the power of networking - of knowing as many people as you can, of keeping in touch with as many people as possible and acting quickly when the window of opportunity opens.

Last Thursday, I received an unexpected email from a former colleague. Although we haven't met in person for a while, we have stayed in contact and he knows of my medical situation

He was writing to say that he had been doing some freelance sub-editing work for a newspaper in our area, but was unavailable to them during August. They needed help, so he had recommended me; he didn't need to do that, did he?

He gave me the contact details of the man to speak to and I immediately fired off a CV and covering letter, expressing my interest and explaining my circumstances. Within two hours, they had replied. Could I come in for a chat and a 'trial' this Monday?

So, I was up early on Monday morning to catch a train and work in an office for the first time since December 2009. I was wary because of my stroke-made ability to get tired very quickly. The last thing I wanted to do was fall asleep across my desk.

But the four-hour 'trial' we had agreed went smoothly from my view (they didn't throw any of my work back in my face, lol) and when I got home, I found an email offering me four afternoons a week for the next three weeks through August, with the possibility of more after that.

Sadly,  I didn't feel I could do four afternoons for two reasons; firstly, the physical toll it was likely to take and secondly, the rate they were offering would put me well over the amount I'm permitted to earn while still retaining all of my benefits from the Department of Work and Pensions.

If I could guarantee this work as long-term and permanent, I could probably do without those. But it isn't and I can't. So we've agreed two afternoons a week through August and 'we'll talk about' what happens after that.

What it is, though, is a foot in the door; proof that I can still do 'proper' work as I used to before all this happened. It doesn't solve our problems but it's money we didn't have previously and that can only be good.

Talking of money, the fundraising page for my 5km run to raise money for stroke-survivor charity Different Strokes is now live. It's at http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/MartinWarrillow and I'd be grateful if you'd take a look. If you feel able to donate, that would be even better.

A splendid night out

Walking miles around Paris without my stick (see last week's blog) was obviously a huge confidence-booster. It meant I could walk the streets without fear of one thing which many disabled people dread - being picked out as somehow different because we use a stick and we're not in our 70s or 80s.

My new status was going to be challenged pretty quickly, as well. Twenty-hours after our return from France, I was due at (yet another) leaving party for some of my former colleagues at the Birmingham Post & Mail. This isn't the place to recycle the argument over the rights and wrongs of the decline of local newspapers, but I will say that this event was to mark the departure through voluntary redundancy of five highly-experienced and talented journalists with well over 100 years of experience between them.

It was being held in Birmingham city centre on what turned into an absolutely filthy night, weather-wise. I boarded the train safely at Tamworth station (no sign of my stick, by the way....) and managed to get to the venue without looking too unsteady on my feet.

The venue itself, however, was a different matter. This pub is always crowded; at 6.30pm on a Friday, it's chaos. Luckily, I found some of our party quite quickly but soon discovered that walking across a packed pub with little control over your balance is not fun; I apologise to anyone whose pint I may have accidentally spilled if I bumped into them.

In the end, it was a terrific night. The cream of Midlands journalism was in attendance and I managed to remember that drinking too much would not just have been silly, but thoroughly stupid.

That does, however, bring me to a pet gripe of mine; toilets for the disabled. When you are unable to climb stairs safely, these ground-floor facilities are essential. But most of them can (for obvious reasons) only be accessed by a special key, provided through the RADAR national key scheme. Those disabled people who are 'in the know' buy their own, but plenty of us don't and have to rely for access on a key kept behind the bar/counter and provided on request by the staff.

That's OK most of the time, but trying to get to the bar in a crowded city centre pub when you are unsteady on your feet, then get the attention of busy staff, then ask them to look for and find the key, then fight your way back through the crowd.....well, by the time you've done all that, it may be too late.

I decided not to bother; For a split-second, I considered struggling up the stairs to the gents until I realised that this pub has a lift. Suffice to say I used it, did what needed doing, got back downstairs in the lift and found a comfortable seat on the ground floor.

But this little incident just highlights one of the hundreds (thousands? millions?) of little difficulties with which disabled people fight daily. Until December 16 2013, I was as unaware of them as the rest of the population; now, especially since I threw away my stick, they shine out like beacons.

The loss of independence and control is one of the most frustrating things for a brain-injury survivor. After this little incident, I felt as if I had achieved something substantial on my own to which able-bodied people wouldn't give a second thought. But I would ask for a little understanding at times - especially because stroke can be an unseen disability in people such as me. So let me try to get up the stairs, get to the bar, get to the gents on my own; but please understand that it might take me a little longer than you.

Letting go of a not-so-vital crutch

It's been a crazy week, to put it mildly....

It started last Saturday (July 18) when Mrs Warrior and I attended a long-awaited reunion of some of my old schoolmates. Most of us hadn't met in person for 31 years, since our last day at school. Some of us stay in touch via Facebook, despite living as far apart as Dubai and Birmingham, but plenty hadn't been in contact at all.

Some still had the look of that long-forgotten school photograph (including The Warrior, apparently) while some have changed radically over the years. Whatever the case, it was a great night and I am already looking forward to next year's event.

The evening was made for me when someone called Paul Ferris came and shook me by the hand, then gave me a hug. Paul Ferris was the bane of my life at school. The class bully par excellence, he and a couple of his mates made life hell for the young Martin Warrillow.

Thirty-one years later, meeting for the first time since then, we could have let three decades of pent-up mutual dislike spill out. But we didn't. We gave each other a huge hug, I explained to Mrs Warrior who he was and felt as if the night had been made even more worthwhile.

Some people are nervous about going to school reunions at my age, just in case meeting people ruins their memories. After my experience, I won't hesitate to recommend them.

After a quick pit-stop at Warrillow Towers on Sunday, we were off again on Monday morning to celebrate our 25th wedding anniversary with three days in Paris. At times over the last 18 months since my stroke, it has seemed as if we might not make that milestone. Yet we did and we even went up the Eiffel Tower and on a boat-trip along the Seine to mark the moment.

Yet in the context of my recovery from stroke, perhaps the most important event took place before we had even left Tamworth. We were rushing to catch a train at Tamworth station for the first leg of the journey to Paris when I suddenly realised that my walking stick was missing. With the train approaching the platform, we had two choices - go back to the ticket office to look for it (and miss the train and a subsequent one to London, onto which we were booked) or go to Paris without it and deal with the consequences.

So we boarded the train and I prepared for life after my walking stick. In the end, we walked miles during our three days in the French capital. For most of the time, I held Mrs W firmly by the hand to keep myself upright. At other times, I ploughed on ahead. Whatever, I coped - I had discovered what some people had been telling me for weeks and months, that the stick had become an un-needed support mechanism.

I don't propose to use it again and I certainly didn't enquire after it at Tamworth railway station on our return.

At times, life has a way of creeping up unexpectedly on you; we can never predict what is going to happen from one minute to the next. That's the story of this week, from my meeting with Paul Ferris to going without my stick. It's the story of my life since December 16 2013 when I suffered my stroke. It's why there's no point in being positive or negative about the future because we just don't know. What I do know is that The Warrior is ready to deal with whatever life flings at him.

Tired? Yes, of course I am

I've written before in this space how fatigue is becoming the hardest part of dealing with my life as a strokie. I can fall asleep in a chair and not know it; I can find myself incapable of keeping my eyes open during the day, should I have had two busy days in a row; I can start yawning at 9am and never stop all day until I go to bed.

The medical people tell you that this is a sure sign of a tired, damaged, brain saying it needs a period of complete rest to recover; Regular readers will know that The Warrior, always keen to be active and doing something, is hopeless at listening to that tired, damaged, brain.

And I don't have the worst of it. I know of strokies who often lack the energy, never mind the motivation, to even get out of bed in the mornings.

For me, it's one of the major things stopping me doing the kind of work I want to do. I'm no good to anyone if I fall asleep all the time; last Sunday, for instance, I was more or less asleep through the whole of a church service; after that, Mrs Warrior and I took her mother out for lunch during which I spent much of the time asleep in a corner. The medics say I am good for no more than three hours of work a day; sometimes, it can feel like even less.

And stroke fatigue is not like 'ordinary' fatigue; not the kind of fatigue you get from working too many hours or not getting enough sleep. Stroke fatigue dulls the brain to the point where remembering anything is impossible, where putting one foot (or one crutch, one stick) in front of the other is a challenge.

Medical research is still struggling to understand 'stroke fatigue'. Obviously, having a damaged brain is part of it, but this week, I heard the phrase 'brain energy' for the first time. It came at a meeting of the Stroke Association's Research Project Grant Adjudication Panel. I can't say anything about the results of the learned panel's deliberations, but I can say that one of the projects we discussed is looking into how much the incidence of stroke fatigue can be put down to low levels of brain energy.

Well, given how much energy the brain needs to function, I would say the answer is 'a lot'. Without getting too scientific, a damaged brain doesn't produce the same levels of energy as a 'normal' brain and it does have an effect.

So although I sympathise with those who say they feel tired all the time from dealing with young children and/or the exhausting demands of work, I'd ask them to recognise that my kind of fatigue is not your kind of fatigue. I'm not saying it's any worse, I'm saying it's different. And unless you have had a stroke, you can never know how that feels.