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Gary and Rebekah Newman
I was six months pregnant when my husband, Gary, suffered a Spinal Stroke. He had been getting ready to take our 5-year-old daughter, Meghan, swimming on a fine Monday morning in July 2004. It was only his sixth day off in seven weeks as a detective in a busy CID office.
As Gary put on his T-shirt he complained of a backache that quickly turned into a crushing chest pain then he began to have difficulty breathing. As I followed the ambulance to hospital, with lights and sirens going, I remember thinking, "how am I going to bring two children up alone?"
It took three days for a final MRI scan to show the bleed on his spine at C6/7 level, the paralysis he had from the chest down was a result of the bleed. My husband was told to prepare himself for life in a wheelchair. That was out darkest day. I just ought to mention now that my husband was 33 when he had his spinal stroke, didn't smoke, was not over weight and did not drink to excess.
It was two days later that he began to be able to wriggle his left toes, things had begun to look less bleak although the specialists told us not to get too excited. Then they delivered a blow; Gary was to be transferred to a hospital 80 miles away in Salisbury so he could receive treatment at the Duke of Cornwall Spinal Unit. My daughter and I would only be able to see him once a week until I became too heavily pregnant to drive; they transferred him four days later.
Staff at the Duke of Cornwall were fantastic, they found accommodation for my daughter and I for the initial two weeks Gary was there. I had annual leave from work as this was meant to be our holiday time; after loosing my mother to cancer only seven months earlier I was looking forward to spending time with all the family and my father in Devon. The ward administrator managed to get my daughter into the hospital crèche so I could spend time bathing and dressing Gary in the morning and arranged access to the staff swimming pool where I would take Meghan to unwind.
It was tough leaving Gary behind at the end of two weeks but he had already settled into his regime of physio, swimming and wheelchair skills and all the staff from the cleaners to nursing staff were so supportive. He had continued to regain movement in his left leg and, before I left, had wriggled his right toes.
Slowly the movement returned in both legs, regaining bladder and bowel control were real high points but there were low times when infections or tiredness set him back.
After 10 weeks at the Duke of Cornwall Unit and two weeks before our baby was due Gary came home. He managed to arrange an early discharge and with the help of a friend surprised me by arriving at the door on crutches.
I went into labour in the early hours of the 15th November 2004, I was hoping against hope that our second child would be a boy, Gary was a keen sportsman before his stroke and was going to miss being unable to play football and cricket. It seemed lady luck was still against us as the midwife informed us that, in her experience, the baby was going to be a girl. As it arrived she announced, "I was wrong take a look at these!" I wanted only to look at Gary's face; it was a picture as he gazed at his son, Samuel, for the first time.
We are now three sleepless months on! Gary is walking although with a gait and some balance problems it's still a joy to see. A superb physio we found near us has done wonders but the bladder and bowels can still play up. Gary is looking forward to going back to work at the end of the month now he can drive, and although on reduced hours and in a slightly different role he is supporting all the friends and colleagues who helped us through.
There is no doubt in my mind that my husband's recovery is due manly to his steely determination not to be beaten and his sense of humour. He took every opportunity give him and each set back he saw as a temporary hiccup. I am so proud of him.