As I worked my way through Google’s search listings, clicking on entry after entry that had  ‘stroke’  in the title, the same advertisement kept popping up. I had trained myself not to see the ads but for some reason, I clicked on this one. I started reading about stem cell replacement therapy that used your own cells. I could feel my heart beating faster.

I phoned the number listed and spent half an hour quizzing the representative. Finally, I printed out the information sheet, ran down the stairs and read it to Steve before bursting into tears. There were case histories of people with stroke who had spoken again and walked again and there were research papers and clinical trials I could read. There was a whole lot of controversy surrounding stem cell treatment but there was also real hope that it could help Steve.

In the following months, I did so much research on stem cell replacement therapy that it was one of the reasons why I started the Research & Hope website. I phoned countless researchers and professors of neurology all over the world. It was amazing that so many of these busy people took the time to talk to me and explain their views on stem cell treatment. Most of them ended the conversation with a warning that stem cell therapy was in its infancy and that it was too soon to expect positive results. On the other side, there were so many case histories detailing patients who had made at least some recovery. Also, people we had met in waiting rooms, while attending Steve’s therapy sessions, had told us of the successful treatment of friends and relatives. I looked into every story and every claim as closely as I could.

It took about two years from the day I found that ad to the day Steve travelled to get the treatment. I needed the time to do the research and to find the money to pay for the therapy: a total of €10,000. Throughout that time, the prospect of treatment kept Steve going. I tried to be realistic, telling him time and again that it might not work, that it was controversial, and that we might not be able to find the money. His reply was always the same: he pointed to the photograph in our kitchen of him holding Gina as a baby. That image is his symbol for becoming well again, for returning to the man he once was and living the life we once had. Despite all the warnings and controversy, we decided to try. If we tried and failed, at least we would know that we had done everything we could. If we didn’t try, we would always wonder if we had missed an opportunity to help Steve recover.

By the time Steve was on the plane, we both understood that he would not come back walking and talking as though he had never had a stroke. The best we could hope for was a small gain: maybe less tension in his limbs, or two or three more words. At the outside, we wished that his paralyzed hand and arm would move.

Steve travelled on a Monday morning with one of his top karate students, now a karate master in his own right. As soon as they arrived at the clinic, the doctors extracted some cells from Steve’s hip. It was a painful process but one he was prepared for. Two days later they injected his own stem cells into his spinal column through a lumber puncture, another painful procedure. Two days after that, Steve and his friend came home. It was Friday.

During the first couple of nights at home, Steve was in severe pain down his right side; the side affected by the stroke. The morning after his return was a Saturday. In the past, I had often asked him to close his fist, hoping that he would forget he’d had a stroke and just do it. This was a movement most doctors had told him was impossible. When I asked him to do it that Saturday morning, he clenched his hand and then bent his elbow for the first time since the stroke. We both burst into tears.

I started some physiotherapy and speech therapy with him immediately, even though he was very tired. I then asked him to name some objects as I pointed to them. We had been trying this test for years with little or no success but this time, Steve named 4 out of 20 objects. Over the next few weeks, the size of Steve’s stride also increased dramatically. He worked so hard that he needed to sleep for hours after each speech and physio session.

It is now six months since his treatment. Steve says that his thinking is much clearer. Everyone has noticed how easily he can follow a conversation now, even when four or five people are taking part. He used to rely on a mobility scooter when he left the house but we have given it away, as he can walk anywhere he wants to with his stick. He still needs to rest after ten minutes or so but this is improving and he is walking straighter and faster all the time. He can say his name when you ask him and he has gained three or four extra words he can choose to say if he wants to. Before the treatment, he had very few words and most of the time he just said “difficult” as the answer to every question. Now, he sometimes finds the word he wants and while he is trying, a wide range of words come out one after the other. This is not what the therapists call “functional” speech but it is clear that something has changed.

The same is true of his ability to write. He still can’t write me a message. Nonetheless, before stem cell therapy, when I asked him to write a word, Steve could only draw straight lines on a page. A few days after the treatment, he wrote letters and words for the first time since his stroke:  “I When…” and  “fote extchd”.  I interpreted the latter as “Foot Extended”, which is the exercise we had just practiced. Again, this is not a means of communication but we believe it is a sign of positive change.

We are convinced that stem cell therapy has worked for Steve. We had realistic expectations before he had the treatment, so we are delighted with the results. He will have another treatment just as soon as we can get him there.

Please feel free to ask me about anything or to leave a comment.

As a student and teacher of philosophy, I have always believed it possible to think my way out of any situation. In the past, I have almost always managed to get what I want, although it hasn’t always turned out to be what I expected.

Four years ago, I found myself in a situation that made me wonder if I was wrong. Maybe I had met my match; maybe this was the situation where thinking was not going to help. I was only half right.

In June of 2006, after many difficult years, I found myself living a magical life. I had the most wonderful six-year-old daughter, a perfect baby girl in my arms and a man who was, in my eyes, more desirable than any movie star. Things were going well with my family too, especially my sister Belinda and her four fabulous sons. By December, everything had changed.

My sister had lost her long battle with breast cancer and a stroke had turned my karate master Steve into a 17-stone child with no speech, severely reduced movement and little understanding of what was going on around him. Two of my young cousins had died suddenly; my mother was dangerously ill; I had slipped a disk trying to lift Steve and I had many signs of breast cancer. How was I going to think my way out of this?

There were days when I wondered if I was the subject of a cosmic stress test run by a group of mad scientists in a Matrix-type world. I imagined them giggling away in their lab, nudging each other and whispering, “Lets see what happens if we make the commode split, the doorbell ring, the baby cry and Steve shout all at the same time!”

Some people turn to comfort food at times like this. I do too but I also take comfort in reading; the heavier and more obscure the topic the better. When Steve fell ill, I asked his doctors and therapists to give me papers to read. I wanted everything they had on stroke. Then I went online. I started on the first entry that popped up and read and read and read.

After a year, I stumbled upon a treatment the doctors had never mentioned and it really helped Steve. I found another and another, until the light came back into his eyes, the movement came back into his paralyzed arm and the hope came back into our lives. I decided to share my discoveries with others who, like us, were desperately searching for help.

To this end, I am launching a website called Research & Hope in September. It is the culmination of my research so far and includes more than 20 treatments that most doctors never mention. It also has ideas to help children understand illness and a place for carers and family members to find practical advice and support.

Through this blog, I’ll be sharing my experiences while finishing the website. I’ll also be writing about any new treatments Steve is trying and logging his progress… or lack of it! He has just started testing a new drug. As far as I know, he’s the first stroke survivor to try it in Europe.

Please feel free to ask me about anything or to leave a comment.