I’m a pretty regular guy who lived a pretty regular life, until August 6, 2018. The day my life and my family’s life changed.

I was at work. The Emergency department at Royal North Shore Hospital called. My wife had been found unconscious, without a pulse on a bike path, and she was undergoing some very serious treatment and I needed get myself safely, but immediately to the hospital. I’ve got 3 boys, so I’ve been to emergency a few times. This was different. I was immediately taken to a little ‘family room’ and asked to wait, and told that a doctor would be with me shortly. I couldn’t see any of my family in the room. I was alone.

My wife, who was fit and a regular runner had been out on a run when her heart had stopped. Luckily a cyclist found her and started CPR – 3 other passers-by helped before the police and then the paramedics arrived after 20 minutes. They took over. They got her in the ambulance, they tried to use the paddles, they kept going with the CPR. It was 20 more minutes before she got to RNS. They couldn’t re-start her heart. They did have just enough oxygen registering in her fingers to lead them to believe there had been great CPR, so they did an emergency procedure to put her on a machine to keep her alive while they tried to work out what had gone wrong.

I was told to get some family or friends in quick smart, as this was the start of a long journey (I thought that meant maybe a week or so … little did I know). I called my brother.  I was allowed to go and see my wife. Machines, tubes, cables, lights everywhere. Blood on the sheets. And Tove lying still in the middle of it all. Pale. With a breathing tube. I held her hand. Said her name. Gave her a kiss. Nothing.

The challenges were mind-boggling. Picking up the kids the first day when she was on life support. Calling her parents and telling them she was being kept alive by a machine. Sitting in the ICU holding her hand. Trying to celebrate our son’s 13th birthday while she was still unconscious. Trying to tell the kids the truth without traumatising them too much.

My guess of a week or so turned out to be pretty poor. She was unconscious for 10 days. She had 7 operations. It was horrific. Things got worse before they got a bit better. I experienced pure terror for the first time in my life. Even when she started to improve, the big concern was her brain because of the lack of oxygen before she got to hospital. While she was still unconscious they did a brain scan. It showed there was brain damage.

When she woke up and spoke, recognising me and her parents, Jill, the manager of the ICU called her ‘Miracle Girl’. I found out a few months later from one of the ICU specialists, that patients who receive CPR for 20 minutes have a 3% survival rate. They don’t have statistics for people who receive CPR for 40+ minutes like her.

Tove’s brain injury means she needs a lot of help – from me, from the kids, from carers. Out of respect for her and my family I won’t go into the details, but she can’t work anymore, socialising is really hard, she has a lot of anxiety and she’s a different person. And that’s just the saddest thing I’ve ever experienced.

I decided on day 2 that this was the biggest challenge of my life and was probably what I had been put on earth to deal with. Helping my kids and my wife get through this whole thing. The one person who could have comforted and helped me through this was the one person who couldn’t. This is the hardest thing I have ever had to deal with – by a country mile. 

All of a sudden at the age of 46 I was effectively a single parent with 4 dependents. We had one income (no … we didn’t have the right kind of life insurance …). I was suddenly Minister of Everything at home. What we were having for dinner, laundry, cleaning, driving, homework, shopping, playdates, Easter Hats, buying clothes, money, taxes, fixing the house, what we were doing for holidays, finding socks … you name it.

It was a complete shit sandwich. I was sad. My kids were sad. I was stupidly busy trying to help the kids, my wife, the extended family, plus all the practical stuff, plus work. I was stressed. I was strung out. Life was tough. I had to do everything differently. I was completely out of my comfort zone. I didn’t know how to do all this, but I couldn’t stop or give up. I had to keep going. I had to be brave.

But it gave me meaning. I had a mission. That kept me going.

It has been almost 3 years since it happened. I’ve learnt a lot. I’ve made sooo many mistakes. I’ve had to work this all out as I went along. I didn’t know where to turn to for guidance in handling something like this. I learnt slowly that I needed to face into the reality of our situation. I learnt to open up and talk, be vulnerable, admit when I was struggling, ask for help, lean on people when I needed it, and finally to look after myself. Some of those things are still quite hard. Acceptance came very, very slowly. That’s why I’m now sharing all this. In the hope that others will find it helpful. Everybody has their story. Everybody has their challenges – I’ve learnt that from talking to people since. Hopefully you’re not going through anything like what we are – if so, I feel for you. If your challenges are different – I hope there’s something here for you.

Thanks for joining me and being brave.