At 47, I was a healthy, outgoing and fun-loving person, enjoying a busy work life and active social circle. My husband and I had raised two daughters, and were at the point in our lives when we felt we could begin to take more time to enjoy the important things in life.

On a Saturday night in February that year, we entertained friends for dinner and retired late. I woke at 3 a.m. with a headache, more painful than any I had experienced before. I managed to get to the bathroom, a tiny room on the main floor of our small but carefully renovated two storey home. There I lost consciousness. What followed is remembered in an almost surrealistic manner.

Becoming a patient for the first time my life, first in an acute care hospital, later in a longterm rehabilitation centre, was my reality for the following 9 months. I learned I had had a cerebrovascular accident...a stroke. In those few minutes, I lost my independence, my health, my lifestyle. I entered unfamiliar and, what I experienced to be, unfriendly territory. My everyday activities were in the hands of strangers.

Though feeling unwell, exhausted and at times confused, I recollect having many questions, widespread emotions and a brewing sense of rebellion. How had this happened? Why did this happen to me? What did the future hold? How would I survive these changes? I recall being poked, prodded and processed by countless "professionals"...some of whom explained their role, many of whom remained nameless and a mystery to me. The health care team - my healthcare team - became my lifeline though it seemed they were more interested in sharing their ideas and decisions with each other and my family rather than with me. They met behind closed doors, I wasn't sure when, to discuss my progress, my strengths, my challenges, my discharge date. I endured long hours of assessment and intervention. I met some of these people only once, others on a daily or weekly basis. Keeping track of their names, their faces, their roles was laborious and I gave up trying after a few days, knowing that I was unable to remember those details.

I recall waking in the night during my first week in the rehabilitation centre and wondering where I was, fearful of falling out of bed, anxious that any headache meant another stroke. Sometimes I was cold and unable to reach for a blanket in the night. I never thought about calling for help or using the buzzer. I felt guilty asking for help of any kind. I assumed that being a ‘good patient' meant not bothering people...not expressing my anger...my uneasiness...my dread.

One day my frustration level boiled over....one therapist asked "how would you find a restaurant if you were traveling with your husband in a foreign country?" My indignation was evident but was interpreted as poor judgment and emotional lability. My response: "I've traveled many times in other countries...I would never go hungry!" elicited knowing looks from the assessor who jotted down notes in a file marked with my name.

Eventually one member of the team came to meet me and appeared to merely "sit" with me, giving me information without any questions needing to be asked. I felt this woman treated me as an equal....as the intelligent and capable woman I knew myself to be. I began to share my innermost thoughts and feelings with this woman as I felt safe with her. I prefaced my confession with an apology...though I didn't want to burden this woman, I felt lost, misunderstood and unable to comprehend what was happening to me. With this step, I began my personal journey of advocacy and a return to my former self...eventually this one discussion would end my role as submissive patient and begin the path that would ultimately enable me to join my own health care team as a member with knowledge, responsibilities and power.

Looking back at this period of time, from the vantage of health and my own home, I am able to describe my experience with clarity, understanding and humour. I retain the frustration and some of the anger that were created by the health care system and my role in it. I hope and expect the system will change and that future patients will have different expectations, experiences and results. I share my story in order to effect that change.