One Year After My Stroke: A Quiet Reminder That Time Is Precious

March 14th passed quietly this year.
For most people it was just another day on the calendar.
But for me it marked something I’ll never forget: twelve months since I suffered a stroke to my cerebellum.

It wasn’t something I ever expected to happen, and it certainly wasn’t something I had planned for. But life has a way of interrupting your plans when you least expect it.

The stroke affected my cerebellum, the part of the brain responsible for balance and coordination.

Recovery from something like that isn’t always obvious from the outside. Most people wouldn’t notice anything unusual if they saw me walking down the street or setting up for a gig. But the reality is that every day still comes with some reminders.

There’s usually some level of dizziness in the background. Sometimes it’s subtle, other times it catches me off guard. Something as simple as turning my head quickly or shifting my eyes too fast can bring on a wave of vertigo that makes the world feel slightly out of sync for a moment.

Vertigo is a strange sensation to describe. It’s not just dizziness, it’s more like your brain and body briefly disagree about where you are in space. When it happens, the best thing I can do is pause, let it settle, and give my body a moment to recalibrate.

Fatigue has also been part of the adjustment. Before the stroke I could comfortably play long sets or back-to-back gigs without thinking much about it. That rhythm had been part of my life for years. These days I have to respect my energy levels more carefully. Some days are full of energy, others require a slower pace.

One of the things that has helped me most over the past year has been getting back into the gym. Not to push through limitations, but to rebuild strength and stability gradually. Balance, coordination and overall fitness have become important parts of the recovery process, and each small improvement feels like a quiet step forward.

There’s also been a mental adjustment. Learning to listen to your body is something many of us don’t do very well until life gives us a reason to. Over time I’ve realised that slowing down isn’t necessarily a setback. Sometimes it’s simply part of moving forward in a different way.

Music, thankfully, is still very much part of my life. For a brief moment after the stroke I wondered what that might look like going forward. But the good news is that I can still play. I just approach it with a little more awareness now. Pacing myself, choosing the right moments, and appreciating every opportunity to pick up the saxophone.

In some ways the past twelve months have reminded me why I started playing music in the first place. Not for endurance or long hours on stage, but for the joy of creating something in the moment.

Experiences like this inevitably change the way you see things.

Perspective Shift

Experiences like this have a way of shifting your perspective in quiet but meaningful ways.

When life interrupts your plans, you’re faced with a choice. You can hold on tightly to what you thought life was supposed to look like, or you can take a breath, reassess, and find a new way forward.

Over the past year I’ve realised that adapting isn’t about giving up on what matters to you. It’s about learning how to continue moving forward, even if the path looks a little different than you imagined.

I’m also very aware of how fortunate I am. While the stroke has certainly changed some things for me, I’m incredibly grateful that I’ve been able to continue functioning and living my life. Perhaps not at 100%, but still able to do the things that matter most to me.

I’m conscious that many people who experience strokes face far greater challenges than I have. That perspective alone brings a deep sense of gratitude for where I find myself today.

I also believe that the way I’ve lived over the past seven years has helped support my recovery. Living alcohol-free has been an important part of that. I often wonder whether giving my brain the chance to heal and find new neural pathways more easily has played a role in how quickly I’ve been able to adapt.

There’s something powerful about being able to get up, shake off the dust, and pivot when life throws something unexpected your way. That ability to adjust and keep moving is something that plays a huge role in protecting your mental health.

In many ways, this past year has quietly reshaped how I look at the future.

And that’s something I’ll share a little more about in my next post. How this experience ultimately helped lead to a much bigger decision about the kind of life Carol and I wanted to build going forward.

The past twelve months have reminded me of something simple but powerful. Time is precious.

Whether it’s playing music, spending time with Carol, watching Frankie race along a quiet beach, witnessing amazing things my children do each day or simply appreciating the ability to wake up and start another day, those moments feel more meaningful now than they ever did before.

Life doesn’t always unfold the way we expect, but sometimes the unexpected moments are the ones that help us see things most clearly.

If this story resonates with you, I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.