Not All Heroes Wear Capes, They Wear Scrubs

After three months of searching for answers following my stroke in December, I finally found one. Or rather, I found him. His name is Mr Jarnail Bal.

It was April 2025. I was exhausted, frightened, and running out of options. For patients with an AVM, it's hard to explain the mental burden. It feels like walking around with a live grenade in your head. Once it ruptures, the chances of another bleed are high, and the consequences can be life-changing or even fatal.

That’s when Mr Bal entered the picture. A brain surgeon, yes, but more importantly, someone calm, sharp, and deeply compassionate. From the moment we met, I felt seen. He didn’t speak to me like a case number. He spoke to me like a person. For the first time since the stroke, I felt genuinely understood.

Brain surgery is not just a profession. It is a daily exercise in responsibility, often involving life and death. For people like me, undergoing it is not just a procedure. It is our entire future. It means facing our families, our fears, and hoping against hope for a second chance.

Meeting Mr Bal made me think about my own working life. I have spent most of it in commercial roles, helping businesses grow and creating jobs. But in all honesty, I have never held someone’s life in my hands. That has left me with a quiet sense of regret. What I have done has value, but it is not the same as what he does for others every single day.

On 6 June, Mr Bal performed surgery on my brain. He did so with precision and complete focus. Two days ago, a cerebral angiogram confirmed the result. The AVM is gone. I have been given a second chance at life.

Now comes recovery. There is dizziness, unsteadiness, and mixed progress. But I am walking, breathing, and improving. I do not intend to waste this opportunity.

To Mr Bal, I offer my sincere thanks. I will never forget your care. You are a good man. And I am very lucky to have had you looking after me.