When a headache looked like a stroke while driving in peak traffic

Yusra Saad Khan

I am a mother of two girls, a full-time radiographer in the UK (I’m from Pakistan and moved to UK in 2018) with seven years of clinical practice, and someone who has lived with migraines on and off for years. The morning of November 25, 2025 began like any other, a half study day followed by a clinical shift. There was nothing to suggest that within hours, my life would completely turn upside down.


As I finished my study hours, I felt a sharp headache building. Assuming it was a regular migraine, I took a paracetamol and carried on with work. But while driving home later that day, the pain intensified rapidly. Within seconds, I felt my left side weaken, then go numb. I could no longer hold the steering wheel with my left hand. My face began to droop, my speech slurred, and my heart raced with fear.




I activated the voice feature in my car, and called my husband to say that something wasn’t right. He asked me to stop the car immediately, even though I was on a busy dual carriageway with fast-moving traffic. He tracked my location through an app and rushed towards me. At the same time, terrified that I was having a stroke or cardiac arrest, I dialled emergency services. My speech was broken and unclear, but they acted swiftly, sending police to secure the road and an ambulance to take me to hospital.

By the time I reached A&E (the hospital department for accident and emergency), I could barely speak. My left side was completely paralysed. Every symptom pointed to a stroke. I was assessed urgently, scanned, and reviewed by multiple specialists. Eventually, doctors ruled out a stroke and diagnosed me with a rare condition called hemiplegic migraine, a type of migraine that can mimic stroke symptoms, including paralysis, facial drooping, and speech loss.


However, the diagnosis didn’t stop there. The severity of the migraine had also triggered Functional Neurological Disorder (FND), a condition that affects how the brain communicates with the body. I was admitted to the stroke ward for 11 days. During that time, I could not move or feel the left side of my body. I couldn’t speak properly or swallow and was placed on a modified diet. I became dependent on others for the most basic tasks. For someone who had always been independent, managing a demanding healthcare career, raising children, driving, socialising, and caring for others, the sudden loss of control was devastating.


A neurologist later explained FND to me in simple terms: “It’s a software problem, not a hardware problem.” There was no structural damage to my brain, but the communication between my brain and body had malfunctioned. When the brain becomes overwhelmed, it can shut down normal function. Recovery depends on retraining those pathways, a process that looks different for every patient.

FND is still widely misunderstood and has only gained formal recognition in neurology in recent years. It is an umbrella condition that can cause paralysis, speech difficulties, functional seizures, tremors, vision problems, memory issues, brain fog, and extreme fatigue. Weeks after being discharged from hospital, I began experiencing functional seizures, another recognised complication of FND.


Rehabilitation became the cornerstone of my recovery. In hospital, neuro-physiotherapists, occupational therapists, and speech therapists played a vital role in helping me regain basic function and continued with my rehabilitation after discharge, along with a neurologist and FND specialist. In the UK, access to NHS rehabilitation services for FND remains limited, with long waiting lists. Like many patients, I have had to seek private treatment to access timely care.


FND is a disabling neurological condition and can change lives within seconds. But the important message is that it’s 100% reversible. Recovery depends on symptom severity, consistency of rehabilitation, and individual resilience. For some, progress takes weeks; for others, it’s months or years. Greater awareness, understanding, and access to timely rehabilitation are urgently needed.


Nearly two months on, my recovery is slow but real. I can now feel sensation on my left side. I can move my fingers and toes, things I once feared I might never be able to do again. I still use a rollator walker to walk indoors and cannot yet go outside independently. My speech remains slow, with occasional stutters, and motion sickness limits my travel. But I’m improving, and that gives me hope.


One migraine altered my life forever but with timely medical care, rehabilitation, love, and unwavering support, recovery remains possible. And awareness is where that recovery truly begins.


Yusra Saad Khan is a radiographer associated with NHS who creates social media content to raise health awareness. She spoke to Srirupa Ray