Allatt Kate - Running Free: Breaking Out From Locked-In Syndrome

Sunday February 7 2010

I DONT KNOW WHAT a migraine feels like. Ive managed to live for thirty-nine years without ever having one. But if it makes you wish you could just take off your head and hand it over to someone else to look after until it stops yelling, then I guess the doctor at A&E must be right, thats what Ive got.

Just four hours ago that same doctor sent me home with a packet of Co-codamol painkillers and told me to take it easy for a couple of days. I am trying my best to follow his advice which considering that I am mum to three active children isnt easy.

Ive spent the afternoon lying in bed wishing the drugs would kick in and ease this relentless throb at the back of my head. I close my eyes and clutch the back of my neck, gently allowing my fingers to massage the base of my skull, wishing this agony would subside just long enough to let me drift off into a pain-free sleep. Please, just one hour of rest and Ill be OK.

Suddenly I hear MUM! Theres a brotherly war breaking out in the bathroom between Harvey, nine, and Woody, six. Woodys calling for backup. I try to block out their arguments knowing that my husband, Mark, who is down in the kitchen clearing up the remnants of Sunday lunch, will step in if it gets out of hand, as it usually does. But I cant ignore the noise. This headache is making me irritable. I get up from the bed and make my way to the bathroom.

Harvey, if you dont leave your brother alone, you wont be going football training after school tomorrow, I snap, causing another wave of nausea to wash over me. Mark hears my distress and comes to my rescue.

Youre stressing, sit down, Ill deal with them. Just calm down, and Ill make you a cup of Earl Grey tea, he says, slightly irritated. Wrapping his arm around my shoulder, he guides me downstairs to the lounge, where I slump on the red leather sofa and cradle my head, which is throbbing so badly. This is the mother of all headaches. Our daughter India, eleven, has left the television on and gone upstairs to get her school bag ready for the morning. On the plasma screen theres a repeat of last weeks Dancing on Ice where some soap star is twirling around like a pro. But Im not really watching. I look at the clock on the TV screen. 6.09 p.m. I feel bad, really bad. Not just throbbing headache bad, but a sensation that I cant really describe. My body feels weak, like all the life is draining out of me. I start to panic.

Mark, whats happening to me? I feel weird, I shout to Mark who is just yards away in the kitchen. The words come out in a slur. Mmmeugh, a stifled moan leaves my mouth and suddenly Mark is in front of me but his face is a blur. My entire body turns rigid and I panic as I slide off the sofa, landing on the floor in an inelegant heap. I feel Marks arms around me as he tries to lift my dead weight and arrange my stiff limbs in to some semblance of comfort on the rug. I can only make out vague shapes and movement in the room, but I sense my husbands panic as he calls to our daughter, India, go and call Burt next door.

Seconds pass, but I have no concept of time, just blind terror. I am no longer in control of my own body and it scares the shit out of me. Mark is still close, I can just about make out the whiteness of his T-shirt contrasting with the darkness of his hair.

Please, help me. Dont leave me, I beg inside my head.

I hear Indias voice in the distance telling Mark that our neighbour is out and asking whats happening.

Go and get Lise, just get anyone, Mark responds, sending India to get help from our other neighbour, who also happens to be a nurse. The fear in his voice is rising as he holds me. Mark, my usually calm, sensible everything is black or white kind of guy, is panicking. Right now, he can only see black.

Kate, can you hear me? Whats happening? Are you all right Kate? Lise is here. Ive no idea how long its taken for her to arrive. I am hot, I want to reach out for something to fan myself with, but I cant move. My eyes are fixed wide open in fright like a rabbit caught in headlights. Now I cant even control my breathing, I struggle to gulp for air. I hear myself making desperate panting sounds. Lise sends India off to get a fan and shouts at Mark to call 999 quickly.

A paramedic is first to arrive. He listens to my heart and checks my blood pressure then gets on his radio to call for back-up, an ambulance for a lady in distress. I wait. Mark and Lise are following the paramedics advice and putting damp flannels on my forehead to keep me cool. But I still feel like Im in the furnaces of hell. Maybe this is retribution for my lifestyle, running a home and business, ferrying the kids to their after-school clubs and activities and my own punishing fell-running regime. Is she having a fit? Mark asks the paramedic.

This is no fit, is the stern response.

Minutes pass and we wait, all the time I feel weaker. The paramedic gets back on his radio. Hes not taking any excuses. Send me any unit you can and send it now. Even he seems to be panicking.

This is serious: Mark knows this is serious and I know its serious. The paramedic tells Mark to go and get an overnight bag ready for me as Im going to need it. I hear Marks footsteps on the stairs and he returns with my running kit, silly sod. I know I love being out running on the fells, but running kit is the last thing I need at this moment.

Two men in green arrive and lift me onto a stretcher. As Im wheeled out of my home, I think, where are the kids? I hope they dont see me like this. Then I wonder, am I wearing matching knickers and bra?

I feel a trickle running down the inside of my left thigh as Im wheeled into the back of the ambulance. Oh great, now Ive peed myself. How will I ever live with the embarrassment? Mark holds my hand as the sirens scream and I slip in and out of consciousness like someone is pressing the pause button on my life.