My reply to Melissa. It sort of morphed into a blogism. ( that’s a new word. Remember where you saw it first ;) )

Lissy, You continue to overwhelm me with your love and compassion for my situation. They are wise words from Geoff, who is obviously somewhat of an expert in both the physical and mental aspects of where I find myself. There s not much chance of me getting an OBE though, I’m very unlikely to rise to Geoff’s heights of selfless achievement. Bereavement ? I suppose that it is a little like that. I don’t think I’m in denial at all, but I don’t think that I’ve really had the time to feel sorry for myself as yet. I’ve tried to keep that at bay, made so much easier by the positivity of my many many visitors who treat me in the same way as if I were just lying in this bed with a bad cold. When that support inevitably lessens, as it will in time, I think the truth may hit me harder, but I don’t know yet. Obviously the self pity reflex will be countered by the inevitable progress I’ll be making, certainly physically at least. Of course I’m the same person. But I’ve yet to face the world as a paraplegic in a wheelchair. I’ve yet to experience how I will be treated by people I don’t know, who never knew me before. Will they ignore me, not look me in the eye, see me as a nuisance, see me as a lesser person? I won’t know what they’re thinking. Will I want to say ‘ look, I’ve not always been this way, until very recently I was a pretty impressive physical specimen who was used to high achievement in most things’ ? Are people interested in hearing about how things were, is it even relevant any more, I don’t know if people will give a shit? Will people I know talk about me as Russ who ‘used to be….’ Or me as I am now? They’re experiences I’ve not yet had, and I can’t help but feel a little afraid. I don’t want pity, but I do want understanding, or an attempt at it. You can’t imagine what it’s like to be like this, believe me. It’s really not great. Sometimes writing this diary lifts me, and sometimes it doesn’t. Today it doesn’t. I’ve now got to snap out of it and look for the bright side, though occasionally the shadows are there, and are drawing me to them. When I feel down I just want my children with me first and foremost. They don’t read this diary as far as I know, so are not pressured by my words to come to me. I’m pretty sure to them I’m the same, but they don’t really know that my my status is for life. I think they think that I might be the same as before in time, and therefore be able to do the same things with that I could before. I won’t be able to, and feel awful for letting them down. I could have taught them so much as I was before, but fear now that I won’t. A wheelchair will exclude me from so many things, make me unable to join in with the most simple of pleasures My girls have always loved me chasing them up the stairs and jumping out of a hiding place to scare them. Not being able to do that ever again is hard to confront, and fills me with guilt. Those shadows I mentioned are getting darker, so I’ll stop now. Please never ever ever take what you’ve got for granted. Russ

1 thought on “My reply to Melissa. It sort of morphed into a blogism. ( that’s a new word. Remember where you saw it first ;) )

  1. Unimaginable what you have been through Russ. Alastair and Georgina told me your story and I’m amazed and inspired by your strength. Have you read The Book ‘Feel The fear And do it anyway’?
    Maybe your Own Story would continue to drive you and help others? I wish you and your family many happy and loving times ahead, focusing on what you have, not what you’ve lost. Thanks for sharing your experience 🙂
    Donna Burns

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