‘MY DRINK WAS SPIKED, NOW MY LIFE IS A BLANK’

Claire Snook, 30, from Bristol, had the perfect life. The problem is, she can’t remember any of it

By Boudicca Fox Leonard

I knew something was wrong the moment I opened my eyes. My head throbbed and my arm ached. It was dark, but as I adjusted to the light, I could make out a drip attached to my arm and machines around my bed. I was terrified. Not only did I not know where I was, but, as I desperately trawled through my mind, I could find nothing to tell me what had happened or who I was. I didn't even know my name.

By the bedside was a mobile phone. I could only pray it was mine. Desperately trying to quell my rising panic, I hit redial on the last numbers called. It was 5am, so they all went to voicemail – still I left messages for anyone who knew me to get in touch.

The next thing I recall is a woman called Valerie, 60, standing by my bed. She said she was my mum. I didn't recognise her at all.

Doctors explained to us both that I'd been rushed to University College Hospital, London, the previous night after colleagues had found me collapsed on the floor in a Soho nightclub where we'd been having our work Christmas party. I had a mild head injury, probably from banging my head on a table as I fell.

But despite what people might think, I hadn't been drunk. Colleagues at the PR firm where I worked later told me I'd switched to water after a few glasses of wine because I had an important presentation the next day. Worryingly, friends had seen a man acting suspiciously around our drinks, so the doctors concluded that mine had been spiked.

I must have wandered away from my colleagues, but luckily when they noticed I was missing, they started looking for me. I can't begin to imagine what might have happened had they not found me. Even so, my life will never be the same again.

I was released from hospital later that day. Doctors told me to get some rest and said I'd soon be on the mend. Mum insisted I go back to Bristol with her so she could look after me. But signs that something was desperately wrong emerged as I got off the train.

My dad Paul, 64, came to pick us up, but my brain had totally shut down. I couldn't walk and he had to carry me to the car.

Despite staying at my family home, it didn't trigger any memories of my school days, my friends or even losing my virginity. Even little things such as what I liked to eat or my favourite colour drew a blank.

Doctors told me that head injuries can lead to memory loss if the frontal lobe, which controls memory, is damaged. Victims can lose weeks, months or even years of their life. They said not to force my memories, but to try to let them return naturally. But the weeks went by, and I still couldn't recall anything. The panic, fear and frustration were overwhelming.

My parents kept talking to me about someone called Robert. I had no recollection of him, despite them saying he'd been my boyfriend for 10 years and that we'd recently split up. Then, as I was going through some photos in my bedroom, I found one of a guy sitting with my mum in our house. I realised it had to be Robert.

Suddenly, my mind was flooded with flashbacks. I remembered going travelling with him and all the romantic times we'd shared. I couldn't breathe. It was like falling in love and breaking up with someone all over again. Although I couldn't remember why we split, I still felt the emotional pain.

Things began to get worse. My speech started to deteriorate and I would slur and muddle sentences. Although this can happen with head injuries, it was like I'd had a stroke. It was frustrating and embarrassing, but I refused to be beaten. I'd be screaming inwardly at myself to get the words out.

My brain would switch off at the drop of a hat, and I even passed out in the middle of Christmas dinner. I couldn't perform simple tasks like going to the supermarket with my mum – I had no idea what to do or what to buy, and it made me panic.

I used photographs of myself washing the family dog, on nights out with friends, and on holidays to try to help me remember.

I knew it was distressing for my parents and my sister Emma, 28, to see me like that, although they tried hard not to show it. When I did manage to remember things or seemed to be making improvements, their faces would light up.

But for all the flashes of recognition, a month later, I was no better.

Despite this, I was so desperate to get back to normality that I decided to return to London and go back to work. Mum was worried that it was too soon, and once I'd walked through the doors, I knew she was right. It felt like my head was going to explode with all the people and different voices talking at once. I quit on the spot, gave up my room in a flatshare, and went back to Bristol.

I was distraught. My life had come to a halt and I was powerless to do anything about it. Most people don't realise that it's the tiny details of your life and the experiences you've had that make you who you are. When all that is taken away, you feel lost. I couldn't even remember where my favourite restaurant was. Bizarrely, I even developed a liking for bananas – despite having had a phobia of them before my accident.

The next few months were bleak. I'd spend hours quietly painting in my sister's pottery studio, hoping that the relaxation would stimulate my mind. But my brain just wouldn't function properly. My speech would slur and my head would ache the more I pushed myself. I had to patiently spend most days walking the dog and resting.

But patience was something I was fast running out of. When friends told me that I'd once been outgoing and full of life, I couldn't believe it because the only way I knew myself was as quiet and nervy.

I was told I'd travelled the world on my own, but although I was shown pictures of my trip, I couldn't imagine having the confidence to do that. It was awful to realise that I'd once had the world at my feet. I'd been an ambitious career girl, living in London with a great social life. Now all that had been taken away from me.

I asked my GP for help, but he said there was nothing he could do. Eventually, a year after my drink was spiked, a nurse referred me to a psychologist at Frenchay Hospital in Bristol. She was fantastic and helped manage my stress levels by advising me on coping techniques, like meditation to keep calm, taking rests and noting things down so I always felt in control.

The less stressed I felt, the more my speech began to improve, which really helped my self-confidence. In summer 2007, I decided to take the plunge and go back to work. I found a job in a big PR firm in Bristol and I loved getting stuck back into a busy working environment.

As my confidence grew, I decided to move into my own flat, and I finally felt comfortable socialising again.

Last November, I met Dan, a 33-year-old engineer, at a friend's party. With his help, I'm focusing on the future rather than obsessing about the things I can't remember.

My memories are still gradually coming back and over three years after waking up in hospital, I'm still discovering things from my past I'd completely forgotten. A few months ago, a school friend told me I used to play the cello. I was utterly amazed. I decided to go and rent one and see if I could still play. I couldn't, so I took some lessons. There must have been some residual memory there, because it only took me a few months to get to Grade 5 standard again. It was wonderful – like a tiny piece of me had returned.

But not all the memories are good ones. I recently discovered that my dad had a cancer scare around the time of my accident, and needed to have precancerous cells removed. It was horrible to think I'd forgotten something so important to my family.

For a long time, I was angry at the person who'd spiked my drink. But over time, I've realised that I'm alive and things could have been a lot worse. It would be easy to become obsessed with trying to remember my past, but that won't get me anywhere. My future is more important now.

I know I'll never be completely the same Claire that I was before the accident, but I've still got time to make lots of new memories."

Have your say: Have you ever had your drink spiked? Do you and your friends look out for each other when you're on a night out? What do you think of Claire's story? >>

PHOTOGRAPHY: AMIT LENNON HAIR & MAKE-UP: KELLIE MITCHELL AT JOY GOODMAN