How am I ?

I hear and read again and again that from here on I have a choice. 

I can be miserable/ angry/ frustrated for the rest of my life, or
I can accept what I’ve got left and be happy. 
Simple, right?
The first option is the easy one. 
Every day on waking your first realisation is that you still  can’t feel or use ANYTHING from tummy button downwards – nothing, zilch – no use to you at all. 
The second is the feeling of almost overwhelming sadness that it’s like this. 
( I can’t jump out of bed, go to the loo, get dressed quickly, bounce downstairs , kiss my wife and girls, go outside into the shed, pull my kayak off the rack, stick it on my car and go…. Or get on my bike, or chase the girls around the house or make tea and bring it upstairs for Dani and I – none of those normal things are anywhere near possible. )
What I can do is, for now, wait for someone ( Dani, or here the nurse ) to offer to help me. That’s to get me onto a ‘shower ( commode ) chair to wheel to the loo, whereupon I instigate the bowel regime, followed by a wheel over to the shower, still in the same chair  and wash myself. Then a wheel back, and more help into the bed  then 20 minutes to get dressed, then into my proper wheelchair for the day. 
Getting to the point where all that becomes ‘fine’ is apparently achievable. 
That’s only the very start to the day. 
I’ve not really DONE anything yet. 
Not faced the world, contributed in any way to anybody or any thing. 
I’ll have to get into a car, drive to work, do my job professionally, be the Boss, and get home again afterwards. 
These things at the moment seem unachievable. 
There’s someone that I don’t actually know that reads my blog and has twice accused me, via the Comments option, of being arrogant. 
If she ( Babs M? ) knew the pain and sadness I feel currently almost all of my waking moments perhaps she wouldn’t use that word. She obviously doesn’t KNOW me at all. 
If my writings have come across that way then I’m sorry. I think it’s called putting on a brave face. If she’s getting the wrong end of the stick regularly, perhaps she shouldn’t read it? Insulting me hits pretty hard.
 Well done if that’s actually her objective. 
Who knows?
Last night 13 of my staff and colleagues took me out for a Xmas curry close to here. Thanks all, it was fun, tho my voice felt weak and slurred all night. 
It’s hard for me to have them see my like this, and I’m sure hard for them too. 
However, they were all lovely. 
Thanks to Jana for organising and to Scott, Ina and Irinder for driving me back and forth. 
So… Wallow in misery or get on with life?
I know the ideal, but carrying it out is a million times harder than writing it down. 

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