It’s now just over a year since the last image/entry in this series. Some time ago I’d asked the people that had been closely following this story on Flickr if they’d like to submit some questions for a Q&A session with my father. This seemed like the perfect way to finish the story. The image above, of me with my dad, was taken celebrating his recent 80^th birthday.

When I began the project documenting my father’s battle, clearly I had no idea where fate and circumstance might lead us. In my opening public comments I essentially concluded my introduction of the documentary with “…and for what I ultimately truly hope will be an uplifting journey to recovery.” Even when I wrote those words, I wasn’t fully aware, having survived the initial dramatic stroke, how the odds were stacked against him.

Happily, for those who followed the unfolding story, you’ll know that my father was lucky to fall into the third of people having such an event who subsequently go on to make a good recovery.

Once again, thanks for all your support through this difficult period in my/our family’s life. I had mixed feelings about making this public, but I was genuinely overwhelmed by those who took the time to write and offer their support and prayers, etc.

And special thanks to John, Alison, Claudio, Tracie, Louise, Kyre, Chris, Sharon, Hameed, Alex, Robert, Dawn, Jen and Giuliana for taking the time to ask some really quite probing questions, and allowing this to have an ideal completion.

I love the fact that you let Will take these photos of you at your most fragile, but there’s no doubting who is the stronger character, but that’s as it should be, you’re  his father, and from what he has written a wonderful one at that. He on the other hand is a very talented artistic verbose person, but please tell me, he can be occasionally annoying?! [Two other people also asked about me being annoying!  J  Uh, am I annoying?]

{Much laughter} Probably, yes! How do you annoy me? [Well, that could be a potentially long list! Shall we try and keep it to the purposes of this project?! J] When I went to your recent exhibition, I saw some of your business cards and was flicking through them and came across one of the early images again. Only small, but still quite shocking and I worry Arlene [his wife/my step-mother] might see them accidentally. [Arlene has never seen any of the early photos – wouldn’t want to. But I can understand that, as she very much lived the reality.] Then there was the book that you brought in, and it fell on the floor [I’m Going To Die], and the nurse picks it up “What’s this?!” My son’s got a funny sense of humour. Yes, that was a bit annoying! But it did raise quite a few laughs on the ward; I think it was probably the inevitable black humour release for them.

 What did you like and/or dislike about being the subject of this documentary on your stroke and recovery? Were there any times that you refused to let your son photograph you?

While I didn’t always like it, I still let you take pictures. [And in all honesty, while I discussed it with him, it’s certainly fair to say that my dad didn’t fully realise what was happening during those initial days.]

How do you feel about all these strangers potentially viewing these images and making comments?

I don’t mind anyone making comments. Everyone is entitled to their opinion and reaction. And if it [making the series] has helped other people, I’d be really quite pleased about that.

 Do you think the unfolding documentation of the journey helped at all in the recovery?

“I’m not sure. I wouldn’t be able to say, I don’t think, if they really did or didn’t. But I don’t really like looking at them now.”

Which was his favourite photo of the series? Why?

I can’t remember half of them! [Mostly a result of dad not really looking at the images again. The disadvantage, though, is that he doesn’t recall the lighter ones either.] Did you take any when they were throwing the football at me? I suppose they would’ve been more fun and quite interesting. I was doing it with another guy, but he wasn’t very good. I reckon he was probably a Rovers supporter! [Dad supports City, the team from the other side of town.]

And which was he most surprised by? Why?

The ones that surprised me most were the first couple. I couldn’t believe how dreadful I looked. So that was a surprise. I can’t remember any of that period either.

Is he happy with his level of recovery, so far? And do you anticipate any further recovery?

Well, I would hope to still get some further improvement in my left hand and arm. Little things like using a fork: I find I’ve got to scoop at the food and have to really focus on what I’m doing. And I can’t really lift anything using this arm. I was trying to put up a shelf at home, but I found that my arm just slowly drops down – not very good for keeping a shelf level! And when I walk I scuff my foot. But I’m still doing the exercises the physiotherapist gave me, so hopefully it’ll still improve.

I have been to some of the Stroke Association and follow-up meetings, too, and I’ve met people who were in hospital the same time as me, and they were exactly as I left them. There was a guy in there who couldn’t speak, and he still can’t speak now [a year later]. It makes me realise just how lucky I was and that there’s always someone worse off than yourself.

What is his current state of mind about all of this?

I feel I’ve gone along pretty well, considering. And while I no longer have any direct contact with physiotherapy – mind you, I frightened then to death a couple of times: when I was doing exercises on the bike, I would run out of energy but try and keep going and I’d flake out and they would have an A&E nurse rush round! But I’ve also been diagnosed with diabetes now, too, which probably explains some of those reactions. [Dad has a history of ignoring warning signs. Hence lying on the bathroom floor for a couple of hours before calling the ambulance! I can’t reiterate enough, to anyone reading this, that acting fast when a stroke is suspected is absolutely crucial when it comes to best possible recovery outcomes, even survival.]

And you went and had some counselling recently, didn’t you? Did you get anything from that?

When I first went I didn’t want to go. Well, they go into everything, really. He used to laugh because I’d ask him questions at the end and he’d say “You’re meant to be answering the questions, not me!” But he did say he felt I’d made progress [7 sessions over 8 weeks], saying I didn’t look well when I first came, and felt I had become more comfortable talking. If anything, as I said to him, ‘I feel like I made a friend coming to see you… just sitting down and having a chat.’ [This is altogether interesting because my dad, as I’ve said previously, does have a tendency to keep his thoughts to himself. And even this interview became an intriguing exercise, in that he was seemingly more open to me asking questions in the guise of this project from other people.]

Has his illness changed him as a person?

Well, I would like to think I haven’t changed. But my wife, and I say this with the greatest respect {Laughs}, reckons it’s altered me completely; that I’m now a grumpy old bugger. And I seem to have a go at her about things. I don’t know, I don’t think I do. I don’t think I’ve changed a great deal, but then that’s me. [This was the catalyst for dad’s counselling sessions. And it’s true, he does have a tendency to snap more easily, and can become defensively aggressive – which he’s never been fond of acknowledging. And, although I’ve not really witnessed it myself, Arlene says his patience is much shorter now. But I’ve also seen the double-edged sword of Arlene irritating him a little. She can be a worrier and has a tendency to overanalyse and poke at his soft underbelly. So, that’s a difficult one. Particularly as she often suggests he’s not the man she married, and I have to remind her that was 30 years ago!]

I say to her, I object to you saying I’ve completely altered because I don’t think I have. And I ask her if she’s sure she hasn’t changed. Because it’s bound to affect the carer as much as the person who’s had the stroke. Anyway… we get on okay, besides that, but she does say I’ve altered. [And I would just like to add, from my perspective, I think it’s inevitable that the carer will undoubtedly have their own reaction to something as emotionally exposing as this; with its myriad uncertainty.]

What is that you value the most and/or has it changed?

There are two things I value most…  my wife, which is fine. And the other is my health; which, under the circumstances, I feel I’m quite lucky with. And, at the moment, feel quite well. Although the other day, they yanked half my mouth out, pulling at that [rotten] tooth. [‘On the plus side, though, you’ve still got teeth to pull out. That’s another way of looking at it!’]

What did he find was most helpful for him in dealing with medical systems and professionals?

Well, I couldn’t grumble at anything at the hospital; they had a lot to put up with on that ward, and there were many patients a lot worse than me. And once I began to improve and become more aware of what they were doing, I could only admire them.

And then I had the 6 week home visits follow-up with the physiotherapists – giving me exercises and walking me up the road and things. I thought it was excellent. [I was partly asked that question too. In short, all the staff, working under very difficult circumstances: dealing with the patients themselves, and the often bewildered relatives, were an absolute credit to their profession and the NHS, in general. And things were often very difficult on such an acute ward. Aside from dealing with the worst affected, physically, it also clearly affected other patients emotionally and in character, which prompts this memory from dad himself]:

The first few days I certainly didn’t know a lot about what was going on. I remember waking up one night and I thought Arlene was down the end of the ward and I could hear her talking, so I kept saying to the nurse “Why isn’t my wife coming up to see me?” and she’d say ‘Your wife’s not down there. It’s 3am. She’ll be home in bed.’ And I said no, I could definitely hear her – and I kept on and on. I was sure she was there and I eventually said “If you don’t take me down there I’m going to get out of bed and crawl down the ward.” The next day Arlene came in and, of course, she said she wasn’t in the previous night, so I apologised to the nurse ‘I should think so, you were a right pain in the ass last night!’

But the hallucinations were terrible. [Potentially a combination of the drugs and the brain rewiring itself.] I remember looking down and seeing a worm coming out the back of my hand. I was looking at it, and then I was looking in the bed to see where it had gone. I was convinced, it was so lifelike. And as I was looking for it, I glanced up at the ceiling and all these snakes were dropping down, wriggling… it was horrible.

What would you say has been the biggest challenge during this time (after your stroke)?

I had several challenges. I wanted to get back and drive my car. And I’ve achieved that. I wanted to get back to playing golf, which is always a challenge. [‘But you can still play a round of golf, which would be quite a challenge for me, and you’ve got 30 years on me!’] Well, there you go, see… I don’t even think about that. And sometimes people look at me on the course in disbelief when I say I’m 80. [And, I hasten to add, he walks and carries his own clubs. No buggy!]

What has been the biggest lesson you have learned about life?

The only thing I can think of is health… I just hope I’m going well, and I focus on the present.

It’s a hard question to answer. This is a little bit like counselling, really, isn’t it? In fact, some of these questions are better than the ones the counsellor asked! He didn’t ask questions like this… he probably should’ve done!

Had there ever been a discussion among your family regarding his wishes and if so, did it help? If there had not been these discussions, have there been now?

No. I never think about it. I just live from day to day and hope everything will be okay. I don’t think about having another stroke or anything else. I just don’t think about anything like that. It’s a difficult question, but I do worry about how Arlene would cope.

Do you think this photo project has changed your relationship with your son? Do you think he knows you better or vice versa?

 “Well, I think I’m bound to say I know him a little better…  although I’m not sure if that’s for better or worse! { Laughs } But I certainly understand why you did it.”

Are you going to come to my first solo photography exhibition next month? Bearing in mind, there will be ten images on the wall, and one of them will be of you.

Which one? The dreaded one? Arlene probably won’t come. She’s not against you taking pictures. But she won’t want to ever see those.

‘So you’ll still come and see them? You can sit with your back to that one, so you don’t have to look. And then, when anyone comes in I can say “This is my dad.”’ Dad then laughs and says ‘But he looks worse than ever!’

Personally, I like that image a lot more now, when I can sit here talking to him like this, and have him looking as well as he does today. Thanks dad. And thanks to all of you…