On the morning of Saturday 25 August 2012, my husband, Tony, took a photo of me in my nightie, proudly showing off my bump. I was 38 and after five miscarriages and losing one baby in what had started as a twin pregnancy, this little life had clung on and I had reached 26 weeks.

My blood pressure, which my GP had asked me to monitor, was very low, so instead of going on a long walk as normal, I took my husband breakfast in bed and started reading the papers.

We had a bit of a cuddle, and that led to everything else. Suddenly, after my second orgasm, it was as if I’d been hit around the head with an iron frying pan, or swallowed an ice lolly whole: the worst brain freeze of my life. I’d read that I should expect migraines at this point in my pregnancy, but the pain didn’t stop. It got worse.

Tony called my mum and an ambulance. When my mum arrived, she stood with her hands on her hips and said, “What have you two been up to?” I was mortified. When Tony told the first responder, he replied, “Two orgasms? Can you tell me how to give my wife one? She’s been after it for years!”

The next thing I remember is waking up in a rehab ward about a week later. My mum was by my side and said, “Darling, you’ve had a stroke.” I tried to sit up, but the nurse told me I would fall out of bed, because I had no sitting balance. I thought, “Are you on crack? Of course I can sit up!” But she was right: I was paralysed down my left-hand side.

That’s when I found out what had happened. I’d been rushed to hospital and put into an induced coma, but I deteriorated quickly. After a severe stroke, followed by a prolonged seizure, I had four more strokes while they were scanning my brain. I nearly died. I had a craniotomy: they opened my skull to release the pressure on my brain and remove the blood that had leaked out. There was a team on stand-by in case an emergency delivery was needed for my baby, but amazingly the many ultrasound scans showed she was still happily bouncing around. That’s when my family found out we were having a girl.

I was unconscious for a week, but I had horrific dreams. I can remember fleeting images of social workers taking away my baby, and giving birth to twins whom I was forced to give up for adoption. I would become distressed, but when they put my right hand on my bump, I’d calm down immediately.

Once I’d woken up, I stayed in the rehab ward for 12 weeks, during which time we planned my caesarean with military precision. My beautiful baby, Marri-Alice, was born on 19 November, perfect in every way, undamaged by the drama that had surrounded her. My husband had made a playlist for the birth, and at the moment she was born: Johnny Nash’s I Can See Clearly Now was playing. I’ve never heard it since without collapsing in tears.

It was a bittersweet moment, because I couldn’t hold her. She had to be placed in my right arm, which was full of drips. It took three midwives and my husband to position her on my breast. When we came home, I felt grief at the loss of my old self, my mobility; I wasn’t the mother I’d dreamed of being. I couldn’t just go and pick her up – I had to wait for someone to put her on me.

Four years on, she is bright as a button, hitting all her milestones earlier than anticipated, while I remain paralysed down my left side, and rely on a wheelchair. I hope that one day stem-cell therapy will offer me a better recovery.

For a long time, I was angry with the world; I didn’t know it was possible to feel so sad. I had to have a word with myself and say, this is your reality now, you’ve got the baby you wanted for 20 years. You may not be able to give her a sibling, but you’ve got her – and a fantastic husband and mum. I know they saved my life. I’m still trying to find my place in this new world of mine, where I can’t walk to my daughter, but she can walk to me.

• As told to Moya Sarner

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