by Kavita Basi
When I followed him up to that floor in the hospital, I didn’t know where we were and was amazed I could walk—and with no pain. As we passed into the room with my bed and IV drip in the center, I looked back at the door.
Room 23.
“What do you really want?” Swami Ji asked me.
I looked out the window. I noticed how green and sharp everything was—crystalline, even—how the children played with joy, and how brightly the sun shone down.
Yes. This is what I want.
“Please, please help me get better,” I said.
When I was eight years old and living in India, I was very confident and vocal about what I wanted to do. I didn’t listen to my elders.
And I got into A LOT of trouble. I collected frogs and butterflies constantly and left them in my grandmother’s cupboard to shock her.
I was the leader of a group of friends both older and younger than me who met every evening after school. We played cricket, climbed trees, made kites, and rode bikes through derelict parks and buildings. I told everyone what to do and how to do it. I organized the games we played, told everyone how to play those games, and when it was time to stop.
I was bossy!
But they loved it because I showed them an adventure every day. I was firm but fair, and I knew even then that I was different. I had a confidence that came from within. I knew who I was even though I was only eight years old. The older kids listened to me because they seemed to respect that fact.
One day I came back home very late from playing and decided to sneak in and climb over the side wall with my sister, who was only six at the time. When I hit the grass and looked up, my granddad was standing there.
“You’re in so much trouble!” he scolded me. “Why do you go out gallivanting every night? You need to understand it’s dangerous being out so late. You’re not allowed.”
“You’re not the boss of me,” I said. “I’m not afraid of you!”
Granddad burst into laughter. He knew I had an answer for everything. After this encounter, I decided I needed to show him more respect.
As I grew into an adult, my personality somehow got lost. I became more accommodating to the people around me. This happens to many people. But as a result of my brain hemorrhage, the old spark in my personality reappeared. It was as if the accident knocked out all the irrelevant parts of my life and left behind only my eight-year-old self. I felt carefree. Now I wanted each day to be an adventure. I began to do only what I wanted to do, which was an adjustment for my family, and I encouraged them to do the same.
Life is short.
As cliché as this may sound, it’s true.
After the accident, I began to read a number of spiritual books, including some by the late Dr. Wayne Dyer. Dyer suggests that self-actualization not only means confidence in who you are but also truly understanding and knowing yourself. He gives a great example in his book I Can See Clearly Now: A man arrives at a dinner party underdressed for the occasion. Does he a) apologize for how he’s dressed; b) say he should have made more of an effort; or c) ask people to excuse what he’s wearing?
He doesn’t do any of these.
The meaning of personification of self-actualization is that he doesn’t even notice.
After coming home from the hospital, I struggled with who I’d become, because I was being told I was different even though I just felt like me. Eventually, I realized I needed to embrace myself and trust that my family would be okay and adjust. I wanted to live fearlessly, without any question of whether I was living the life I wanted to.
When I am honest about who I am and what I truly want, I’m happier. And this happiness carries over to my family, which they then carry into their own individual lives. It’s not about being selfish, it’s about being aware of what makes you—as an individual—content. If you prefer to sleep an hour later than everyone else because you know you’ll feel better in the morning, then do it. If you want to have a healthier meal than the rest of your family is having, then do it—you can still sit together. If you want to read your favorite book but your partner is watching TV, get some noise-cancelling headphones and read next to them so you can still enjoy each other’s company.
These small things add up.
Do what makes you happy.
Life has truly changed for me over these last couple of years. My priorities have shifted. I take days off from work to spend with my family, which I never did in the past. My career no longer comes first. And I’m finally realizing my childhood dream of helping others and making an impact.
During my recovery, a handful of friends looked after me for months, both in the hospital and at home—taking me for walks, going to brunch with me, visiting me at home, and just sitting and talking with me. This was friendship at its best. But some friendships disintegrated and fell away.
I was no longer the same Kavita Basi. I didn’t have the mental capacity or energy to keep up in the same way I had before. I slowly removed myself from group chats and hoped my friends would understand. I couldn’t manage lunches, dinners, and girls’ nights out. None of it was ever personal. I just didn’t have the energy, which is hard for people to understand unless they’ve had the experience of being very sick and can grasp the long-term repercussions of illness.
Rajni still lives just ten minutes from me. Along with my husband, she was my guardian angel while I was in the hospital. She visited me every day, even though she had two very young children, her husband, and her father-in-law to care for. She wanted to be by my side every day. We have a special bond from our time in India together. She is a beautiful, caring, and strong woman.
I’ve become very close with my husband’s parents as well, who continue to live with us. I’m especially close with Deepak’s mother. She is a loving and caring woman and has been a rock for me. I now understand her role in my life and the trouble and pain she experienced when I was ill. She was not only a mother to me, but also to my children when I was so vulnerable. I love her dearly for everything she’s done for me.
I don’t see my mother much, as she lives three hours away in Newcastle with my brother and his family, but I talk to her every day. I still get sad sometimes and call my mother, who lets me sob when I need to.
It was my mother who eventually helped me realize I was grieving my old self. I was constantly trying to grasp for the part of me that was lost—and never coming back. I needed to accept that I was a new person.
“It’s hard to be strong all the time,” I told her on the phone one day. “Sometimes I just need to let go and cry.”
“I know,” she said gently. “I grieved your father every day for a long time. I couldn’t make sense of his death.”
My brother calls me every so often to check in. My youngest sister lives in Essex with her family, so I only get to see her three times a year, but I talk with her every few weeks as well.
My nieces and nephews visited nearly every other day during the summer of my illness, after I came home. I felt special that they chose to spend their time with me when most kids their age would rather be out enjoying their friends and what summer had to offer. Instead they would have breakfast with me, take me out to lunch, go on walks with me. They would even come over and let me teach them what I knew of Hindi once a week.
Jay has landed a few modeling campaigns, including one for the international airline Qatar Airways, which has helped to boost his overall confidence as a boy. His true love is sports, however. He has excelled as an athlete and was recently accepted into the North-West Independent Schools Football Association, which we hope will one day train and inspire him to represent England.
Besides dreaming of a return to Paris, Jasmine continues to persue her love of singing and has received an offer from a top university. She hopes to become a linguist in Spanish and Arabic, although she also speaks German—and now basic French!
Deepak has now taken over many of the roles I used to fulfill as a mother and wife. I’m so lucky to have a
partner in life like him. He has become even more of a pillar in our family—if this was even possible. He’s passionate about everything he does, and is an active independent agent for an accessories company and consultant for a sportswear brand. He’s also turned his passion for cars into a car-leasing business—Lion Leasing.
If Deepak had not witnessed my seizure-turned-stroke that day in the hospital as he fed me, my recovery wouldn’t be what it is today; I would have been paralyzed for life or worse. Deepak’s love and twenty-four-hour care saved my life.
I’m proud to say that I am now an ambassador for The Brain and Spine Foundation, and I’m still the vice president of a fashion company, where I use my creativity to make a difference, to promote change. I feel strongly about protecting the environment for generations to come and believe we can all do our part in this—and I want to be able to use my position to influence this. I’m now also a sought-after public speaker on positivity, and I regularly blog on my website (www.kavitabasi.com). My running and training continue as well, activities that help me focus and keep me healthy and in good shape. I have found my love of painting again, which helps with my anxiety and my overall recovery.
We also have a new addition to the family, a Cocker Spaniel by the name of Brandi. Brandi is endless fun and entertainment and brings the whole family together to laugh at her antics.
I am happy with the person I am today. I’ve finally started to see my father again, but I don’t think I’ll ever see him and feel his presence as often as I did before. I still continue to recover from my brain hemorrhage. Every day I learn something new about who I am or who I’ve become. I think back to my childhood and the desire I had to be famous or make an impact. I never could have seen the twists and turns of this journey, from my brain hemorrhage to making the decision to live while looking out the window in Room 23, and the long road to recovery.
I still wonder, will we ever truly know who we are? What we’re supposed to be?
Why we’re here?
Likely not.
But I feel that I’m in a better position than ever to make a positive impact in the lives of those I love and the world around me. All I have to do is continue to strive to be the best version of myself, in all aspects of my life, and to spread the quality of positivity—a quality with the capacity to heal in uncertain times.
Diary Entries
6 May—Came home from McDonald’s and Mandir (Hindu temple)
7 May—Walked downstairs for the first time with help. Had shower. Slept the rest of the day.
8 May—Facial from Katie. Washed hair. Pizza! Then sick.
9 May—Massage from Katie. Sister spent all day with me to keep me company. She made fresh, organic potato and leek soup. Ate only a quarter of it. Bought twelve full-body massage sessions to build strength and remove the bruises all over my body and help with sleeping.
10 May—Read OK! Magazine from the date I went into the hospital on March 17/18. Aloo pronti for dinner. Then sick. Exam week for Jasmine and Jay.
11 May—Washed hair, clumps came out. Bhindi and one roti with yogurt for lunch. Sat in garden admiring nature. Lovely weather.
12 May—Woke up with blocked ears. Had tea and toast and tablets to avoid sickness.
13 May—Body massage for forty-five minutes with Katie at 9:00 a.m.
14 May—Meditation at 11:45 a.m. with Ana. Only twenty minutes, then back to bed.
16 May—Rushed to A&E due to severe migraine attack and extreme vomiting. Scared to go back into hospital. CT scan performed and all clear. Reason for attacks was because I had reduced my intake of codeine.
18 May—GP came to house for follow-up appointment. Unable to walk much. Got all necessary medication. My brother’s birthday—sent message.
20 May—Shaved legs and cut them in a few places as so much weight loss. Didn’t realize how skinny my legs are! Katie waxed my arms, and had a one-hour body massage. Bruises fading.
21 May—Woke up at 6:30 a.m. for tea and toast. Lay down until 9:30 a.m. Showered, washed hair, brushed teeth. No break. Made egg toast and baby plum tomatoes with rosemary and thyme. Now writing in lounge. Have Ana for meditation at 11:45 a.m. Trying it downstairs. Meditation and stretching only for two months, no other movements possible.
23 May—Showered, brushed teeth. Made eggs with tomatoes and mushrooms. Sister came over to make lunch with kids—macaroni and cheese. Had a meltdown, noise was too much, had to stay upstairs in bed. Kids are out, so sleep time and playing spider solitaire. Seven stone, one pound!
23 May—Brushed teeth at 9:30 a.m. Made scrambled eggs with mushrooms and small plum tomatoes at 10:30 a.m. Showered.
24 May—I’ve been really, really upset, just remembering things. It makes me quite upset. I just want to be normal again, but it’s going to take time. All my sickness has stopped, but I have diarrhea every day.
25 May—First day out—Tatton Park! We are going to try and go out in the car. Every time I’ve been in the car I’ve been sick. But I’m feeling positive. I think it might work.
26 May—My mum comes to stay from Newcastle. I’m so, so tired. I haven’t been out of bed. I’ve had a shower but have stayed in bed because I’m so tired from yesterday.
27 May—My mum takes me out every morning for breakfast. Washed and used hair dryer on hair with low setting, not too hot. My brother and his wife came with the baby to surprise me in the evening. Baby Rohan hasn’t been well.
28 May—Priest arrived at 7:00 a.m. Only family attended— thirty people, including kids. Prayers started at 8:30 a.m. Catered meal at 9:30 a.m. Lots of noise. Came upstairs to stay in bedroom for a while. High anxiety—too much noise. But I got the courage to go back down again. Slept for four hours.
29 May—I’ve not been up to it the last couple days. It’s been really, really hard. I have more headaches. I’ve just been in bed. Trying to get my energy back. It’s just so, so hard.
1 June—Had a prayer day with just my family. Got through it. Today I’m going for breakfast with my brother, his wife, and Mum. I have to go somewhere quiet so I can get used to noise.
2 June—I’m trying new ways to do my hair and get more confidence. Doing yoga and meditation for one hour, which has really helped. Some of my work colleagues called and are coming to see me.
3 June—Breakfast at the Hale Country Club, very quiet. M&S food shopping for half an hour. Watched one hour plus of TV on low volume.
4 June—Mum left at 6:00 a.m. to go back to Newcastle. I’m feeling like I haven’t got any company. It’s really, really hard. Too tired to do anything, and no one to talk to. 10:00 a.m. yoga— meditation only. Had Indian pronti for lunch. Trying to organize Jay’s birthday party but hard to use phone. Three members from work team came to give a lovely gift basket. It was exciting to see them.
5 June—Went for breakfast with a dear friend. Bumped into someone and started to cry for a few seconds but held it together. Not sure if ready to meet others yet. Enjoyed going out. Now watching half a film in bed. Can do one hour of TV now but get a headache. Still watch it. Ran out of seizure tablets, so emailed GP and getting someone to collect the prescription.
8 June—I’m drying my hair. Hair dryers are oddly soothing to my ears on a low setting. I don’t put the dryer near my stitches.
10 June—Bought five physio sessions to try and reset my posture and way of walking. I’m hunched over and my head is slightly forward from being in the hospital bed for so long.
11 June—The rehab team visited. They check to see how you’re doing after a stroke, to see if any care is needed and see who is looking after me.
13 June—I put makeup on now. I get dressed—not just in my pajamas and leggings. I can watch 1.5 hours of TV, but will then start to get a headache. I have my appetite back and weight is coming back on. Feeling good today.
18 June—Morning walk with my niece.
21 June—Father’s Day. First evening meal out. Well, if you call 5:00 p.m. evening? Restaurants are quieter and not as b
usy at this time. Corner table but enjoyed it. Played games, Q&A.
23 June—Not a good day today. Cried all morning. Can’t process a list of things to do. I can only do a few things per day. Otherwise it gives me stress and a headache. Emotionally drained.
24 June—Had physiotherapy for my head, neck, and back and felt better afterward.
29 June—Did a little walk on my own. Feeling fresh air is really good on a nice, warm day. Have a little bit of a headache.
1 July—Consultant appointment eight weeks after being released from the hospital. He allowed short-distance plane travel and a glass of wine here and there. Every other limitation is still in place.
3 July—Walk with Amber. Nice weather.
2 September—Bought five acupuncture sessions to relieve pain from sciatica and help me sleep. I was so scared of this, but it was the best thing ever! I’d recommend it to everyone!
9 September—First MRI scan eighteen weeks after being released from the hospital.
14 September—Booked a private psychiatry appointment, but NHS will also cover this, as it’s important to try and help to control emotional side effects.
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank my children, Jasmine and Jay, for being so brave and having the strength to succeed and achieve their goals; my sister, Rajni Dev, who has been my inspiration and was determined to make me stronger than ever after my accident; my husband, Deepak Basi, for putting up with my mood swings and crying, among so many other things; Amrik Basi, my mother-in-law, who has given me hope and stability; my siblings, mum, and close family, all of whom have helped me to see what is possible with dedication and love; my dear friends, who have supported me throughout this journey; Dr. Wayne Dyer for his writings, which have helped to give me a sense of greater purpose in life; National Health Services, which provided much care for my family me; Li & Fung, for giving me the support to build and improve my career and work life; The Brain and Spine Foundation, for recognizing my YouTube videos and sharing to help others; Naomi Long Eagleson from The Artful Editor, who helped me in the writing journey; Elizabeth K. Kracht, my ghostwriter, and She Writes Press, for believing in my book and making publishing possible; Mr. Ravinder Mohan Chopra, my late father, who has shaped me to be the person I am today; and to Salford Royal Hospital, for saving my life.