I didn’t expect this story to be mine. Not at my age. Not with my lifestyle. Not with my health profile. But here I am—writing this because, one day, seemingly out of nowhere, I had a transient ischaemic attack—a TIA, a mini-stroke.
I’m not a doctor. I don’t have a medical degree or any clinical background. What I do have is a firsthand experience that changed how I see stress, health, and modern working life. And I feel a responsibility to share it—because maybe, just maybe, it might help someone else stop and listen before their body forces them to.
A Normal Day That Turned Into Anything But
Monday 7th October 2024 started like any other workday. I woke early, took Betty (my dog) for a walk, and was getting ready to drive to Manchester for a team meeting about our new CRM system.
I was tired, despite a good night’s sleep. But who isn’t? I chalked it up to pressure, deadlines, and too many meetings. I worked in a high-pressure job with a culture that rewarded “resilience” and barely tolerated vulnerability. There was always someone to answer to. Something urgent going wrong. Someone looking for someone to blame.
It started during the dog walk. Betty did her business, and as I crouched down to pick it up (with a poop bag, of course), I suddenly felt strange—really lightheaded, dizzy, disoriented. I shrugged it off, brought Betty home, grabbed my laptop bag, got in the car, put some tunes on, and set off on the 21-mile journey to work.
Once in Manchester, I popped into Costa Coffee for my usual: a large black Americano and a Danish to go. Then into the office to set up for the meeting.
That’s when things went from strange to serious.
I couldn’t focus on the laptop screen. I couldn’t hold my head up. I slumped across the desk. A couple of colleagues arrived. I remember one making a comment about football—our usual banter—but I wasn’t responsive.
Then things escalated.
Someone called 999. The ambulance came. I was wheeled out in a chair, vomiting on the way, and taken to A&E at Manchester Royal Infirmary. A colleague came with me and contacted my next of kin—one of my daughters. Two of my girls arrived shortly after. There were tests. A CT scan. Eventually, I was discharged with a diagnosis of unexplained syncope and told to see my GP the next day.
My GP was not impressed with that diagnosis. In fact, he was outraged by its dismissiveness. He arranged an urgent referral to the Stroke Clinic at Stepping Hill Hospital in Stockport, where they diagnosed a TIA with 99% certainty. That was later confirmed as 100% following heart monitoring and an MRI scan.
Back on the day it happened, I felt a strange, unsettling sensation—like my mind wasn’t keeping up with my body. Confusion. Blurred vision. Overwhelming fatigue. And an instinctive, deep fear that lingered.
It wasn’t a faint.
It was a TIA.
My brain had been briefly deprived of oxygen. A mini-stroke.
But I Was Healthy…
The diagnosis shocked me—not just because of what it was, but because I didn’t fit the profile. I’ve always looked after myself. My blood pressure was healthy. My weight was a little high, but far from obese. On the whole I ate well (especially when my girlfriend’s staying), I walk Betty daily, I go on long walks with friends, and I’ve been sober for over a decade. I don’t smoke.
So how could this happen?
That question haunted me for weeks. The scans, the bloods, the check-ups—everything looked mostly normal. No obvious cause.
Except… one.
A glaring, invisible one: chronic stress.
When the Culture Is the Risk
I’d been working in a toxic environment for years. On the surface, it looked like success—fast-paced, results-driven, competitive. But underneath? Corrosive.
To be clear: I’m not talking about my line manager or my immediate team—they were supportive. The toxicity came from elsewhere. Mistakes were met with blame, not support. Vulnerability was seen as weakness. There was always a background hum of anxiety:
Am I next? Did I do enough? Will I be the one under fire this week?
I never saw myself as “stressed out.” I was just busy. Focused. Productive.
But now I know:
Stress doesn’t always feel dramatic. Sometimes, it’s quiet. Hidden. Normalised. Until your body says: enough.
Why I’m Writing This
I’m sharing this because I don’t want anyone—especially my colleagues or anyone working in a blame-driven culture—to go through what I did.
Stress isn’t just a mental health issue. It’s a physical health risk. A real one.
And I had to learn that the hard way.
This post is the first in a series where I’ll explore what happened, what I’ve learned, and how I’ve started to rebuild a different relationship with health—one that includes the nervous system, not just diet and exercise.
If you’ve ever felt like you were carrying more than your body could hold—or like no one takes your stress seriously—this is for you.
You’re not imagining it.
And it’s not “just stress.”
This is the first blog in The Mini Stroke Diaries. Coming soon will cover what is a TIA, and my personal journey – what I did next, coping with the new normal and moving forward
See you soon
Ronnie