( This post was written on Saturday 22nd July, perhaps 5 hours before I calmly ended my life. It was written in the frame of mind of ‘ I want to set the record straight before I go, which will be only in a few hours’ time )
I may as well tell a bit more.
Its good to talk, right?
After my third spinal operation in 2 months , in November, and on the eve of my 4th, 3 staff came into my room in London Bridge Hospital. They were Jenny, the Occupational Therapist, ANNE- Marie, the physio, and the Ward manager, whose name I forget, but he was Scottish and had previously been blown up in his army days. He should have been dead, for sure, but had endured and carried on, despite appalling injuries, that I can’t detail.
They definitely entered the room quite nervously. The Ward manager did all the talking. It went something like this –
‘ Look, I really don’t know how to tell you this, but I need to ask you if you want to hear what your wife has said to me on the phone, before your operation in the morning. This is a completely new situation for me, and I’ve never had to say this to a patient before.
Your wife has just phoned and said that after your operation and your discharge from here, you aren’t welcome back to your family. She said that if you try, she will have changed the locks so you can’t get in’
I asked him what i was supposed to do? He said that Danielle had said to ‘ put him in a care home’ . He then handed me several brochures for homes that might be suitable for the paralysed.
I was a little bit surprised, obviously, and I thanked him.
I then went online and looked up the legality of this situation. It clearly stated that she would be committing an offence by doing that. I emailed Danielle and made her aware of the legal situation, at which point I received a ‘ carefully worded’ reply, saying that she thought she was acting in the best interests of my health, and that was all.
A month later I was back in Chiswick, and ‘ allowed ‘ to live in the flat.
Divorce proceedings were shortly after issued by Danielle’s solicitors.
It was very obvious from the date of that news that my wife and children were very much against me.
I resolved to carry on and do my best, and now needed a carer to wash and dress me every day, there being no help offered by my wife and children.
As usual, I had the amazing support of Pia, Cherie and Marky P in particular, but too many others to name.
I’ve only seen my youngest daughter twice since then, and my eldest a few times more. The hostility is very tangible.
On Wednesday it’s my eldest ‘s birthday. I booked a wheelchair ticket and 2 seats in the hope that my daughters would come. They agreed to. Today I got a text saying that they weren’t now coming. Obviously that was deeply upsetting for me. As they are all going away next week, I wouldn’t see either daughter for ( at least ) another month. They live about half a mile from me, I should add, but I don’t see them. That’s very hard for me. After my paralysis, I thought constantly of my 2 daughters, and developed a strategy. I thought constantly about suicide, but would force myself to think of my daughters crying at my funeral, which kept me from doing it.
The strategy is no more, sadly – it doesn’t work now, as I’m not sure it’s applicable. I know that I will get texts saying that ‘ of course they care’ but there isn’t much evidence of that to go on.
Anybody in a wheelchair that wants to go to the theatre on Wednesday, to the Duke of York, to see a play called ‘Our ladies of perpetual succour’ with 2 seats for normal people, please go, and just say that you are me. ( I hope there aren’t a crowd of the paralysed showing up ! )
I’ve written to my solicitor and disinherited my children, and left it all to thé SIA ( Spinal Injuries Association ) . I think that’s a nice legacy, and a ( more ) worthy cause. I’d leave it all to Pia, but I know she’d give it to my children.
Of course, I’ve stated that I’m of sound mind, and not suffering from the mal effects of a UTI – as evidenced by last night’s extremely positive blog post.
I’ll post this last post later on.
Thanks to those that have followed this diary to the end.
A man can only take so much, after all.