Less than ten minutes after my CAT scan, my room in the hospital was filled with a full team of medical staff.

Each of them wore a grave look on their face. Fearfully, I asked: ‘What’s happened?’

One doctor stood in front of a computer screen. He spun it round and showed me an image. 

‘I’m afraid you have a brain bleed,’ he said, pointing to a huge, dark spot at the back of my skull. ‘You’ve had a stroke.’

I was 48 years old and the diagnosis felled me. It seemed to come from nowhere.

It’s only now, two years later, that I can admit the truth: I had a ticking timebomb in my head, and I was just too busy to see the warning signs.

I’ve been a driven person for as long as I can remember – a straight-A student, the girl at the front of the class with her hand up. I always wanted to be the smartest person in the room.

Julie Ferris-Tillman, pictured, was a high-flying PR professional when she suffered a stroke at the age of 48

Julie’s husband Andy, pictured, would tell her not to work too hard and become irritated when she looked at her cellphone after hours

It was an attitude that served me well professionally as I rose through the ranks at public relations and crisis communication firms.

When I became vice president of my current company, I was working with a team of 17 people and, on any given day, was serving a roster of high-powered clients, including Fortune 500 companies.

My pace didn’t change when I began working remotely during the pandemic in 2020. If anything, I worked harder. Without those water-cooler chats with colleagues, what little downtime I had during the day disappeared.

I’d kick off each morning with an adrenaline-pumping quadruple-shot latte from a café near my home in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Then I’d be pounding the keyboard late into the evenings, working on client presentations and propping myself up with the occasional can of Red Bull.

My husband Andy, 45, a realtor and wood craftsman, would constantly ask if I was done with work for the night – but I wasn’t able to stop obsessively checking my phone.

I was defined by my job and felt affirmed by good results. They boosted my self-esteem – or so I told myself.

Because, in all honesty, things weren’t as rosy as I was making out. Looking back, I was hurtling towards burnout and too wrapped up in work to notice the tell-tale signs.

The biggest red flag was increased anxiety. I’ve always tended to overthink but in the months before my stroke it spiraled out of control.

I’d get worked up about small social situations. I’d panic if my husband and I had simply invited friends over. A full month before they arrived, I’d worry about the house not being spotless.

Looking back, Julie realized she was hurtling towards burnout and was too wrapped up in work to notice the tell-tale signs

Then there was my loss of interest in things I used to enjoy. I stopped doing yoga, walking and cycling and struggled to have meaningful conversations even with the people to whom I was closest.

My marriage and evenings with Andy were suffering. We’d usually curl up with our cat Maisy Jane and three dogs Ollie, Athena and Sir Reginald in front of the television, binge-watching Netflix. 

I gained 20 pounds which I put down to perimenopause.

Meanwhile, I’d miss regular meals and snack on sugary treats.

I felt constantly sick and exhausted. My stomach wasn’t right, my joints ached. I felt flat inside and ignored the terrible headaches that, I now know, were indicating life-threateningly high blood pressure.

It all seems so obvious with the benefit of hindsight. But I was focused on work and, like many women, so conditioned to not make a fuss that, when the worst happened, my initial response was to do nothing.

Then, at around 3am on January 23, 2023, I woke up screaming and crying in pain. The headache at the base of my skull was excruciating. Andy was so worried he wanted to take me to hospital.

But I insisted that was too dramatic. It would get better if I managed to get to sleep. Then I vomited, which made me even less inclined to act because I thought it was a sign of food poisoning.

I didn’t want to throw up again, so ate nothing that day and napped on the couch.

Then, four days later, my vision started to go. Proportions were off – rooms looked tiny and stairs were in the wrong place. I put my foot on steps that weren’t there. Nothing made sense. It was terrifying.

I stumbled so badly that Andy had to support me. The next, finally, we went to Urgent Care. The doctor suspected it was a gastrointestinal bug and sent me home with an anti-nausea drug that did nothing.

My blood pressure was around 175/90. Even though I now know that was high enough to indicate a hypertensive crisis – a normal BP is 120/80 – the doctor seemed more concerned about the headache and nausea.

He said that if my vision hadn’t improved within 24 hours, I should make an appointment with an ophthalmologist. It hadn’t. 

Thankfully the eye doctor who saw me the next afternoon was incredibly thorough. He did a complete intake, including taking a photo of the back of my eyes.

He wrote something on a prescription pad, handed it to me and told me: ‘You need to get to the Emergency Room right now.’

To this day I don’t know what he wrote but whatever it was got me seen very quickly. 

They took my blood pressure which, at 176/91, was now so dangerously high the physician ordered the CAT scan that showed that ominous dark spot.

After her stroke, Julie learned to slow down and spend more quality time with her cat Maisy Jane, pictured, and her three dogs, Ollie, Athena and Sir Reginald

Now Julie has learned that there is more to life than work. Pictured, she larks around during a remote business meeting with colleagues and real estate executive Bill Rancic

An MRI followed which revealed the full extent of the bleed on the right side of my brain. My changes in vision had been brought on by immense pressure on my optic nerve.

I spent the next week in the intensive care unit at Froedert Hospital in a suburb of Milwaukee.

You might have thought that would be my wake-up call. But the truth is, understanding the experience was more of a gradual dawning.

I was prescribed medication to lower my blood pressure, but the doctors told me I was a prime candidate for another, possibly more serious, stroke if I didn’t change my ways.

Old habits die hard. My bosses told me to rest up, but I formulated a client presentation from my hospital bed.

I didn’t want to change my line of work, as one doctor suggested I should, but even I realized I had to take control of my stress.

Today I’m on anti-anxiety medication but it’s just part of a more holistic approach.

I delegate more and have reduced the length of my working day to a strict eight hours. I drink only one shot of coffee a day and have reintroduced yoga into my life. I also take time away from my desk and walk three miles each afternoon.

My relationship with my husband has improved, my blood pressure is within the normal range and even though I must now wear glasses, my optician assures me that’s more to do with age than any residual damage caused by my stroke.

It took a near-death experience to realize, but I’ve finally learned that there’s more to life than work. I recently got an email at 5.30pm on a Friday and I simply ignored it until Monday.

Julie, who works at Interdependence PR, told her story to Jane Ridley, Real Life Correspondent, Daily Mail US. Do you have a powerful story to share? Please email a brief summary to jane.ridley@mailonline.com