July the 29th 1998, I was sitting down watching the TV, Celtic were playing in a friendly game against some Irish team and the second half was just kicking off (I’m not a Celtic fan by the way).
The phone rang and a very well spoken gentleman greeted my reply of hello.
“Can I speak to Martin Baxter please"

“Speaking”
“Martin, I’m calling from the Glasgow Southern General Hospital”
“How can I help”, for some reason I thought I was going to be asked to participate in some kind off questionnaire, how wrong I was to be.
“Your Father, Walter Baxter has suffered a Brain Haemorrhage and has asked for me to call and inform you of what has happened”.
It took a second or so for the information to sink in.
“Is he OK”, I replied.
“I think it would be in your best interest if you were to come down to Glasgow this evening and see your father”
The alarm bells starting ringing as the information began to slowly register, I remembered back to 15 years ago, my auntie Gladys had suffered a brain haemorrhage whilst waiting in a doctor’s surgery for a medical and died in the waiting room (how ironic).
“I’ll be down right away”.

I informed my wife to be Dawn of what had happened and told her that I would be leaving for Glasgow that evening, Dawn responded that she would come down with me.
I had the arduous and pain staking task of phoning my sister Paula to inform her of the devastating phone call that I had received 10 minutes ago.
Paula was understandably very upset (as I was but I had to be strong for her) with the news I had given her and also requested to travel down to visit Dad. We left the house after packing an overnight bag and headed of towards Paula’s and from there down to Glasgow, nobody said much on the way down…
We arrived in Glasgow at about 01.30 am and realised we couldn't find a way into the hospital; finally a hospital porter let us in and directed us to the information desk. The receptionist directed us to which ward Dad was in and we made our way up to see him, what would we find, is he still alive, what are we going to do? Our questions were soon to be answered.
We spoke to a ward sister and she directed us to where Dad was, we walked in and were quite surprised how well he looked, we said hello and asked how he was doing,
“Everything’s fine, just got a sore head; I’ll see you in the morning”
We spoke to the surgeon, a Mr Barlow who formed us on the severity of Dad’s injuries and advised as to which course of action that they would be taking, he advised us that we would have a more comprehensive and in-depth chat about it tomorrow.
It was 02.30 in the morning and luckily the ward sister directed us to an empty ward and said that we could spend the night there and that we would be able to arrange accommodation in the morning. What a strange and surreal experience, Dawn, Paula and Myself sleeping in an empty hospital ward, exhausted, unsure of what was happening and scared.

We were awoken (not that we slept much) by the sound of a tea trolley bashing through the ward doors and were greeted by a very cheery auxiliary who asked us if we would like some breakfast. Waking up in the ward was a reality check as I had hoped that last night had only been a bad dream.
We showered and dressed and headed back towards Dad’s ward. He was very cheery and greeted us with a big smile.
“Thanks for coming down last night; I didn’t mean to give you a scare”
The words rang true, we were scared, but after seeing him in such a jovial mode the fear was starting to alleviate, and that was until we spoke to Doctor Barlow. We sat in one of the family waiting rooms and Doctor Barlow spoke for a good twenty minutes or so describing what had happened and the course of action required to remedy the situation. He advised us as to the type of haemorrhage and stated that there was a low survival rate, he also told us that the aneurysm had burst and had left a coating of blood on the brain which could and more likely would cause spasms which could lead to a stroke, the news was not good.

First off,

Dad would be taken down to theatre and an angiogram would be performed to determine the extent of the damage, Doctor Barlow told us that a tube would be inserted into Dad’s groin area and that the tube would be passed up to the base of his brain stem where a blue coloured dye would be inserted to highlight the burst in the artery, from there the lesion could be clipped to prevent further leakage. Despair set in as we were advised that the machine, which performed the procedure, was faulty and that the back up machine was being serviced, its one thing being told as to how the procedure will help and how it will be applied and it’s another to be told in the same breath that the machine was inaccessible. Doctor Barber advised that it would be best for us to travel back up to Aberdeen and to return when Dad had been able to rest, he said he would prefer for no visitors for at least a day or so. We reluctantly agreed and said our fair wells to Dad, we traveled back up to Aberdeen on the Thursday (in a strange silence) and I waited for what seemed like an eternity to travel back down on the Friday.

Friday arrived and Jane (one of Dad’s friends) and myself set off down to Glasgow. We were greeted with the news that the machine had been fixed and that Dad was due to get the angiogram that morning. It was discovered that Dad had two aneurysms, one of which had burst and the other that was ready to burst, by 14.00 that afternoon Dad was whisked away up to the operating theatre and operated on. We waited about the reception area, made calls to all relevant family members and tried to occupy are time as best possible hoping for some good news. The poor girl on the information desk and the ward sister must have hated me due to the amount of times I had asked them if there was any news or when were they likely to hear anything.

Finally several hours and ten fingernails later we were told that Dad had come through the operation and that all was well. We were able to see him later that night for about ten minutes, I couldn’t believe what I saw, basically from the back of his left ear to his temple was a massive wound held together by thick stainless steel staples, not a pretty sight at all. He was very groggy but in good spirits, he kept asking for a mirror (still worried about his looks, good sign I thought).
Saturday morning and we went back to the hospital to see how he was, still in good spirits. Jane was working on Sunday so we left Saturday afternoon. I dropped Jane off, went to pick up Dawn then traveled back down to Glasgow Saturday evening.

On the Sunday Dad was cheered up no end when the family came down, Nan and Ernie, Dads sister and brother in law, Ernest, there son, Irene, my Dads other sister and Dads ex girl friend Laurna. Ernie and Ernest left Sunday evening, the rest left on Monday, Dawn and I stayed until Tuesday afternoon.
Before we left on the Tuesday I noticed that Dad was starting to slur his words and come out with some incomprehensible sentences, I relayed this to the medical team and they said that this was quite common and not to worry. I received a call late Tuesday evening from one of Dads friends Ronnie; he also expressed concerns over Dads health stating that he could not make out any words that Dad was saying. Next thing I knew was that I received a call from the hospital saying that he had been sent to intensive care as the swelling round his brain and the lack of blood to various parts of his brain was causing the arteries to spasm.
“How will this affect him?” I asked, The reply was what I feared most,
“There is a high possibility that your father will suffer another stroke due to the reduced blood flow entering his brain”.

I rushed back down to Glasgow and was reduced to tears when my own father couldn’t recognise me and did not know who I was. All the family came down again and were facing up to the distinct possibility that Dad would be severely disabled or may even die. Doctor Barlow asked for my consent in using a very powerful drug to try and open his arteries at his brain as all other attempts to remedy the situation had failed, this was basically his last chance. I was asked if I would like to go in and perhaps say goodbye as the reality of never seeing Dad again set in. I was so upset that I had to force myself to go in. I had the mind set that if I did not go in it would all be ok, I did not want to say good-bye, basically I was scared. Minutes turned to hours as we sat frantically waiting for news, in my mind I thought that he may not pull through, I had visions of his funeral, lots of horrible thoughts going through my head,
“Dad PLEASE, PLEASE pull through”……………………
Thankfully those thought are distant memories that I try to block out, my Father is very much alive and well. Yes he need’s help around the house and help with daily tasks but………….. He is alive, a man whom I hold very dear to my heart and always will. Had it not been for the help, commitment and dedication of those amazing people in Glasgow’s Southern General Hospital, I would not have been writing my story, I thank them dearly.
I would also like to thank my wife Dawn for the help I received from her, had it not been for her support and care I fear that I may not have coped.