Big hearts: Age sport journalist Jesse Hogan and his incredible mum Maree. Credit:Pat Scala

Jesse had his stroke at the end of February. It was a massive one. We found out the next day when our sports editor Chloe Saltau called us over to her desk. I admire her courage, too, for telling us something that must have felt so impossible, keeping us calm and focused and making us feel like everything would be all right, somehow. It was an ordinary afternoon upended and we had so many questions, though they mostly came back to one word: what? There was also some relief, because Jesse had been home alone when he first felt unwell. He told me this week he had been writing when he realised something was wrong. He was lucky he found a phone, lucky his housemate answered, lucky Luke knew his confusion was not normal and called triple-0 straight away. Jesse says it himself: he is lucky to be alive. Before the doctors, the surgeon and the nurses saved his life, Luke did.

Jesse was in a coma for five days. Our friend has survived major brain surgery, several days in intensive care and another recent operation on his skull. Those of us who have dropped by every few weeks have seen the big leaps in his recovery: from starting to talk, to whizzing around in a chair, to walking with a crutch. His family has seen the smaller milestones: waking up, breathing on his own, squeezing someone's hand, smiling. They have seen the lowest moments, too, when Jesse's uncertainty has caught up with his optimism. I can't think of the right words to describe his mum, Maree. We want to help keep her going, but she has done that for us with her perspective and positivity. Jesse is her hero, but he wants me to write about how much she, his family and friends have done for him.

Jesse's rehab is his new full-time job. The blood clot attacked the left side of his brain, meaning the right side of his body has been affected most, as well as his vision, language and speech. The frontal lobes of his brain, which help direct the rest of it, have also been damaged. His right arm has minimal movement, but he has been able to get his leg going again with the help of a splint and has begun to walk without his crutch in some physio sessions. He struggles to find all the words he wants to say – his memory and intellect are intact; he's thinking the same things he always did – but he's making constant, persistent progress. At first, his surgeon was not sure he would ever be able to talk again.

Jesse's team of therapists plan his weeks out together. His interests – sport, music, the news – have been a big focus of his sessions, which are also designed around his personal goals. He works with a speech therapist, and a physio. His occupational therapist is teaching him how to live with one arm: how to shower, get dressed, make a sandwich. His neuropsychology registrar helps him work through his feelings, does brain function games on an iPad with him and helps him work things out; compensating, and finding new ways to do things, is how he is recovering. Jesse's favourite word is "independent" and he has won his new friends over with his determination. He pushes them hard, too. In a rehab session this week, the physio asked him to lie on the bed and do 10 hip raises. By the time she looked back over he had done 20.