From the Gold Coast to Brighton — and every millimetre in between.
by Liam R
I was 30 years old, working as a mechanical engineer in Gold Coast, Australia, living my best life. Then one Sunday evening in November 2024, I collapsed at home, with what I later discovered had been a massive stroke.
No warning. No risk factors. No family history. Just me, on the floor, with the entire right side of my brain under attack.
I want to share what happened — not to scare anyone, but because I genuinely wish someone had told me that stroke can happen to absolutely anyone. Even you. Even someone who runs for fun and eats well and is only thirty years old.
My Story
The emergency team at Gold Coast University Hospital moved incredibly fast. I was given medication to dissolve the clot and then had an emergency procedure to physically remove it from the artery in my brain. Despite everything they did, my brain kept swelling. The increasing pressure inside my skull became life-threatening .
The only option was an operation called a decompressive craniectomy — where surgeons remove part of the skull to give the swelling brain room. I was taken to intensive care and needed a ventilator to breathe.
I spent over two months in hospital in Australia before being flown home to the UK in January 2025, accompanied by my dad.
I want to be honest: it was terrifying. For my family especially. But I also want to say that the care I received was extraordinary. The speed, the skill, the compassion of every single person who treated me. I genuinely believe that speed saved my life.
Finding My Way Back
When I left the hospital in Australia I was in a wheelchair. I needed help with almost everything — getting dressed, getting to the bathroom, moving from a chair to a bed. The physio team set me a goal before I flew home. It felt enormous at the time: to be able to walk independently.
I came back to the UK for more rehabilitation at the Royal Surrey County Hospital in Guildford, and then at a specialist neurorehabilitation centre. I was discharged home to Surrey in April 2025.
Recovery has not been a straight line, and there have been days that felt impossible. There have been setbacks - I've had some seizure episodes since the stroke, which is something that can happen after a big brain injury. My left arm still has very little power, and I've lost vision on the left side of both eyes. These are things I live with every day.
But here's what I want you to know. In December 2025 — thirteen months after the stroke — I walked a 10-kilometre event in Brighton. One stick. My own two feet. One step at a time.
I cried. Something I'm not ashamed to say.
What I've learned about Recovery
Recovery isn't something that happens to you. It's something you do, every single day, in the smallest possible increments. Some days the win is getting to the end of the garden. Some days it's brushing your teeth without help. Some days it's just getting out of bed.
All of it counts. All of it is progress.
A few things that have genuinely helped me:
• Accepting help - I resisted this at first. I didn't want to need people. But leaning on family and my support network made everything more manageable.
• Staying curious - my engineering brain has actually been useful here. I've engaged closely with my own medical records and recovery data. Understanding what happened to me helped me feel less powerless.
• Having access to private rehabilitation alongside NHS support - for my left arm in particular, additional sessions have made a big difference, which i’m very grateful for.
• Setting small targets - the Brighton 10k wasn't the goal I started with. I started with walking to the end of the road.
• Being honest about the hard days - pretending everything is fine takes energy you don't have. It's okay to say it's tough.
I also want to say something about stroke awareness, because I had no idea. I didn't know a stroke could happen to someone my age. I didn't know the signs. If I'd been alone when it happened, I might not have gotten help in time.
The acronym that helped the people around me was FAST — Face drooping, Arm weakness, Speech problems, Time to call 999. That's what to look for. That's what to act on. Don't wait and see. Call immediately.
Life Today
I'm 31. I live at home in Farnham, Surrey with some support. I'm working hard on my left arm through private rehabilitation. I don't drive. I have ongoing medical questions I'm still pursuing, because I believe in understanding my own health and advocating for myself.
I'm not going to pretend recovery is done, because it isn't. I don't know when, or if, my arm will fully recover, and I’m not sure what the next year will look like, but I know I'm still here, still pushing, still getting up every morning and doing the work.
If you're reading this and you've had a stroke, or someone you love has - I want you to know that the early days are the hardest. The picture changes. Slowly, sometimes frustratingly slowly, but it changes.
Every millimetre counts.
For stroke information and support: www.stroke.org.uk
For young stroke support: www.differentstrokes.co.uk
