March 2010 Archives

A day spent at R's school on the weekend, attempting to improve the very limited outdoor space they have available...

I found myself, pruning saw in hand, clearing self-seeded Ash saplings from around the perimeter. This is the first time that I've undertaken any major pruning/tree related activities since my accident, and I must admit that it felt good. Yes, I have pruned a tree since, but this was clearing undergrowth, and altogether more physical.

One could see an irony in the species of tree I was cutting, as it was an Ash tree (Fraxinus Excelsior, to be precise) that I fell from back in 2005. But I didn't feel any sense of revenge, just as my love for trees has not been diminished by the role that a tree played in my dramatic change in circumstances. I did feel a sense of relief that I am excused the job of grubbing out the roots, especially as ash can be particularly obstinate when it comes to removal.

So there we are. A week before my 5th accident anniversary, and I was back among the trees, albeit in a very modest way. But like many things that would be easier for a non-wheelchair user, I felt an enormous sense of achievement. And for once, I didn't sense a feeling of awkwardness from able-bodied people around me. People just ignored me and let me get on with it.

Tomorrow is the actual day of my accident in '05. Yes, April fool's day, of course. And what have I learned?

I've learned that, as a species, we have an astonishing capacity for adapting to change.

I've learned that it's possible to overcome almost anything with the support of a loving family and friends.

I've learned how to write. Haven't I? One door closes, another opens, etc.

I've learned that most of my favourite foodstuffs are on the top shelf in the supermarket.

I've learned that chronic pain is, well, a chronic pain.

I've learned the true value of the NHS. The foundation of which remains the pinnacle of Government achievement in the UK.

And, I've learned that play isn't about physical aptitude, it's about imagination. And there's nothing as warming or fulfilling as making your child laugh.
 

Just doing a bit of a cull on some paperwork when I stumbled across this picture again.


For those who may be unfamiliar with this particular episode (page 240 in my book), I had a tyre blow-out on my car while driving up to Stoke Mandeville in 2006. The result was, well, as above...

I managed to flip the car and roll it three times before crawling out of the sardine can that remained. Tempted as I was to do the "I can't feel my legs" speech all over again, I decided to spare the feelings of the horrified crowd that had stopped, no doubt expecting a mangled corpse.

At the time, I remained in a state of almost Zen-like calm throughout the experience. I'm fairly certain that this was due to previous traumas using up my reserves of 'consequence calculation chemicals' or something.

Looking back four years later, however, and with my reserves no doubt topped up by four years of parenting, the picture makes for difficult viewing.

Having a child makes one see danger and consequence in just about everything from the swings in the park to a particularly angry looking piece of toast. I'm sure that this instinct is heightened when spontaneous movement and therefore reactive intervention is compromised.

But the picture above also makes me feel a sense of responsibility towards my family. A responsibility to take care of myself so that I can be of use to them. And so I wave a fond farewell to the invincibility of youth and chart a course towards a world of fear and mortality.

OK, that was a tad over-dramatic. But it is a dramatic picture, no?

A while ago, I contributed to a small film for the NHS choices website. The film deals with living with a disability. Obviously, the Choices bit of the website seems a little rich as I don't remember being offered many choices, but I suppose how I cope with my life since my accident represents a series of choices.


It's a strange watch for me, especially as I still don't think of myself as 'disabled', even though I clearly am. This is probably indicative of my perceptions of disability from my 'old life', some of which I'm sure a are still knocking around in my head still.

My problem with being defined as disabled is one of my strengths. If it was a choice not to take on such a mantle, it was a good one. My expectations about how I am treated, what is made available to me along with everyone else and what I should expect from life are all based on being just like everybody else. All people should be treated like everybody else, but sadly this is often not the case.

In some ways, having a few 'arsey so-and-so's with high expectations like me out there may at least help to keep people on their toes. I'm always happy to get on people's toes, myself.

I hope that what has changed is that I am now more likely to treat everyone as 'normal'. I don't think I did too badly before my accident, but I must confess to feeling a little uncomfortable sometimes.

On the other hand, there are people who seem to have embraced the disability label so comprehensively that they seem content to disadvantage themselves.

At the supermarket yesterday, I watched a man drive past several empty unrestricted parking bays directly outside the doors only to park in a disabled bay further away, even though he didn't need the wider space. I would love to see some supermarkets provide wider bays further away from the doors to prevent people from being tempted to park in them out of laziness.

After a long absence, and barely a passing blow on the last couple of visits, the weekend saw the dramatic return of my old mate Spike. This time he came equipped with knives, needles and cattleprods, and visited upon me a pain much worse than I have felt in several years. Oh yes, Saturday night was exciting. I even got to go to my local A and E by ambulance. What fun!

It all started at about 6pm, when the neuro-pain in my legs began to flare up more than usual. It had been above average all day, but this was something special. When the pain gets abnormally bad, I know that something's not right.

The body seems to find a way of letting one know. Some people with spinal cord injury will find that their spasms get worse when something's wrong, but as I don't get spasms, my neuropathic pain takes the role of messenger. With gusto.Then I began to shiver. Sure enough, I had a fever.

As I learned when I was in the hospital during my rehab, the fever is the first thing that must be tackled. So off came the clothes, down went the paracetamol, and I took to the sofa to wait for things to settle down enough for me to be able to work out what was wrong.

But things didn't settle down. Instead Spike arrived, all fanfare and razzle dazzle. He went to work with enthusiasm, and like a player returning after a long lay off, he seemed to have something to prove and made sure to let me know he was there. What started in my legs moved up to my lower back and kidneys, with the shivering getting worse. Soon the pain was so bad that I couldn't talk.

After Penny had a reassuring phone call with the good people on NHS Direct,  An ambulance was dispatched, and I was taken to my local hospital. By this time things had settled down, and I was able to give them a full case history, impressing staff with my knowledge of my own 'health issues'.

After the labs came back, they had a diagnosis. It was one that many SCI people will be familiar with- UTI or bladder infection. Yes, after five years infection free, I have a UTI. I am lucky. Some people spend most of their time battling with UTI's.

I have always been pleased with my track record, to the point that I am deeply superstitious about which type of catheter I use. Here's a bit more of a tour of my bladder from a previous posting.

This next bit carries a warning. Those of you who have sensation below the waist and may be squeamish, look away now...

A couple of weeks ago, I had a little difficulty emptying my bladder. When it is very full, there can sometimes be a bit more resistance when inserting a catheter, and this is what it felt like, but no matter how much I tired, I couldn't get the thing into my bladder. After a few minutes, I gave up and withdrew the catheter, only to find that the last centimeter of the tip had folded back on itself, and was pink with blood.

When things like this happen, it's strange, but the first reaction is to feel a bit light headed with panic and brace oneself for the inevitable pain to follow.  I know I can't feel it, but my subconscious is still engaged with my lower half in the same way that it was before my accident. This is important to me, it makes me feel, well, still connected.

Anyway, as with any damage to the urethra, it healed up very quickly, and the next time I took a leak three hours later the blood had gone. But obviously the damage had created the conditions for a UTI to take hold.

The next fortnight I had an upset stomach, lots of nausea, a lack of energy and a general feeling of things being not right. I put it down to a gastro bug, and would never have thought of a UTI, as my urine wasn't cloudy or discoloured or stinky. Yep, it's keeping an eye on these sort of things that makes spinal cord injury such fun.

So there's my cautionary tale. I have learned a lot this weekend.

I have learned that I am not immune to bladder infections.
I have learned that they are very unpleasant.
And I have learned that Spike is still a part of my life, but his visits are more likely to be timed to coincide with some other problem. He's only here to help, to let me know something's wrong. Still, he could try just a little itch or a tickle...

I have developed a rather bad habit. OK, lots of bad habits, but I'm only comfortable talking about one of them today, and anyway, what's so bad about keeping snails in your pockets?

I digress.

I was getting into my car the other day, and as has become a (bad) habit, I transferred into the seat without applying the brakes on my wheelchair. I do this, because:

a) I can.
b) Other people who have been in a wheelchair longer than me do and I'm ridiculously competitive.
c) I labour under the misguided notion that I am in some way working on my core muscles by not using the brakes.
d) I'm just not very bright.

Now, this technique has been quite reliable, until the day in question. I had transferred into the driver's seat, and pulled one leg in after me, but the other foot was still on the footplate of the wheelchair, and by turning my hips, I managed to 'use' my trailing foot to propel the chair down the pavement. Yep. Real dumb.

What followed was a simple and tacit communication between to human beings. A teenager, iPod attached and on her way to the local college, stopped the wheelchair without breaking step. She pushed the chair back to the idiot with the sheepish grin who was sat in his car, exchanged a smile and continued on her way. No fuss.

I have, on occasion, entertained our daughter with cardboard tubes, funnels, drums, a glockenspiel and a whole load of tape. These items, when carefully arranged, have provided a 'marble run' down which cascades of glass balls have rumbled, bounced spiralled and plinked with much satisfaction.

However... Any sense of achievement felt by me has just been obliterated by the latest music video from those masters of the genre, Ok Go. Yes, the Honda ad from a few years ago was impressive, but this is... well... Here, see what I mean. Hats off to them.