At 26, I was waking up every day to sunshine and possibility. Living in Dubai, I had my dream job as a professional dancer and children’s character performer.
My days started with sunbathing and ended on stage, playing everyone from Peter Rabbit to the Care Bears. I was surrounded by music and laughter, I had no worries, I just felt so content and happy.
But on November 16, 2021, everything changed.
That morning, I had breakfast with a friend, talking about our hopes and plans for the future. I remember walking to the car, and then nothing.
I went to work as normal, and apparently I was laughing and joking one second, and then I collapsed. The stage manager arrived and she put me in the recovery position, I was sweating profusely, the color was disappearing from my face, and she kept me repeating my name until I stopped responding.
The next thing I remember is being in a hospital bed, no idea how I ended up there and about to learn I had suffered a medical emergency that would unravel my entire life.
I don’t remember being told, but learned from reading my notes that I had suffered a brain hemorrhage caused by a ruptured arteriovenous malformation—an AVM—something I had never even heard of until it nearly ended my life.
AVM is Arteriovenous malformations (AVMs) are rare vascular system defects that occur when arteries and veins form abnormal, direct connections, bypassing capillaries and normal tissues.
I was in ICYU for 11 days where the doctors said I needed surgery called an endovascular embolization to treat the AVM and aneurysms.
But because I was in Dubai, and because it was still during Covid, getting an emergency surgery wasn’t simple. A family member needed to sign off on the procedure, but my sister, my emergency contact, tested positive for coronavirus and couldn’t fly. So my brother and father stepped in and came out instead. They signed the forms, and I was taken into surgery.
The doctors went in through a blood vessel in my groin to block off the aneurysm that had already burst, stop another one from bursting, and start treating the tangled blood vessels. I spent a month in a hospital in Dubai before my insurance ran out and I had to be flown back home to Wales.
I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was now homeless, my life in Dubai had vanished overnight. Luckily, I live in a small town in Wales where people look out for each other. Friends, neighbors, and even people I barely knew came together to make sure I had somewhere to stay.
Back in the U.K., I spent another seven months in the hospital, at first I was too sick to realize the severity of my condition, and all the while my sister was trying to find me somewhere to live when I was well enough to leave.
Recovery was slow and surreal. For a long time, I didn’t quite grasp how serious everything had been. But as I became more aware, the reality sank in, my right arm didn’t move. I could only take a few steps. Everything I’d taken for granted now felt impossibly far away.
I was laughing and joking one second, and then I collapsed
Mererid Olivia Rees
While I was waiting for the next stage of treatment I was told the AVM was deep in my brain, making surgery too risky. The plan was to use targeted radiotherapy to shrink it slowly over time, and I was told this could take five years to fully work.
While waiting for the radiotherapy, I was terrified. I had some awful thoughts, so I reached out for help, started taking antidepressants, and gradually my mind began to settle. I joined the gym, focused on getting as strong as possible, and did what I could to hold onto hope.
A year later, I underwent radiotherapy to target the AVM, and for a while, I felt strong. I was gaining back some independence, travelling, seeing friends again. I even started to feel a bit like myself.
But just after my 29th birthday in 2024, things took a turn. I lost my peripheral vision, my right side became weaker again, and I could feel myself sliding backward. The radiotherapy had caused swelling in my brain—apparently a normal response, but still terrifying.
I was put on steroids to manage it, and while they helped physically, they came with their own challenges. My mental health started to spiral as I felt I’d lost all of the improvements I’d fought so hard for.
Because of this, I came off the steroids and I am slowly getting stronger again. I have an MRI coming up, and I’m hoping it shows the swelling is gone. The moment I get the all-clear, I’m booking a holiday. I’ve missed seeing the world more than anything. Travel was such a big part of who I was—of how I felt free.
These days, I focus on my health and fitness, and I do a bit of part-time social media. I know I won’t dance again, but I’ve been given another chance.
I’m still here, and that means I can become something else, something new. The sun is shining in Wales, and I’m just so grateful to be alive, sitting in my garden, soaking it in.
As told to Alice Gibbs.
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