I’ve been out of the wheelchair now for a month, but to me, the progress feels very slow and, at times, frustrating.
I keep having to consciously chill out about it, and to remind myself that it was only four months ago that I had the accident, after which I was laid up in a hospital, unable to move my legs, sit up, wash, or even go to the toilet.
It’s weird how easy it is to forget, so before writing this I read through old posts and messages that I received back then from everybody, and it all still leaves me speechless. The amount of support I received, the number of people that came to see me in hospital, the well wishes, the funds raised, making it into the newspaper… it’s just unreal. All of that gave me so much strength when I needed it, and I will forever be thankful and feel loved.
So, after I wrote my last blog post ‘Highway to Hell’, I managed to gradually wean myself off the codeine and finally got my pain under control, but I’m still left feeling out of sorts.
Those who know me, know how much I love to socialise. I’m always chatting and dancing around merrily, but I found being sociable quite difficult whilst in the chair – I actively chose not to go to a lot of events or occasions. It has felt so bizarre to me, having to be completely dependent on somebody else, that it was an almost claustrophobic feeling.
Not being able to leave somewhere when I wanted to because of something simple like there being steps, or not being able to go to the loo when I wanted to because my chair wouldn’t fit through the door, it made being around people feel like everything was too busy and close. Like I couldn’t breathe.
But sometimes, in lighter moments if I was feeling good and either Chris or my best friend Rose were around, then I’d go out, which lead to some pretty funny situations: Chris having to lift me into the girls’ toilets; Rose pushing me around Leeds city centre in her little impractical-but-glam-as-fuck heels and fur coat; or battling to get my chair in and out of taxis – they’re all situations that will forever remain with me.
On the day of my accident I was – now ironically – on my way to hospital, for a pre-op assessment about a lump in my neck that I was due to have removed. I made it to hospital that day, but I didn’t quite make it to my appointment.
As you can imagine, that kind of took a back seat on my priority list, so a couple of months into my recovery the lump had gotten to the size of a golf ball – bear in mind now that my neck is miniature.
Anyway, because of the size of it I got hurried through to yet another operation, and lying there on the hospital bed was definitely a bit too much, too soon. To be blunt, it was a head fuck. I had a little cry before I went under, but the nurses knew my history and were lovely with me. That set me back a bit, and lead to another couple of weeks of more codeine, pain and feeling pretty grim. It also another scar to my collection.
On November 31st I had an appointment with the surgeon who performed my pelvic reconstruction, we did another X-ray and discussed how I was getting on. I explained how desperate I was to get out of my chair and he mentioned he might be able to fast-track the physio and get me on crutches that day!
I couldn’t contain myself. I was like, ‘wahhhhhh, oh my god, that would be awesome, can we, please, oh man, that’d be ace!’.
But he was like, ‘woooaahhhhh, missy, hold up. It might not happen.’
We chuckled and I sat there as he made a phone call to the physio department. Then he said: ‘good news, they’re on their way with some crutches!’
I’d spent three months of not being allowed to stand or walk, and suddenly out of the blue, it came to an end.
Again, I got a little teary, which I’ve now had to accept is just something that’s been happening since the accident. I’ve given up trying to fight it to look tough!
They tried me on a Zimmer frame but that sucked big time and felt really restrictive. The physio team worried at how bad I was on it and asked if I could just try the crutches. As I’ve been on them before they let me have a go, and I instantly felt so much more at ease.
My right side was the most damaged which meant that I wasn’t allowed to put much weight on that side, so my leg kind of dragged along the ground, which made me giggle as I looked useless – but also cool in a fresh pair of sneaks!
I felt like I was going to pass out, but I remembered also feeling like that the first time I sat up in hospital, so I knew it would pass if I just kept practising. To get my breath back I sat down for a while, and then they took me to the stairs – hallelujah!!
To that point, stairs had been my enemy, especially as I live in a first floor flat. Being able to get up and down stairs on my own meant a little bit more freedom and independence – which I craved.
The ability to go somewhere without having to research if it had wheelchair access or disabled toilets don’t sound like a big deal, but man, it is. Personally – and quite ashamedly – I never knew how hard it was not being able to use those things, or how little places have the facilities to accommodate wheelchair users.
In the early days of December, a group of my friends and I hired a cottage in the Peak District. Most of us ride so it was a nice way of combatting the winter blues, celebrating Rose’s birthday, and for an excuse to drink a shit load of wine and eat cheese in front of an open fire.
It was beautiful. We were in the most picturesque of settings with the best bunch of girls, who’ve all looked after me and kept my spirits high throughout. It was just what the doctor ordered – no stress, just fun.
Chris came to meet me on Sunday. We stayed the night, enjoying the last moments in such a cosy little cottage. In the morning we planned to head out early. Only when we opened the door we were greeted by the thickest fog ever! That day made the Peaks look even more magical and so I left feeling super positive – like life was finally getting back to some kind of normality.
Off the back of that, I was finally feeling strong enough to have my first proper visit to Wales – at last!
I got to see where Chris lives, his business, the lock-up and to meet his family. It was so good. I got to go for my first little walk around the beautiful seaside town, Tenby, on the west coast of Wales. Tenby was the perfect size for a little stroll – walking at a granny’s pace I fitted in pretty well around there with all the old dears. I remember having a little snooze as soon as we got back to the truck, as all that action was too much for my little leggies.
Since being so vertical the pain has come back, so unfortunately, I’m back on the codeine – I’m gutted about because I hate taking medication.
Some days I feel like shit like I’ve given every ounce of strength, and as I sit here writing this there’s no more left in me right now.
I’m so tired of being in pain that I find it’s exhausting. But again I know it will pass, and I will get better.
I had my first ever physio session last week and I’m already looking forward to my next one, later this week.
Thinking of this Hospital to Holland trip is helping me to get by, and it’s a reason to get strong again.
But for now, I’m still taking baby steps. My next challenge is to get the train down to Cardiff – on my own!! It’s something that wouldn’t have been a big deal before, but now, with my little backpack and crutches, it’s got to be a well-planned excursion.
But there’s one thing that’s really got my attention – if I’m doing OK when I get there, I might be lucky enough to get a ride on the back of Chris’ shovel. Watch this space!!!
