Hi Russ, let me start off by saying it was very good to finally see you. I’ve just read your blog and I’m not going to lie it brought tears to my eyes. I’m not going to sit here and say I understand what you are going through or how you are feeling but let me tell you something – You are an amazing boss, father, husband, brother, son and all the other things under the sun. I just want you to know that you are the same old Russ to me, you know I never told you this, but I really do look up to you and would love to be even half the person you are, more so now than ever before. Who cares what other people think Russ, those that ignore you or think you are a nuisance are not even worth your time…its their loss that they haven’t had the pleasure of meeting The Great Russ. You have achieved so much in life so far as you already know and as many people keep saying, and you still have loads of opportunities to achieve more. You’ve got an amazing support group around you; your family friends and all of us (your second family). And as for those shadows…’it is during our darkest moments that we must focus to see the light’. I have been praying for you, Russ, everyday and will continue to do so. 🙂

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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

Hey my lovely Just read your post tonight. Oh, gosh that must be horrible to dream about your legs but wake up and it not be real. Dani, Sam and I were good friends with a chap called Geoff Holt when we were growing up. When Geoff was 18 he took a year out and being a sailing type, sailed for a year. He was in the Caribbean and one night he dived from his yacht and hit rocks….he broke his back very high up and is paraplegic but with very limited use of his arms as it was such a high break. In the subsequent years he has started a business helping wheelchair kids and adults go to sea and has a boat called ‘wet wheels’. He has an OBE from the queen for his efforts! When you first had your accident I emailed Geoff to try to get a view point as to how you might react. His email is below: Always makes me shudder to think someone else has had a spinal injury. If I could give you 2 lessons I’ve learned. This is really, really, early days – it can take weeks, months, even years to stabilise to a point you know what muscles come back and what feeling will come back. That will take time and only months in hospital in rehab will decide that. Right now, he just needs the love of you all – he won’t care less about the future, he will be focussing on what he has lost. It’s like a bereavement and he needs to know that he is still the same Russell that you all know. Which brings me onto number 2) He won’t want blubbing – do that in private. The thing that really got me through was Fiona, Sarah, Sean, Justin etc. not giving me any pity, just treating me the same. I feel a bit silly saying this – it is all so early. Where is he being treated? Is he back in the UK? It goes without saying that I am happy to help in any way I can but right now he won’t want to even see someone in a wheelchair – he’ll be in denial, and it will take a long time to come to terms. Give Dani a massive hug and say I’m thinking of you all. Geoff So Russ, your dream might be a little bit of a bereavement but it might also be a foresight into your recovery. I know that there is wonderful equipment out there to help you carry on as ‘normal’, from the paraplegic lady who walked the marathon this year with a specially created suit that had electrodes which made her walk to just simple equipment that can enable you to ‘stand’ at a party. You are such a tiny part through your new journey, there is so much out there that can be done with stem cells and science these days. As you know things could be a whole lot worse in the bereavement stakes. We can consul ourselves with the fact that you are the same chap (albeit a bit more articulate 🙂 ) that we love and respect and hugely admire. From day one of your accident I always had this vision of you being the bloody bloke that whilst I was sat on red at the traffic lights in my 4×4 wizzed past in a bionic bike at 30mph! I don’t think that is far off….legs or no legs. Russ we all love you for you which is your brain and spirit foremost and that is what you still have in abundance. xxxx

I think I’ve been remiss and not said anything for a bit..

Looks like I’m on the move today… Either to a different ward here, or maybe even to The Wellington in St John’s Wood, north London , just next to The Oval cricket ground.