Tezza

From the moment I had my stroke right through to the day of surgery, I made a conscious decision not to doomscroll. I avoided ChatGPT, Reddit, and Google. I did not want to drown in stories or spiral in speculation. I only read what my care team gave me: medical journals and summaries from my surgeon, most of which I barely understood, but it felt safer that way. I knew that if I cracked the door open late at night, when the insomnia hit, my mind would fall into darker places. And to be honest, I was already struggling.

It was only after surgery that I realised how heavy those six months had been. I had not recognised it at the time, but I was in a dark place. I was anxious. I was depressed. I lost parts of myself I did not know I could lose. I was not just sick, I was scared, and I was lonely. It was the first time I had really faced a mental health challenge. It came slowly, quietly, and completely.

Now I am still recovering, physically and mentally, but there is a thin layer of clarity forming. A layer I can build on. And for the first time, I felt ready to start looking outward.

That is when I found TAAFs, an organisation that supports people going through or recovering from AVMs. I reached out not expecting much, but within hours they got back to me. Not with a generic email or a list of resources, but with something real: a connection.

They introduced me to a guy called Terry, someone who is fighting through the same thing I am. Instantly, there was a sense of understanding. He came with an open heart and an open mind, and when we spoke, it just clicked. I had never met anyone with an AVM before. Speaking to him was the first time I felt truly heard. Not just by a doctor or a well-meaning friend, but by someone who actually got it.

It was surreal. I am not a spiritual person, but this felt almost like fate. It was like I gained a brother overnight. A fellow fighter. And in time, I hope I can be that for someone else too.

When I got his first email, he signed off as “Tezza.” That was when I smiled, because I am Australian, and that is exactly what he would be called back home. We are strangers on paper, but in this, we are connected.

We have both been through hell. We are not done yet. But we are here. And that counts for something.