It wasn't a serious accident, just a prang, on a November morning in 2000, as I was taking my son to school. I was waiting to turn right when a car tried to pass me on the inside, mounting the pavement and clipping the side of my car. We span across the road and I hit my head on the window. Adrenaline surged as I turned to check on seven-year-old Tom. He felt sick, he said, but wasn't injured.
The other car was crushed from the headlight to the driver's door. I was amazed to see him emerge unharmed. We exchanged phone numbers and I drove off to school, then on to work. An inch-long scratch on the side of the car was the only evidence of a crash. I thanked God for a lucky escape, and barely registered the dull ache in my neck.
Next morning, I couldn't get out of bed. My left side was paralysed, my neck and back incredibly painful. After half an hour the paralysis subsided, but my left foot wouldn't move. My husband, Mike, convinced me to go to hospital: my neck was x-rayed, whiplash diagnosed and I was told to see my doctor. He referred me to a physiotherapist who gave me exercises to reduce the pain, but thought the problem was neurological. My GP disagreed. I played go-between.
I felt worn out. In January I began a part-time job and in the afternoons I would go to bed, appearing only to make the kids' tea. I'd been an active, healthy woman before the crash, a long-distance walker and swimming teacher. Now my lethargy was putting a strain on our marriage. I'd drift off during the day and appear to be asleep, but though I couldn't move or open my eyes, I could hear everything. These blackouts could immobilise me for hours and they went on for months until, in May 2001, I suffered a second paralysis, the morning after a colleague had unwittingly patted me on the back. Mike called an ambulance. After seven weeks in hospital, strapped to a spinal board, I was discharged with walking sticks, a wheelchair and a vague diagnosis of "neurological problems". I kept mentioning the accident, but they couldn't find a link.
I spent most of the next year stuck on the sofa. I went from a size 12 to a size 18. I was annoyed at myself for letting Mike and the kids down, and frustrated at feeling I'd lost control.
The doctor sent me to an orthopaedic surgeon, who passed me from specialist to specialist. They discussed minor epilepsy and chronic fatigue syndrome, but nothing matched up. By the end of summer 2002, I was begging for more physio. Neck exercises helped and gradually I got a bit of life back. The blackouts stopped and I drove the car again for the first time since I'd been in hospital. I felt fantastic.
It didn't last. In February 2003, after a minor operation to remove a cyst, the blackouts started again.
On a Saturday night in May, Tom and I were watching TV when I felt a spot of indigestion. The pain escalated until the weight of a 10-ton truck heaved on to my chest. Tom called 999. I'd had a heart attack. A second one came a couple of months later when I suffered a stroke; I lost the use of my left leg and my womb prolapsed. More blackouts and paralysis followed. On Christmas Day I had another stroke and suffered bilateral mouth drop. Tom was terrified when he saw my face; I didn't recognise my reflection.
Mike was determined this time I wouldn't leave hospital without a diagnosis. Just before Christmas, a neuropsychologist referred by the physio had inadvertently handed us the missing piece of the jigsaw. He mentioned a condition called vertebrobasilar insufficiency (VBI) which can result from neck injury, with poor circulation in the vertebral and basilar arteries causing strokes, heart attacks and "drop attacks" - the blackouts I'd been suffering.
The neuropsychologist had advised Mike to contact the Brain & Spine Foundation and now he arrived at the hospital with a copy of an email from them: they believed I had the condition. When the head cardiologist finally referred to me as "the lady with VBI", I could have kissed him.
I still use a wheelchair; I still have occasional blackouts, but we know how to deal with them. I could have another heart attack. I could get hit by a bus. My faith helps and so does my work: I've set up a charity, Car Accident Victims Organisation, to support anyone involved in a crash. I know how the smallest bump can irreversibly change your life.
· Do you have an experience to share? Email experience@theguardian.com
