I sampled the newly adapted bathroom, finding I couldn’t get near the basin because my knees wouldn’t go under it ( what did we pay the private Occupational Therapist for ? ) and the wheel in and transfer onto flip down shower seat was very wobbly for me to sit on, having no core muscles to keep me from falling off. 

Thank God for the installed handles. 

There was however no hot water, the taps having been installed incorrectly.. at least I couldn’t feel how cold it was, opting just to wash my lower half in there..

Never mind, apparently taps adjusted now. We’ll see tomorrow.. 

I know that the lovely ‘Lakeside Services’ will sort it all soon. 

I must thank them for their Welcome Back Alive hamper, and also thank the lovely Judy and Chris for theirs too. Having kind, helpful people at every turn makes this tough adjustment so much easier. 

Then I saw sunshine. 

And felt the warmth from it on my bare top half. It was about 15 degrees, and that was just about enough for my lily white skin, I reckon. 

I then tried the loaned Mountain Trike, pushing the mile or so to the beach, involving a bit of road, and what seemed like an awful lot of sandy track. 

What took me 6-7 minutes to run before now took me about 40 minutes, with arm power only at my disposal. 

I got to the beach though and saw the sea. 

Who, seeing me in Toulon, in June, would have counted on that? Not the medical profession, for one, I hear. 

I pushed back, already exhausted. 

There’s a 30 metre fairly steep incline option as a short cut. 

They told me NOT to try anything adventurous for a month or so on the Trike. 

Not being very clever, instead i asked Dani to film me coming down this hill. 

There’s a great video of the first 4 seconds, prior to the thing tipping over and me flying out (sadly not captured for YouTube). 

It didn’t hurt – well it wouldn’t would it?

But I was more than a bit worried that landing on a path of sharp stones would have cut my bum and legs, which now don’t heal properly and could require hospitalisation if only moderately bad. 

In the event it seems I’ve gotten away with it, though 3 passers by had to lift me back into my Trike. 

Lesson learnt? 

That’s 2 ‘bike’ rides in 8 months, and 2 crashes, one very nearly terminal. 

Maybe I should give it up?

I don’t think I will though. 

I have to say they they were great. 

It’s easy to knock the bucket airlines, but to me, Easyjet looked to have it taped. 

Airport staff came to our aid at every turn ( and at no charge ), lifts appeared in corridors that weren’t there before. 

Staff were polite and sensitive. 

Far better than the ‘centre of excellence’ that is BA’s Terminal 5, sampled on my last flight at Xmas. 

At Faro they were even better. I think they’re not quite so hung up on the dreaded Health and Safety on the Continent, doing things with a more common sense attitude, including more smiling. 

Christ, as a wheelchair user I get my own ‘box’ at the back – 2 seats , a lift etc. 

We saw ‘The Wolf of Wall Street’. 

Di Capprio as an 80’s trader, loving and living life totally hedonistically, until his inevitable plummet. 

There’s a scene in it where he’s taken a cocktail of drugs that kick in and render him partially paralysed. As he flounders around on the ground for about 10 minutes the audience are howling with laughter. I think if they had to experience that every day they might not find it so funny. 

I sort of switched off after that scene. 

Maybe next time I’ll go and watch The Smurfs or something. 

I’m not sure what the staff make of me, having had more visitors in a typical week than a lot of patients get during their whole stay. Good for me, tougher for them, I fully realise. 

Having been wined and dined, I was delivered safely back to my bed. 

Thanks girls, it was a great way of distracting me from the very mixed emotions of leaving the safety of the unit to restart my life. 

I didn’t sleep that well, my bloody legs twitching half the night, keeping me awake. Ironic, isn’t it, that I resent the very thing that I yearn for, movement of my legs. 

Friday, I had an hour in the pool of trying not to drown, then that was pretty much it. 

I had a surprise visitor in a colleague, Baljit, who had coffee and lunch with me, and kept me amused for a couple of hours by virtue of her charming company, and then I bumped into Issy Bailey. 

Issy is 19, injured at the same time as me   

Pretty, vivacious and clever, she was 9 days away from winning her first Senior England hockey cap, when a girl she vaguely knew gave her a lift and overtook in a dark lane, resulting in a head on collision. The driver was fine, but Issy is like me, paralysed from mid chest down, with zero use or sensation of anything below. 

I feel so much for her, and so want her to succeed in life. 

She’s got the challenge of going back to Uni, living student life in a wheelchair in adapted accommodation, having the further challenge of having relationship(s) with boys, with all the ‘trust issues’ that would entail. Any girl/ lady reading this will feel her pain and anxiety I’m sure. 

Incredibly, whilst in hospital , she tried wheelchair pistol shooting and realised that she was fantastic at it, despite never having picked up a gun before. 

Since, she has entered various competitions and largely whipped experienced men at their own game. 

Given that start, it’s realistic to expect to see her shooting in the next Paralympics for GB. 

She’s so modest, she wouldn’t say that that is her destiny, but I think everyone else knows it is, if it’s what she wants…

Her family and young friends sound just incredible, encouraging and cosseting her in equal measure. 

Of all those I met, whilst ‘incarcerated’, she is the one I found most inspiring. 

Good luck, Issy. 

I got my proper wheelchair too, at the last minute, Dani collecting it from Twickenham and bringing it to Stoke Mandeville for ‘fitting’ to me. 

It feels ok, in as much as any of them have. Sitting in a chair isn’t like you sitting in one, relaxing with your feet up. It’s tiring, and after a bit uncomfortable. 

I’m told it gets better, but it’ll be slow. 

For now, the only ‘comfortable’ time is when I’m asleep, to be honest. 

I’m writing this, lying in bed, in our kitchen, at home, with the Olympics on. 

The falls the boarders and skiers have make me wince, looking far more spine breaking than the one I probably had. 

The difference, I guess, is soft snow vs sun baked french Tarmac and 25 vs 46 years old perhaps too?

Still, every fall makes uncomfortable viewing for me. 

I do hope no one there in Russia pays the price I have for their endeavours. 

One more long night – I hope it is full of your friends and some laughter.  And tomorrow, ever after the sweetness  & the bittersweetness of home, and all that now means & entails. 

The difference in your Physical abilities in three months has been phenominal, as witnessed by your  selfie. And the mending of mind & spirt is evident. A little more confident, less cautious but not stilted I can see that your friends will have to work harder to keep up with you. And that’s a great thing. 

Sweet dreams, your family will be sooooo happy you are home! 

Bestest wishes 

X 

I’ve not exactly become institutionalised, but it will be odd not being in hospital. 

In some ways the real world will be much more daunting. Wheelchairs are horribly liable to tip over at any time, stones, twigs, kerbs all posing a risk of sudden ejection. 

Once out on the ground, I won’t be able to get back in. Not now, anyway. 

When I’m a lot stronger, and used to the whole thing, I probably will be able to, using just my arms, but that’ll require practice and confidence and a lot more strength than I have currently. 

I’m told that it just comes. I’m regarded as freshly injured – first year and all that – a few years in and it’s all different. 

Living life out there with everyone else again, but in this altered state, is a tough proposition. 

I’ve got to meet it head on, I realise that, but that’s far easier said than done, I’d say. 

Being 4 foot tall isn’t great for your ego, having had another 2 feet for 30 years, by virtue of the ones at the ends of my ankles to stand on. 

I dreamt last night I was running around. 

Waking to the reality, alone here, is still nasty. 

At least I’ll not spend too many nights of isolation  from here on. 

Can’t wait to see my girls nearly every day. 

Again. 

Here I don’t really ‘see’ the weather, not like you all do, not like I did before, it determining whether I’d run, canoe or ride on a given day. 

I hope my business, in Staines, doesn’t wash away. 

The river is higher than I ever saw it, I hear. It won’t take much more and the whole shopping centre will be like Atlantis I hear. 

My brother, Stu, came tonight, along with Paul Lambert, who introduced Stu to chopsticks and posh take away sushi. 

There’s not a lot of that in Pontypool, not being much demand…

Stu pointed out that this week is the end of an era for him too, his weekly Wednesday trek to Aylesbury effectively over. 

I’m pleased for him, as it’s a shocker of a journey. 

He said his friends don’t even ask him out on Wednesdays any more, having realised that’s the night he reserves for his big brother ( now older, scrawny brother ).

Thanks Stu, for all those dedicated miles you’ve driven. We’ve never been stuck for conversation, these midweek nights, and his visits have brightened my every week. 

Paul was his usual humorous, chilled self. 

Not having known him well before, I feel I do now, and think the world of him. 

2 more days and I leave. 

No sign of my new wheelchair yet, perhaps it’s been washed away somewhere?

I’d like to have it for my 4 day trip to sunny Portugal, leaving Sunday. 

If not I’ll probably have to come back here soon to get it. 

I’d rather not. As incredible as the place is, I’ve really had enough now.