I went to see Love Actually in the outdoor cinema tonight in Wandsworth Park. I’d ( actually ) never seen Love Actually, other than a few scenes here and there. What a lovely film, with such a true and important theme.

I can verify that without the love that you ( I ) need in my life, that life itself isn’t worth having, and that when you do have it, that it becomes so, again. If you think you  lose the love that keeps you alive, and all is lost, then life itself loses its’ appeal, which is where I found myself on Saturday. I said goodbye on this blog, and subtley elsewhere, and departed this earth…. only to find myself alive several hours later.

The film is about several people that are in love, in proper love, in several different ways, but all equally valid. Some is funny, some is romantic, some is tragic and unreturned, but all is an unstoppable force that comes before anything else.

I’ve been in love several times in my life, and I know how it feels – it’s the most powerful sensation, and it does consume you, conquering all else if threatened.

Today I saw both of my daughters, and they were both worthy of being loved. The thing is that even when they aren’t ‘worthy of it’, it flows from me to them in any case – thats how true love is. You can’t just turn it off.

So if you do love someone, or more than one, or lots of people, then tell them ( today ) that you do. You never know what effect you had on them, by reminding them that you do.

Pia

94.173.39.68
In reply to Stella K.

The amazing Stella- she is definitely the rabbit in that Zootopia sloth scene! The poor woman couldn’t even accompany you to a&e as she was being questioned by the police for hours for suspected assisted suicide… and she’d only been with you since the Wednesday! She’s definitely a keeper! ?

Your account of being released prematurely from hospital – slightly differs to my recollection, which as pretty much most situations you are involved in, has an element of comedy to it (thankfully)…

Stella, Cherie, Mark, Mike and Dan had all been in touch stating that you were saying you’d been given the ok to leave hospital and that you were asking stella to come and get you. Obviously, we all strongly doubted this was true, and thought you were cunningly plotting to somehow get stella to sneak you out of hospital (carry-on film styley).

I decide to FaceTime you, you’re in a hospital bed, in some recovery part of a&e, and you get irritated with me – for doubting you’re about to be released.

So, you ask the mental health nurse who has been sitting in the corner of your room since you came round (supposedly on suicide watch?) to confirm your suggestion. You tell the nurse to speak to me, and add that I am a social worker.

The phone is placed on a flat surface and she speaks to me from above, clearly never having FaceTimed before. A Nigerian voice tells me – ‘if your people say he can be discharged, then he can be discharged’.

I look at her in total bewilderment, from a hotel room in Morocco, and look behind me looking for ‘my people’; Apart from a 13 year old, in a bikini, plugged into her iPad watching a Netflix film whilst successfully multitasking and texting her friends – there is only me in the room.

I ask in a slightly raised, alarmed voice – ‘what people?!’

She says – ‘Doctors and social workers ‘.

I reply, clearly agitated – ‘I’m not HIS social worker! I am a friend, who happens to be a social worker. This is totally crazy! 36 hours ago, he tried to commit suicide. He’s just posted a blog post stating that he regrets being alive! You can’t release him -take that from a social worker who has worked in mental health!’ (Hoping she’d interpret that as -‘trust me, I’m telling you – he’s clearly BONKERS at this precise moment in time! DO NOT send him home!’).

She repeats – ‘if your people say it’s ok, then he is ok to go’…

It carries on for a while, before she sits back down and you look at me and say something like – ‘see?’.

Meanwhile – (behind closed doors)everyone back in the UK is desperately trying to get medical professionals to intervene and keep you in hospital for the foreseeable future…

Needless to say, hours later you’ve somehow managed to blag your way out, and you’re on your way home?!

Good old NHS ?

Ps don’t get me wrong – I’m very appreciative of the NHS, just on this occasion…. wtf were they thinking?!

Xxx

Unapprove | Reply | Quick Edit | Edit | History | Spam | Trash
Show more details

It’s Wednesday night and I’ve been to the theatre to see that play. Cherie and Stella were my beautiful female companions.

It was a great play. Ever such a lot of swearing… by teenage girls with heavy Glasgow accents. I don’t really remember it very well, as I don’t really remember anything at all very well, since I died temporarily. Maybe that’s brain oxygen deprivation and temporarily being dead, for you? In fact I wrote this bit (‘They declared me ‘ medically fit’ and gave me the option to stay in hospital, or to leave. They didn’t put any pressure on either way. To, I think, everyone’s surprise, ive gone from being dead, to being in an air ambulance, to being in the major trauma unit, to being home again, in 42 hours . I didn’t demand to be released, or anything like that, they simply cleared me to go, after I’d talked to the hospital psychiatrist and his colleague, for an hour or two. I didn’t do a Hannibal Lecter, and deceive my way out, I just talked and answered the questions I was asked. To be honest, I don’t really remember what we talked about, as I don’t really remember much at all of my 36 hours post death.’ )   when i was released, but had forgotten that I’d written it, until i just found it.

I know I ought thank Marky P, Cherie, Jo, Dan, Leigh, Bev, Stella, T, Rick, Mike Smith,  Larry  and most of all, Pia ( who is ultimately responsible for me still being alive, for insisting that Stella keep checking on me after lights out  ) for their humanity and kindness since. Happy birthday to Lily today too; it was nice to see her this morning.

From being dead in this flat, to being in hospital, to being back, all in 36 hours sounds fairly quick really, but time flows strangely for me, so 36 hours can be a long time. It  didn’t seem at all strange being back to doing my ( limited) gym exercises within 48 hours – I mean why not? People seem amazed that I’m even out of bed, but it doesn’t seem strange to me – any more strange than life is usually to me now.

I’m sorry that my actions caused people upset, that I used the Air ambulance, that I made such a mess too. Rick and i  cleaned up my bedroom – it was actually like a murder scene in there. Rick is a policeman, so isn’t fazed I suppose, and other than being initially slightly emotional about seeing it ( for a few seconds only ) I was also unfazed by the amount of red stuff everywhere. It really is no surprise to me that I was dead for a bit.

By the way, no bright lights or floating above my body.

( This post was written on Sunday ay 23rd July, at some point, but I don’t remember when. It’s obviously lucid, as all my posts seem to be, but I only vaguely recall writing it, and I knew relatively little of the events that had occurred since I calmly ended my own life )

I seem to now have a very altered relationship with Death. The prospect of dying, to me, whenever it is, stirs almost no emotion in me.

Ive been trying to think about it, and how I felt about it before – I think with fear/dread/a strong avoidance of  – just like normal people, but now I don’t.

I don’t know if that will revert back.

( This post was written in the morning of Sunday July 23rd, after I had calmly ended my life, approximately 11 hours before. I can only vaguely remember writing it, and didn’t know ( by far ) the  full extent of what had happened to me, because I simply couldn’t remember any of the aftermath )

Trust me to employ a carer that has worked in paramedics. When she heard my altered breathing at 1am and investigated, she found me lying in blood sodden bed sheets.

I was apparently taken by the Air Ambulance, but i remember nothing at all.

For better or for worse, I am alive because of Stella’s actions. I certainly didn’t expect or want to wake up, not this time.

Am i glad I’m alive ? No, I’m not, but I do realise that a few other people don’t want me dead.

What rollercoaster I ride.

Im sorry though for taking a few others on the trip with me.

And for wasting such a valuable resource

Russ

( This was posted in the evening of Saturday July 22nd, in the frame of mind of  ‘ more setting of the record straight before I go ‘. 

( 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.

x

( This post was written in anger, on Saturday 22nd of July, and a rail against the injustice of my debilitating injury, and the perceived injustice of things that happen to you, you think ( only )  because of your injury )

I just got this message from another gent that’s paralysed, who obviously reads my diary.

See, it IS a relevant post, as it seems that people think you can’t defend yourself, once paralysed.

‘I have worked this out a long time ago. Brought to fruition the last few weeks with my estranged brother. People think that you are incapable of defending yourself now you’re paralysed. I now look at it that I’m glad I got under their skin so well for them to kick you while your down. Fuck em Russ, rise above it.

It just proves how much they think they have control over you. All the time you have your mind you have control.’

( 25/7/17  The below was written  at about 5pm on Saturday July 22nd. It was written  about 7 hours before I calmly ended my life. It was written  in the mindset of ‘ I want to set the record straight before I go’ )

People have said that I shouldn’t post anything personal in this diary, about my divorce etc etc.

I have observed that rule, pretty much.

I got access to my daughter’s phone today and I saw Danielle’s latest picture message to her. It shows my 2 brothers on holiday together in QDL, which is in Portugal .

Danielle saw this on my brother’s  Facebook page, and sent it to my daughters.

It has the message that you can see in the photo.

NFI is an abbreviation for Not Fucking Invited

Pretty classy for her ( solicitor ) mother send that sort of mocking message to my teenage daughters .

I get bad press from my Ex wife, for sure, to my 2 daughters.

You make your own conclusions as to which one of us is a  ‘ constructive  parent ‘ Post divorce.

I won’t post pictures of all the other messages that I saw about me, from Danielle ( solicitor ) to my daughters .

My Ex portrays herself as linen white, and ‘ grown up/ mature ‘. I didn’t see a lot of evidence of that in her texts about me to my daughters.

It’s bad enough being paralysed, to be fair, without being painted as some kind of evil bas****, which she does, very cleverly.

So, just wanted to put the record straight . I think she might have shot herself in the foot, this time.

🙂