When a Heart Attack Left Me in a Coma, My Hallucinations Inspired a Novel – and a New Life
In February 2021, during the third Covid lockdown, I sat down with my wife Alexa and our kids for a quiet evening of sausages and chips. But little did we know that this ordinary scene would turn into a nightmare just hours later.
After making strange noises, Alexa realized it was my heart that had stopped beating, having experienced a cardiac arrest due to the worsening heart condition I'd been living with. The only reason I'm alive now is thanks to the prompt action of my wife and son, as well as a cardiologist who performed surgery within six months.
As fate would have it, Alexa's attempts to visit me in the hospital during this tumultuous period led to an unexpected discovery – my brain had developed hallucinations due to the lack of oxygen caused by my cardiac arrest. For weeks, we'd video call each other, and I'd make no sense of what was happening around me. It was only when a brain scan revealed that I'd suffered a significant brain injury that Alexa finally understood the extent of my situation.
During my time in neurological rehabilitation, extensive testing confirmed that my memory and cognitive functions were severely impaired – ranking among the lowest 2% of the population. Yet, something extraordinary happened: as I regained some of my sight, an unexpected phenomenon emerged – hallucinations.
At first, these visions felt like a refuge from the world outside. They reminded me of being looked after by young nurses with lilting Irish accents in a small hospital room during my recovery. Feeling content and untouched by the world, I found myself drifting through time, floating on sensations rather than thoughts.
With this newfound sense of tranquility came the urge to document it – to write about these experiences that had left me breathless but inspired. And thus, I began to craft a novel called This, My Second Life.
Through my writing, I sought to rebuild the world around me, crafting a sanctuary where I could return to this peaceful state whenever needed. Writing became an escape from the stress and uncertainty of my pre-illness life, allowing me to focus on one thing – experiencing life anew.
In reflecting on the novel's themes and characters, particularly Jago, the young boy with whom I'd worked on a picture book during my mother Helen Dunmore's lifetime, I realized that this experience had connected me to her work in ways I never thought possible. And though she won't know about it, knowing that our collaboration lives on through Jago brings me solace.
When the publishing deal for my novel arrived, I saw it as an opportunity to take a step forward into a new chapter of life – one where writing becomes not just a creative outlet but a means of coping with the challenges ahead.
In February 2021, during the third Covid lockdown, I sat down with my wife Alexa and our kids for a quiet evening of sausages and chips. But little did we know that this ordinary scene would turn into a nightmare just hours later.
After making strange noises, Alexa realized it was my heart that had stopped beating, having experienced a cardiac arrest due to the worsening heart condition I'd been living with. The only reason I'm alive now is thanks to the prompt action of my wife and son, as well as a cardiologist who performed surgery within six months.
As fate would have it, Alexa's attempts to visit me in the hospital during this tumultuous period led to an unexpected discovery – my brain had developed hallucinations due to the lack of oxygen caused by my cardiac arrest. For weeks, we'd video call each other, and I'd make no sense of what was happening around me. It was only when a brain scan revealed that I'd suffered a significant brain injury that Alexa finally understood the extent of my situation.
During my time in neurological rehabilitation, extensive testing confirmed that my memory and cognitive functions were severely impaired – ranking among the lowest 2% of the population. Yet, something extraordinary happened: as I regained some of my sight, an unexpected phenomenon emerged – hallucinations.
At first, these visions felt like a refuge from the world outside. They reminded me of being looked after by young nurses with lilting Irish accents in a small hospital room during my recovery. Feeling content and untouched by the world, I found myself drifting through time, floating on sensations rather than thoughts.
With this newfound sense of tranquility came the urge to document it – to write about these experiences that had left me breathless but inspired. And thus, I began to craft a novel called This, My Second Life.
Through my writing, I sought to rebuild the world around me, crafting a sanctuary where I could return to this peaceful state whenever needed. Writing became an escape from the stress and uncertainty of my pre-illness life, allowing me to focus on one thing – experiencing life anew.
In reflecting on the novel's themes and characters, particularly Jago, the young boy with whom I'd worked on a picture book during my mother Helen Dunmore's lifetime, I realized that this experience had connected me to her work in ways I never thought possible. And though she won't know about it, knowing that our collaboration lives on through Jago brings me solace.
When the publishing deal for my novel arrived, I saw it as an opportunity to take a step forward into a new chapter of life – one where writing becomes not just a creative outlet but a means of coping with the challenges ahead.