Catherine’s Story: I remember every moment when I had a brain haemorrhage

I’ve heard that some people can’t remember anything when they have a brain haemorrhage. But I remember every moment.

When it happened, I was in the sea.

It was the middle of December and in the days before, I had these headaches, this feeling of pressure. I just didn’t feel quite right. But that day, I felt well enough to go for a swim. And then it happened. Everything felt strange and I passed out, right there in the water.

I was lucky there was help at hand to get me out of the sea and onto the beach. I remember the ‘thunderclap’ headache and just thinking, as I somehow climbed the stairs, if I can just get to mum and dad, they’ll be able to help me.

I managed to get to my mum and dad’s, but the pain got worse and worse.

Fortunately, there was an ambulance in the area so I was able to get to A&E at Cramlington Hospital quickly. They did a scan and from there I was rushed to the Royal Victoria Infirmary in Newcastle. 

The pain, the light, the noise – everything was horrendous. I still had sand on my feet and my hair was salty. It was difficult to understand what was going on, to understand what they were telling me. Then they said it, I had a subarachnoid haemorrhage – bleeding on the surface of my brain.

It wasn’t until the next day, when the bleeding stopped, that they were able to operate. Going in through my groin, they coiled the aneurysm, but then there was a rebleed, so they had to go back in while I was still under. I have vague memories from coming back around, perhaps my brain trying to protect me from things I didn’t want to recall. But I remember the pain; it was everywhere.

I spent the following week in Intensive Care where I started to deteriorate and experience agonising vasospasms, which cause the blood vessels to constrict around the body. The doctors wanted to perform a lumbar puncture, which would release the fluid that was building up inside my brain, but the pain was preventing me from getting into the right position for the procedure, so they had to put a lumbar drain in instead. I was then moved onto a ward, but started to deteriorate again so I was rushed back into Intensive Care. 

The whole time, my mum and dad were by my side. They couldn’t sleep or eat. They spent Christmas hearing me say I couldn’t do it anymore, that I couldn’t take the pain.

But slowly, gradually, I started to improve. The physio helped me to learn to walk again. I had spent three weeks in the hospital and when the time came, it was almost scary to think about leaving what had become a place of safety. I spent three weeks in the hospital in the end – with two full weeks in Intensive Care.

Recovering from a brain haemorrhage is like being rewired. Before, it was like my brain was just cruising down the motorway in a straight line. But after, it was like it was on a country road. It would stop, start, go around bends, trying desperately to find a new route to get to where it needed to go.

For me, that meant my memory was quite bad; I’d be texting and not understand what I’d written, or when talking, I’d have to pause to remember what I was talking about. And the fatigue, that was the worst. I took for granted being able to just brush my hair or read a book or just watch something on my phone. But now everything was difficult – different lights in the office, white desks, white walls, spreadsheets with colours – all of this exhausted me. You don't realise how much your brain works to keep you alive – the smallest things become massive tasks as your brain heals. 

Some people, like me, are just unlucky. My aneurysm was a ticking time bomb that finally went off. 

But the expertise of clinicians, as well as the fact that I was diagnosed quickly, were critical to my survival. The paramedics saw that part of my face had dropped and understood that I could be experiencing some form of stroke; this meant I was able to get the necessary scan in A&E. Without any piece of the puzzle, I might not be here today.

I’m still the same person I was before 18th December 2023;

I still love running and sunrises. Someday, I may go in the sea again. I’ll be 37 next month, thanks to my fitness and all of the wonderful people who helped me to recover – but also to those who are working to discover more about how we can prevent and treat this terrible condition. 

Today, I’m dedicated to making sure we all learn the signs and symptoms of a brain haemorrhage – I’ve learned that brain haemorrhages are more common than we all think. The symptoms of a heart attack, for example, are drilled into us, from posters and adverts on TV. But we must have more awareness around the brain – how it works and what to do when the unimaginable happens. 

Please, support NKMT’s appeal if you can. This work is vital to people who may find themselves experiencing this devastating condition – and I can tell you that I’m so grateful to be here to share my journey with you. If we can help people to be diagnosed and supported with better treatment sooner, it will make an enormous difference to the lives they can lead after.

Catherine