It’s 5.40 pm in New York.
I’ve given up, am too tired, the bloody wheelchair digs in to my disfigured rib cage on my right side, at the back, hurting all the time.
I’ve been pushed 7 miles today ( I know cos my phone has an App….. ) That’s been pushed, not even pushed myself.
We’ve been to Central Park ( icy, slippery paths ), FAO Schwarz ( the massive toy shop ), the Uggs store, Nike Town, a restaurant for lunch and God knows where in between… I’m not grumbling, but I am tired out.
Dani booked tickets for 5.30 for us all to go up the Rockefeller Centre – the new best view of the city, and of the best Xmas tree in NY. She and the girls have just dropped me at the room. I’m in too much discomfort to have enjoyed it, and didn’t want to spoil it for them by grimacing thro the next 2 hours.
This city is busy, packed with shoppers. It’s hard even being pushed, as I have to try to push my body back in the chair to stop myself falling forward, particularly at the many, many road crossings.
An awful lot of people are preoccupied by their mobiles so are on collision course with me until the last few feet. The consequent nervous tension in my shoulders steadily wore me down.
I’ve had a good day, seeing my girls have fun. I’ve no interest in shopping now, for myself, it just seems pointless. I’ve got plenty of clothes, and fashion in a wheelchair.. well it just doesn’t seem the same. There’s no room for vanity in my life now; you have to be able to look into the mirror and like what you see, right?
Well that’s not the case any more.
A lot of people got in touch with me after a lady (?) called Babs M called me arrogant. She’d taken offence to a flippant comment I’d made about dementia. Ive spent nearly 30 years of my professional life in the company of largely elderly people, and have had a very large ‘following’ for many years. Invariably they openly say that I’m honest, trustworthy and just plain nice and respectful, with a lot of fun thrown in.
To allege that I’m anything other than the above is wrong.
I actually made a joke about the prospect of MYSELF ending up as a wheelchair patient with dementia, and NOT making fun of other people who suffer this awful fate.
Nothing would be further from my intention, and I removed my ‘joke’ and apologised.
I didn’t start this blog, I inherited it. I sort of took it over from my hospital bed, simply to keep my mates posted as to my progress.
I’ve not set out to be a social commentator, or to be profound or learned. I certainly didn’t intend for people I didn’t know to read it or be interested in it.
Now I’m not sure what it’s purpose is. It’s definitely NOT supposed to be controversial, so I’d like everyone to resist being annoyed by anything they read on it. If you are, then please stop reading it.
It’s just a diary written by a guy who fell off his bike when he should have been at home with his daughters. He wrecked his life in the process, and very nearly the lives of those he loves most.
It may serve to educate people about the awful thing that is Spinal Cord Injury, and may be a help to other people who, God help them, befall this fate.
I know it veers from manic depression to moments of contentment, interspersed with sometimes black humour from me, and other contributors. But that’s how life is now for me… up, down and unpredictable.
I don’t know how long I’ll keep it going for, I mean how interesting is some bloke’s life? So if it just stops don’t be surprised. It doesn’t mean I’ve topped myself, it just means I think you’re probably bored.
For now it stops me going f’ing mad though.
Please, no comments about trivialising insane people.