One Step Forward Two Steps Back

Everything was going so well… I’d started walking around the flat with no crutches, I’d had a ride on the back of Chris’ Shovel, and I felt comfortable out and about on one crutch. My pain was still constant but more of a dull ache, manageable day-to-day without painkillers.

I moved to Sheffield with my best friend and we have so much around us within a mere 10-minute walk: butchers, cafes, grocery stores, off licences, my new doctors and physio. Loads of stuff!

Having all of that immediately gave me back a small part of my independence and man, it felt amazing! Not having to depend on anyone to take me food shopping or to get out of the flat was a joy in itself.

The first few weeks I was just exploring the area and testing myself to see how far I could walk on my crutches and how long I could be out without getting exhausted.

I must have had the biggest smile on my face, just finding new cafes on Google and then walking there to get a coffee, sending Chris a screen shot of my journey with a crude line drawn on it to show how far I’d walked.

I could browse shops comfortably, walk a good 20 minutes or unaided in the flat. I was getting better and life was returning to some kind of normal, my energy was coming back and I started thinking about getting back on the bike, about our trip, getting on the dirt bikes, flat tracking, dreaming and looking forward to our summer to come…

After a day of walking on one crutch and Chris’ arm for support, I got up the next day feeling good, I grabbed both my crutches to go food shopping. On the way there I got the most horrible pain in my hip joint, like a hot knife, the pain shot from deep in my joint down my leg, and I had to stop for five.

I was like, ‘what the hell was that?’ I thought it was just a trapped nerve or my bone was a little out of socket so I tried to move it around but nothing helped. I managed to get some food as I didn’t have any in at home, so I had no choice even though I was in so much pain. The walk home is only seven minutes or so but it was hell. I must have stopped about five times. It was sickening.

I got home and hardly moved off the couch for the next two days. Any time I did, the same thing happened, my leg buckled underneath me. So I was back again to being completely reliant on the crutches – even in the flat – otherwise I’d just fall.

I cannot explain the effects this had on me mentally… after so much progression and feeling so close to riding again, I was now so down. I didn’t even want to talk about it. I felt miserable as I couldn’t go anywhere, and I didn’t want to do anything. I was done with the week.

Gradually over the following days the pain started easing, and I could get about again. Slowly but surely I managed to get to my first private physio appointment, which itself was very different to what I had in mind.

He didn’t know anything about my case apart from the doctor’s notes he had, so I sat there and explained everything.

He kept saying how lucky I am to be alive, and he was also appalled at the lack of care I’ve had so far – apologetically explaining how this might affect me in the future and how I need to fight for the right compensation.

It was a really heavy conversation, during which I was holding back the tears. I guess he kind of forced me to think about the shit side of all of this, as my attitude had been, ‘shit happens, deal with it’ whilst keeping a positive outlook.

But after the week I’d had, and approaching the 6-month mark – a time I was originally given as ‘full recovery’ but being nowhere near it – I was feeling pissed off.

Suddenly it hit: ‘this isn’t fair! None of this is fair! I didn’t ask for any of this shit.’

I was just merrily on my way to town that morning, and apart from the deafening growl of my Z750, I wasn’t bothering a soul.

Never mind all the shit I’ve been through so far – my life now will not be the same for a long, long time. I can’t go out and dance all night with my best friend, or booze and go to gigs. I can’t go riding, get lost and go for a walk in some wilderness. I have no drive or motivation. The idea of getting back to work makes me want to crawl up in the foetal position. One thing that really hurts me – that I don’t think I could say out loud without breaking into tears and find hard to even write here – is that I haven’t been there for my loved ones. There’s been times since my accident that my friends have needed me and I couldn’t be there. It’s not fucking fair.

It’s been a very tough time. I don’t like focusing on the negatives but in retrospect I feel it was healthy as I had a lot of issues I wasn’t dealing with.

I beat myself up when I can’t do things –I always have. My idea of hell is being a couch potato, but for the past 6 months that has been my life. When I was hurting that was fine, I knew it had to be, but now I’m progressing, if I have a down day when I’m back on the couch I’m finding it increasingly hard to deal with. I want to be up and out, doing something, being productive. At the moment I’ve got to force myself to slow down, but I don’t know how, even though I can no longer live at 100mph. I have to admit defeat. It’s going to take longer than expected and that’s that.

The pain is still there – that sharp, shooting pain. Some days it’s as bad as it was that week, unable to walk unaided. I cant leave the flat, it’s very up and down at the minute.

I had another physio appointment yesterday and also my 6 month check up with the orthopaedic outpatients.

They both said everything is OK, the joint is being aggravated the more exercise I’m doing, causing swelling so those big fucking nerves in there are being squeezed and apparently that’s the pain I’m feeling.

I’ve been given the all clear to go swim and use the cycle machines, there’s not a lot I can do about the pain, but I’ve found my TENS machine works a treat, so I’ve been hooked up to that for the last three days.

I’m back to feeling positive. I’m stoked the pain isn’t anything worse! I have come to terms with the fact this is going to be a much longer journey than first anticipated and I am beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

However, there’s our trip! It’s not long now at all – we were planning on going the first week of June but at this point I really don’t know if I’ll be well enough for it.

I was pretty devastated at the thought of not going, and when I talked to Chris about it he said don’t worry, we can go in the van or we can go later on in the summer.

It’s been a dream of mine for as long as I can remember and with Chris by my side I know it will happen one way or another, just maybe not when we planned or how we planned it.

Stay tuned I guess, and we’ll try keep you updated.

Road to Recovery

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!!!

Highway to Hell

A couple of months into Chris and I seeing each other we were having an amazing time. At weekends we’d either meet up at a bike events like Dirt Quake, The Hook up or he’d ride his shovel from Cardiff-to-Leeds nearly every week to see me.

The last fuel stop before Chris headed back to Wales

 

The weather was absolutely perfect across the August bank holiday weekend, so we spent the whole time riding side-by-side along beautiful Yorkshire roads, meeting up with local friends and bikers, camping and generally living what can only be described as a fairytale biker romance. That might sound cheesy as hell to you, but to us, it was just that. It was a dream way to live.

 

After the weekend was over, we said our goodbyes and Chris left to ride back to Wales. I was heading to town on my Z750 chop – which I fondly refer to by name as ‘Zed’ – enjoying the ride, high on life after the amazing weekend.

 

Then a car pulled out on me.

 

I’ve ridden almost every day for over 10 years and, like every rider, I’ve experienced plenty of near-misses due to other road users, but that day was different. There was no way of avoiding it.

 

The initial impact felt like a bomb exploded in my stomach. Then I flipped over the car, still wrapped around Zed, and we both came to a stop crumpled on the ground.

 

For a brief moment, everything was silent.

 

Thinking back on it now I remember lots of people were around. Some of them were screaming, someone was phoning for an ambulance, and two amazing guys were lifting Zed off me. They both held my head and legs still while chatting calmly to me until the ambulance arrived.

 

I screamed with every breath that came out of me.

 

My pelvis felt like jelly. I couldn’t feel my legs. Blood dripped from my arm. As soon as the ambulance crew assessed me they got me straight on the morphine. They cut all of my clothes off – including one of Chris’ jumpers that I was meant to be taking care of!

 

While I was as high as a kite, staring at the blue sky, I was thinking, ‘at least it isn’t raining, I’ve got my good knickers on and thank fuck for the NHS!’

 

That euphoria was short-lived, however, and I came crashing back down to reality when, in order to get me onto the stretcher, they had to count down ‘3… 2… 1’ to straighten my legs out. That was the worst. Or at least I thought it must be until they then had to secure my pelvis using some sort of corset thing. There was another countdown to pure sickening pain.

The temporary frame that was fitted during the first operation

 

I’d sustained a fractured skull, deep lacerations down my left side, a few grazes, and a shattered pelvis that had separated itself from my spine.

The X-ray showing all the gnarly metal work I know have

 

Using stitches, staples, lots of screws and a plate, it took two major operations to piece me back together.

 

Chris started a GoFundMe page as soon as he heard, which reached his set target within 40 minutes thanks to the amazing support that came mainly from the biker community.

 

The next morning, Chris was straight by my bedside giving me fund updates, trying to keep my spirits high.

 

The fund just kept going up and up, and I found it properly overwhelming. They even managed to raise over a thousand pounds at The Trip Out weekend, by passing around a bucket at the event. That was really fucking nice of them! I was gutted that I missed the event too, as Chris and I were so looking forward to it.

 

All of that love and positivity gave me such strength as I was lying there in my weakest ever state.

 

I was well looked after by the ambulance crew, A&E and the Major Trauma ward of the Leeds General Infirmary, and then I was left to face three months in a wheelchair unable to walk, followed be another three of physio to get me back on my feet.

My first venture outside on the roof terrace at the LGI

 

I’m only two months into that journey now as I write this so that recovery period should take me up to March, then we’ll have another couple of months until our trip begins.

 

Anyone who’s been in an accident before will know the ups and downs of recovery: every day is an absolute rollercoaster of feelings and emotions, not only for the person going through it but for their loved ones as well.

 

I am currently home, healing well and awaiting the physio to begin, which will hopefully be in December.

 

It’s been tough, frustrating and very painful at times, but my friends and family have helped me through. Chris though, more than anyone, has been my rock through this. He’s visited me every week and is currently taking care of Zed.

What was left of Zed after the crash

 

It won’t be long until Chris and I are living the biker fairytale again, riding side-by-side on our 2017 European roadtrip.

 

More updates to follow…