Davide la Locomotive

Not the kind of luck where you win the lottery — just the kind where you don’t lose everything.

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When I first wrote about my stroke, I thought it would be a two-part story.

Part one: the stroke.
Part two: the operation and recovery.

I wrote those a few months ago, and I hadn’t planned to write more.
But something unexpected happened after all that.
So here I am — part three.

Over the years, I’ve broken a few bones.
And I’ve noticed a pattern.
After an injury, I tend to drift through a kind of daze.

My body’s healing. I’m tired.
Basic things take longer.
There are appointments to juggle, physio to attend, routines to rebuild.

Gradually, I find my balance again.
It usually lasts for several months. And then —
suddenly, I look back and realise I wasn’t really “myself” for most of that time.

I thought I felt normal.
But I wasn’t.

This time was no different.

After the stroke, I told people I was fine. And I thought I was.
But looking back, I see now — I was still in that daze.

The stroke itself was brief. I couldn’t coordinate my leg or arm properly, but the worst of it lasted less than an hour.
By the time I was in the ambulance, things were already returning to normal.

In the days after, there were small signs:

– Tingling in my fingers when I woke up
– A strange, jerky rhythm in my right leg when I walked
– A little wobble when I stood up too fast

Nothing dramatic.
And within days, they faded.

The only thing that lingered was the fatigue — post-stroke fatigue, they call it.
It’s common.
It’s heavy.
It was the slowest thing to lift, but it did.

Now, I’m symptom free. I’ve been back cycling and working full-time for a while.

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This might sound strange —
but after everything settled down, I found myself feeling something unexpected.

Gratitude.

Not for the stroke. That was terrifying. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.
But I was grateful it wasn’t worse.

It turned out I had a problem with my carotid artery. But I didn’t know.
And how would I have known?

If the stroke had been milder, I might have missed it completely.
In fact, I think I did miss earlier ones.
They just felt like dizziness. A little fog. Something you shrug off.

But if this one had been worse…
well, recovery might have been a very different story.

As it was, the symptoms faded fast.
People thought I’d had a TIA. The most harmless kind of stroke.
But it wasn’t.

I was lucky.

Lucky that it was just strong enough to catch.
Lucky that I was still me when it ended.
Lucky that I had time to do something about it — while there was still time.

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As I was recovering, I started going to a local stroke group.
They meet once a week for a catch-up.

Sometimes there’s a speaker.
Sometimes someone plays music.
Sometimes we do something creative — or just sit and chat.

We don’t always talk about strokes.
But we all have one thing in common:
Every one of us has either had a stroke, or loves someone who has.

And honestly? I’ve learned a few things from going.

For starters: Rummikub is surprisingly fun.

But also: strokes are awful.
They affect everyone differently.
Because it’s a brain injury, it can change almost anything — co-ordination, memory, vision, taste.
Things that used to be simple — like getting on a train, or driving, or walking up steps — become real challenges.

But the thing that really struck me, over time, was this:

A lot of people in the group are also grateful.
Even the ones who’ve had life-changing symptoms.
Even the ones who are still recovering, years later.

They’re grateful because — like me — they realise it could have been so much worse.

Nigel, for example, wasn’t expected to survive his stroke.
But he did.

He spent months in hospital. He still has issues with his right side.
But Nigel lives an active life.

One of the things he does now is visit the local stroke ward.
He talks to patients who’ve just had a stroke — the way no one else really can.
He was one of the first people I chatted to in the group.

At the time, I was still worried about having another stroke.
It helped to talk to someone who’d been through it.
Someone still going through it, and living anyway.

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Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if my stroke had been worse.
What would I have done?

A stroke cuts off blood supply to part of the brain —
and when that happens, those parts can die.

That’s why strokes can cause loss of movement, memory, vision, taste.
Those parts don’t come back. But the brain… it’s extraordinary.
It finds new pathways. New routes. It adapts.

That’s how, over time, some stroke symptoms can be reversed.
And people — we adapt too.

We deal with terrible things.
We grieve what we’ve lost.
And then, somehow, we begin to build again — new patterns, new ways forward.

At the stroke group, I see people whose lives were turned completely upside down.
And yes, it’s sad that it happened.

But it’s also amazing — and humbling —
to see how even after everything, people still find joy.
They get out there. They live.

I’m fully fit now, and the symptoms are gone. But mentally? I’m still wrapping my head around what it all meant.

And slowly, I think I’m finding that path too.

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