Surrounded by paintings, her three-year-old son, Ben, on her knee, artist Miranda Legard's life looks to an outsider exactly what it should be.

Artist Miranda Legard and her son Ben, aged three. Main picture: Garry Atkinson

The unseen reality is that four years ago an illness virtually erased her memory and left her fighting for her life.

Six months pregnant and recently moved to her home near Thirsk, Miranda, aged 31, suddenly developed a blinding headache.

She said: "I remember making curtains for the house and having the most unbelievable headache - it was as though my eyes were going to pop out.

"I collapsed and paralysis set in all the way down the left side of my body. I was taken to hospital and the last memory I have is lying on a trolley while a woman was saying she was very sorry, but I had had a brain haemorrhage. I had no idea that she was talking about me."

Miranda had suffered from an arterial venal malformation - the walls of a vein in her brain were too weak to cope with the build-up of blood and had burst. It could have happened at any time.

She was left paralysed for more than three weeks before her first movement, in two of her fingers, on husband Chris's birthday.

The condition was worsened by severe epileptic fits which, together with heavy medication, created concern for the unborn child.

She said: "The day before he was born I had a ten-hour fit, which is a real marathon, and the doctors said it was too much, it was too dangerous, and they had to get Ben out. He was born by Caesarean section in the neurological operating theatre, the only baby ever born there."

Ben was totally unscathed by the experience, but Miranda's trials had only begun.

Her co-ordination had totally gone, her memory of basic tasks including tying shoelaces and getting dressed had disappeared and she suffered from epilepsy.

Vision to her left was so badly impaired she found herself eating only food on the right of plates and reading only the right hand side of book pages.

The problem is clearly seen in a painting of Ben, done two months after she left hospital. Each feature of the baby lacks its left side.

She said: "The messages that used to be there weren't any more, and I couldn't believe that I couldn't do so many things that I never had to think about before. "I had lost half of my peripheral vision. It isn't a blindness, I just wasn't aware what was on the left. If I turned round I would see it and I would take it in, but if I was walking along and there was a cupboard on the left, I would walk into it.

"The painting was amazing and looking at it now I can't believe it. When I painted it I didn't see anything wrong because that was the way I saw Ben."

Miranda had an occupational therapist after leaving hospital to help her develop her mind and return to as near as normal as possible.

But the frustration set in after her progress reached a standstill.

She said: "No disrespect to the NHS, but they haven't got the resources and there came a point when I just became stuck in limbo. I wasn't moving forward.

"I read an article by the writer Robert McCrum who had survived a stroke. He was talking about an RAF doctor, Kit Malia, who had devised a programme called Brainwave-R especially for problems like mine. I was so frustrated I rang him."

The programme of exercises brought Miranda's recovery on in leaps and bounds.

She said: "I felt incredibly self-conscious, and this programme dealt with building confidence. It treats you like an adult, and that is a big step to improving. It accepts that you're not retarded, although your brain may be damaged, and having that realised rebuilds confidence."

Miranda still has fits, although they are more occasional and much less severe. She still can't take in a lot of information, she still gets distracted, she needs help to look after her home and she tires quickly, but her condition is greatly improved.

Although the vision deficiency remains, she has learned to scan things differently to take in more information.

Her painting has started again, with her first exhibition since the haemorrhage being held in the Zillahbell, Thirsk, in November.

She said: "It's been a long time since I had the confidence to let anybody see my paintings. The prospect of the exhibition is terrifying - if no one buys anything I would probably never paint again - but I am getting to the beginning of where I want to be, and I think my work is good.

"People ask me if I am angry about what happened, but there is no point in that. There is nothing anybody can do about it and I've got to come to terms with it. I've also got to think that there is absolutely no reason why I can't get further on. That's something to hold on to and it is a great help. It's also something for the people who love you to hold on to, and they need it just as much."

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