Entry 17: #LifecontinuesafterSCI

There are a few things that happen in life which can completely capsize your world. Continuing on from my last entry, which I hope perhaps gave some idea of what I mean when I say "capsize your world", I wanted to show that it is not all doom and gloom. I know that having children can turn your world upside down completely, having observed through a brief window how my friends have taken to parenthood. Life is never the same again. This is true of suffering from an SCI. I deliberately say suffering, although it may sound very "woe is me", because life is not made better by having one – unlike having children which is considered a blessing (most of the time!). However, I recently tweeted about some training I went on with The Backup Trust, and I used the hash tag of 'life continues after SCI.' It got me thinking about the fact that yes, life does continue whether you want to admit it or not, day in day out, life is passing you by. Or as John Lennon said:

I can't believe I am now in my fourth year of having this injury. It's just over three years and one month. And yes, my life has continued. I have continued with my friendships and relationships, spending time with my family going places and doing things with them. Craft fairs, cinema, getting blotto in the pub, shopping, eating out, visiting the seaside and more. Creating more memories that I will treasure in the years to come. I was fortunate to be able to have a puppy that I raised to adolescence… Before having to move him on to a more suitable home. The time I spent with him enabled my confidence to grow, my independence was able to re-emerge, and it's always nice to not be the only one in the household to have 'accidents'.

Moving house, relocating from one city to another takes a hell of a lot of planning, coordination, and teamwork. Making steps towards returning to work. Developing my body strength and stamina.

And that is just me. I wanted to give you guys an idea of the fact that life does continue after an SCI, and for those people who are reading this who are disabled or are in a similar situation as me I want to show what can be done. I've had a good look on YouTube, and I found some clips that I think will astound and impress you, because they certainly did me! We often get so bogged down with what we cannot do, that it can be very hard to realise there are things we are still able to achieve…

(the beginning of this video has quite a bit of chat – it is 10 min long, I would recommend watching it all – just to get a sense of the context, although the reason it's on here is to show the scuba diving wheelchair warrior!)

This is Tiffany Carlson– she is a writer and blogger and is in all sorts of magazines and websites. She is the owner of beautyability.com, and believe me her words of wisdom are well worth listening to!

depending on your ability and rehab, it is possible to get back behind the wheel! It may take a lot of work and strength training and stamina. You may need to pass another test. But at the end of the day the old adage is true – where there is a will there is a way.

and let's not forget Murder Ball a.k.a. wheelchair rugby… Primarily played by quadriplegics. If you can get a chance get hold of the film "Murder Ball" and see how it all started. of course, this is not the only sport you can get into – people in wheelchairs are still able to play more or less just about any other sport, go horseriding, skiing, and swimming. I won't start rattling on about the merits of taking part in exercise and sport for your health both mental and physical… We all know that it's better for you whether you're in a chair or not!

If you are disabled and reading this, I would greatly appreciate any comments (either by e-mail or the comments box below) that can add to the list of achievements and possibilities that are out there for people to realise that yes life does continue after SCI. 
The only limitations are the ones you put on yourself.

PS it's come to my attention that people want to leave comments, but can't due to not being signed up to Google. If you would like to leave a comment, then please e-mail it to me, stating whether it is anonymous or not, at the the address at the very top of the screen – TingleTetra@Gmail.com, and I will add it. :-)

Twitter: @Tingletetra

Entry 16

I used to think I could empathise. I used to think I knew. I used to think "I've had pain in my life, I can therefore relate". I used to try to be nonjudgemental. I used to do "My bit". I used to try to understand,
to walk a mile in the other's shoes. I used to think my prayers were heard. I thought my prayers were answered. I used to think I could help. I used to think I did some good. I knew I couldn't know how another person felt, but now I know it's impossible.

When I think back to how I saw people in wheelchairs, disabled people, people who have had their lives touched by some debilitating disease… I was such a fool. A self-righteous, assuming, selfish, narcissistic idiot who knew nothing. Nothing at all. I had grown up knowing mentally disabled and physically disabled people. I had worked for years with disabled people, those with both physical and mental challenges. Done voluntary work. Read books. Attended courses. Heard of other people's woes. Saw the adverts on TV begging to raise money that could cure, help, in any way improve the quality of life for whom they supported. I never gave. I had chosen my charities, I was doing my part already. You can't give to everyone.

There is a web which is spun that is as complicated as the nervous system and just as hard to navigate. The Web of Impact that stretches beyond what the eye can see, beyond what the ear can hear, beyond what the mind can understand, beyond what the heart can feel, beyond what the stomach can hold down. The web is spun in a continuous spiral with links, known and unknown starting from birth, and stretching out across the span of time. Each fine thread is so delicate, to be nurtured, to be admired and valued; its beauty, its strength, its radiance. Not to be wasted. The time spent creating it is the cost. The energy spent, the focus, the emotion invested. When Impact strikes the whole web is shook, no matter where the spider lays in wait, she will feel it nonetheless. There is no escaping the impact.

How could I possibly know? There is no way to know, unless you've been there yourself.

Unless it's you, your mother, your father, your lover, your best friend. You can't give to everyone and there are too many ways the human body can suffer. There are too many ways the human mind can shut down. Too many ways the human heart can give up. And the soul – what of the soul? Strong enough and the soul can be the driving force behind a complete restoration. But if it is weak, from pain and suffering and battles, another go on the merry-go-round and from sheer lack of willpower, the soul will quietly drift away. I was so arrogant. I looked my mother in the eyes and told her I was going to be perfectly fine, literally I said "nothing is going to happen!". It could never be me. So sure was I, so certain of the path that lay ahead of me. The direction my life was to take.

You never know what's round the next corner. I'd heard that line so many times that each new time I wanted to hit the person speaking. Of course, that was the context when people were trying to help me be patient; I wanted to fall in love and I'm still waiting. But you never know who's round the next corner…! If somebody had told me, had they warned me of the speeding minibus that would flip over three times around my next corner I wonder if I'd have given it any consideration at all. To be honest I think I would have still boarded my plane. I was that arrogant and held the assumption that I would be protected by a higher force. It could never happen to me.

And then the web springs into action. Letters of support, cards of condolence, visits with ice cream, and photographs, presents, piles of chocolate. I have no idea of the depth and breadth of pain my injury has caused to those people who are in my life. I had no idea simply of the depth and breadth of people who were in my life at all. Of the vast number who cared, even people I didn't know reached out to me. And I didn't deserve any of it. The suffering caused by my injury is beyond what I can imagine. I used to think I could empathise, I used to think I knew.

I now know that it was fruitless to bother thinking this way at all. I could not possibly comprehend what this hell is for another person; it is bad enough for myself. I sit at the centre of my web seeing how my injury has tested, shaken and torn my delicate threads apart. How life has rapidly unspun. Watching the actions and reactions, the vibes that come back at me, and the way the knocks keep coming. Any repairs are just patch jobs.

The web will never be like it was before. It is not just my body that is changed forever, nor just my life style, it is not just my heart that is broken and it is not just my life any more.

Entry 15: The Alternative…

Today I'm finally getting my hair done! Goodbye ugly roots, hello lovely highlights!

Roll. Sling. Hoist. Chair. Sling out. Coffee. Computer. Poo. Sling in. Hoist. Bed. Bra. T-shirt. Pants. Trousers. Roll. Sling out. Duvet. Sit up. Med's. Computer. Coffee. Lie down. Duvet off. Roll. Sling in. Hoist. Chair. Hair.

Hoist. Bed. Remove trousers. Remove pants. Remove T-shirt. Remove bra. Hoist. Chair. Sling out. Shower. Towels. Sling in. Hoist. Bed. Roll. Sling out. Bra. T-shirt. Pants. Trousers. Roll. Sling in. Hoist. Power chair. Dry hair.

It's a bit odd, because it's all backwards. The hairdresser came round two days ago and cut my hair. Now he's coming back today to highlight it. For those who have absolutely no idea of what goes on in the salon, you usually have your highlights done, then hair washed, then cut and dry.

Extensive research on my part (having peeped through the window of several hairdressers both in Liverpool and my current town) has shown that accessing a salon is near impossible for me. Certainly for what I want done, as every single hairdressers has their seats bolted to the floor by the sinks. And I have no way of transferring from my power chair to one of these fancy chairs to have my hair washed. So, we are having to be creative at home.

Hmm. The day didn't pan out quite how I described it earlier, but I'm very pleased with the results anyway!

and the cheesiest grin award goes to…

(PS it's come to my attention that people want to leave comments, but can't due to not being signed up to Google. If you would like to leave a comment, then please e-mail it to me, stating whether it is anonymous or not, at the the address at the very top of the screen – TingleTetra@Gmail.com, and I will add it. :-) )

Follow Me on Twitter: @TingleTetra

Entry 14: Dangerous Doorways

It was a very interesting week with doors. Now, in my little flat I have just about managed to learn to get through the narrower doorways with a twitch of my wrist and closely watching the positioning of my footplate and an armrest. Though I will admit there is no paint left on the woodframe from when I was practising! Women drivers everywhere have got a bad press; there are some fantastic female drivers out there… Not that I was one of them. Now that I'm in a chair though, and I have to drive it constantly, I would say I'm actually pretty good.

Photograph courtesy of Misha!

Given the lack of finger control/movement/sensation, the minute wrist action, the degraded muscles in my forearm and my dodgy tricep (ooo, and let's not leave out the random spasms that takeover completely from time to time) I would say I do a pretty good job. However, doorways are not designed for people in wheelchairs, especially given that nearly all are raised up on a step or even worse, a step and then a PVC frame that has two lips to get over. And unless a doorway was built back in the Tudor era or was built specifically for tiny people it's fairly safe to say that I can get through it, as long as I have no need to turn – bring in the turning circle and all of a sudden we're dealing with a different ballgame. The problems come when trying to get up that step and over the lip.

So, at my widest I am 66 cm. I don't know what the average width of the human being is but I think the widest point is at the shoulders. Having just googled it, I discovered the average width for a male is between 18 to 20 inches or 50 cm across the shoulders. So really I'm not actually that much wider than the average human male. Most people assume that I am incredibly wide, and granted I am wider than the norm. However, I am not a tank. It may appear that I am. But I'm not. I'm only 66 cm wide. That's 26 inches, just on 2 feet, two thirds of a metre, 0.7 yards, or 0.00066 kilometres. Not that wide at all really!

(example of ramp with small turning circle at the top)

Saturday I was showing some family members the sights and sounds of Bognor Regis. All we wanted was a place to get a hot drink and a sandwich. We parked at one end of the promenade and walked all the way up to the pier and back. Either the cafes were closed or there was no way I could get into them because of their HUGE FRONT STEPS. Eventually we found a pub that has a really lovely ramp. Wahey! Problem solved! But then at the door, we realised it was one of those funny ones where you open the first door and then it has a sharp right turn into the building itself. Turning circles need wider space. By this point we were so cold and I was a bit P'd off, that there was absolutely no chance I was not getting through that doorway. So, full speed ahead, I left a nice lovely thick groove in the wooden frame with a great crunching sound that had the barmaid running up to help and all the locals watching in amusement. As soon as we were all in, that's when we discovered they were not serving food…Grrr. We were shown out via a fire exit.

A threshold ramp would have been useful at this point!

Monday my mum and I decided we wanted a fish and chip supper, and as there is a brand-new chippy just around the corner we thought we'd try out. Arriving outside, we notice the doorway is already open, but yes, there is a little step. This time I don't really think anything of it because I have a "curb climber" on my chair which can normally deal with small steps quite easily. Unfortunately, whilst going over this threshold I managed to separate a wooden plinth from the front of the step. (I forgot to mention earlier that my wheelchair weighs over 95 kg, not including me! For you Brits out there that's almost 15 stone) The customers inside are doing a fabulous job of pretending not to stare… But all praise to the staff who immediately came to help and actually found it rather amusing. Apparently the step is being altered anyway, and that wooden plinth now serves as a mini ramp. Awesome! I broke the step and made it better!

Thursday was a shopping trip and visit to friends over in Southampton. By the time I reached my friends house both my PA and I were knackered from the shopping and driving through traffic. On arrival, the first thing my friends say is "have you got a ramp?" Which, bearing in mind I've had a car now for almost a year and been in this chair for over a year, you'd think I'd have actually gotten around to getting. No, I do not have a ramp. My bad.

not actual doorway, but to give an idea of PVC double lip.

I had not visited this friend's house before, and had been reliably informed by other friends that it had flat access. The flat access turned out to be a 10 inch step with an added PVC frame double lip. And it was raining. Why oh why can I not be more organised?! Very fortunately my friends live in an amazing house with grounds and were able to find two planks of wood that I could roll up to get in. Getting out was a bit more interesting as it had continued to rain on the planks of wood and they were now really slippery. Up over the lip and onto the wet wood and my front castors slid straight off. All praise due to my friends and PA who quickly grabbed hold of my chair (probably almost giving themselves a hernia in the process) to stop me completely tipping out and breaking both the chair and myself in the process.

So, the moral of this week's "attempting to share life from a chair" would be:

   
  Buy a portable ramp. If you're in a wheelchair, you're gonna need one.

     

PS it's come to my attention that people want to leave comments, but can't due to not being signed up to Google. If you would like to leave a comment, then please e-mail it to me, stating whether it is anonymous or not, at the the address at the very top of the screen – TingleTetra@Gmail.com, and I will add it. :-)

Entry 13: laughter is the best medicine, so they say…

Okay, so my last blog was pretty dismal and made for some heavy reading. For those who are at all interested in an update on how things are going:
the key worker housing association have waived the outstanding balance on their investment. (*Cue some jumping up and down and screaming with relief) My solicitors also waived their fee because there was no money left at all. In their words, "we just want to shut this case." – I guess it was starting to irritate them! So, it is as though somebody's waved a magic wand over my horrendous problem, and made it all disappear… Thank God!
so, the rest of the blog is as it was before… But this time I'm able to smile feeling a hell of a lot better than I did last week. Enjoy!

it would seem that currently everyday is full of these moments!

Now, one of the things I have wanted to talk about is the amazing fortune of having a) a laptop b) Internet connection and c) Facebook friends that send me very funny things. One of the many things that comes with life as a para or tetraplegic is a lot of time in bed. This could be for any number of reasons that are mostly health-related, and can also be because of depression or anxiety (which is my usual excuse). I've partly put this blog together to entertain any of my fellow SCI guys who were stuck in bed…I really cannot imagine what life would have been like as a tetraplegic without the Internet. 

Having had this amazing tool I have been able to gain back independence on so many levels – from being able to communicate with my friends privately, to completing my personal banking and possibly most importantly of all, being able to find a community of other people in the same situations as me who are able to swap notes on just about anything SCI related. Without wanting to shortchange people who have shown a great deal of empathy for my situation/condition, it is very true that  Nobody (and I use the capital N specifically) really understands or appreciates what it's like living with an SCI unless they have one themselves.

Anyway, this week's blog is actually meant to share some of the things that during last week's Hell actually made me smile and even laugh properly at times. Now I will try and put in the source wherever I can, but I will admit a lot of it came to me through Facebook. The first thing I wish to add is this:

https://www.facebook.com/the70s80s90spage

It is remarkable just how this description actually fits my childhood!! And there I was thinking it was just me, but it would seem there were many others who were of and around my age also going through the same… er… Developmental Process! Parenting skills and attitudes have clearly changed over the years…and as for computers and mobile phones, they were still the stuff of "Back to the Future". It genuinely made me smile remembering Baywatch and Gladiators… And good old Cilla Black and Blind Date! I can even remember getting a bollocking off my parents for coming in too late – yes, it was after dark! So, for anyone reading, who is not in Britain (yes, dear readers, my audience is now global!) this is a taste of Britain's culture for those of us who are now in our early 30s from back when we were in our preteens :-)

The next thing I would like to share with you genuinely made me laugh. It's a video that went viral, and I immediately shared it with everyone else I knew on Facebook. Quite possibly a large number of people already reading this have watched it once before through my sharing… But I don't care. This week's blog is about things which amused me during a particularly crap time and I would like to pay homage. Note to self – I must stop using the word 'homage':

Stolen from DJ… For teachers everywhere

I know that there are many guys out there who are bed ridden or housebound which frankly absolutely sucks. Especially if you don't have that many friends or family who will call round and take your mind off stuff. There are hours and hours to fill in a day when you don't have a job, or you have nothing to do because you cannot use your hands or your feet and in some cases, you can't even breathe for yourself…. It's bad enough having to live life by another persons rules; I know some teachers find it really irritating having to have their lives dictated by bells, but that's the rhythm of the school. Imagine if the rhythm of your breathing was controlled by a machine. Granted, thanks to that machine you are able to live, but still you cannot control when you breathe in and out. Why am I rambling on about these things? I think because I want all the AB people out there to realise the enormity of what it's like living a full and satisfying life, to then having what feels like a life that is empty – you are no longer doing things, it is other people, or even machines that do things for you. There are so many personal things, for instance, men – presumably you usually shave your own chin? Ladies, who put's in your tampons? Get my point? So on that note, it brings me to another Very Amusing video. This one is definitely one for the ladies, and any gay men out there :-) 

And then of course there is the flurry of photographs, and "statements" that are going around and are quite popular at the moment. As a Led Zep fan, this rather amused me:

and in honour of my mother coming to visit this weekend:

Mum, I've got your bottle of medium dry chilling. After all it's the least I could do!

Okay, so last but definitely not least is a video that had me chuckling from start to finish. I read a piece on a certain sheriff in the US who keeps getting re-elected because he's really clamped down on convicts and the jail that he runs. Instead of costing the taxpayer loads of money by building a new jail, he instead designed one out of tents. Apparently one of the inmates was overheard complaining about the heat that they were having to suffer, and the sheriff's response was that the Army out in Iraq was suffering in the same heat if not hotter, laying down their lives for their country. Now, I don't know how much of that is true but what I do know is that they certainly haven't lost their sense of humour (the military that is, not the convicts!). And here's a video to prove why:

 There might be a little bit of the theme going on with having seminaked men all over my blog this week – but hey a girl has to do something to cheer herself up :-)

I hope I've been able to make some of you guys smile today too x

Entry 12: Reporting From Under the Duvet…

So this week's blog marks a rather momentous week in the life of one TingleTetra. It comes at a time in the year that is hardest for me, and those closest to me, as it is almost the third anniversary of my injury. However, on a much better and brighter note, after a whole year of marketing, estate agents, solicitors and an army of friends willing to put themselves out for me, I have finally sold my flat. When I was first injured the idea of ever moving back down south was a pipe dream and not even to be thought of. When we finally came around to considering its possibility we looked at all angles of my being able to move back into my home – my first-floor flat in a building with no lifts. Could we have a lift installed? Could we have a ramp built on the outside of the building? Can we adapt the bathroom suitably? Could I even still pay my mortgage?

It was to be sold. I was never moving back, so the flat was to be gotten rid of. The first place I had bought as my own special corner of the world, which was all mine (never mind the bank and key worker housing scheme… We'll not confuse matters by bringing them into it!) – Was no longer accessible. And to this day I have not set foot inside it since I left to go travelling. Fortunately, in those crazy blurred days at the beginning I had already set up the flat to be rented out to tenants, so thinking about putting it on the market was able to go on the backburner. After all, my brain was far more occupied in wondering if I would ever move my right arm again to be bothered about my little flat 300 miles away.

Anyway, three sets of tenants later and the rather stressful period of finding a buyer, when that evil breed of people known as 'estate agents' had allowed my flat to become a mould infested, stink of a place has finally come to an end. Those moments where you wake up all of a sudden at night, stomach knotted in fear that all your plans will fall through and have to start again afresh – those moments will be taken over by something else now. The flat is no longer a concern. And this is a good thing.

As I write this I'm smiling to myself because I have just telephoned each utility company in turn and told them I am no longer the owner of that particular flat and could they please send me a final bill. I was rather impressed to discover I would be getting a cheque sent from the electricity company… Hopefully that will cover all the other bills!

Okay then, so I'm now continuing this two days later when I have had quite possibly the most stressful days of the entire year with regards to selling this bloody flat. Desperate to complete, both buyers and myself, I discover that the key worker housing scheme who "helped" me initially to buy my property has been incredibly difficult, and held up the sale over the last few months, and even now on the day of completion have held up the motions by not forwarding e-mails and documents to my solicitor and so it has to go on until tomorrow. I knew when I bought my flat with them that things would not be straightforward. The key worker scheme is put forward to you to be able to "help key workers who are unable to afford to buy their own homes." What they don't mention are all the extra hidden fees that pop-up left, right and centre throughout both the buying and the selling of the property. In the end it is a total rip-off. And then, let's not forget that they insist on their pound of flesh.

Oh yes… I will admit to you all that TingleTetra is ridiculously bad at maths. Though surely when it comes to such great sums as when dealing with property selling you would have thought I could have at least added it up correctly. Which, until two days ago I thought I had. Again, this paragraph is being written another two days from the last. As I have ended up hiding from the world, mostly under my duvet, due to the incredible stress of discovering that not only do the key worker housing scheme want me to pay admin fees, their solicitors fees as well as having had me pay not once but twice for a valuation (which, frankly, any estate agent would do for free!) Oh no. This key worker housing association insisted I pay nearly £100 for a valuation done by an estate agent of their choice that would only be valid for only three months. As the sale took nearly 6 months to go from offer to completion… Again, I strongly suspect it was the key worker housing association that held up the proceeds… Two valuations were needed!

Apologies, I digress. After my first mortgage was cleared (woo hoo!), I then needed this key worker housing scheme to release their own charge on the property after I have returned to them their initial 18.5% investment. Which they have not done as of yet. So the new current owners will probably take action against me. They have not released their charge because I cannot pay back all of the 18.5 %. Apparently I did my sums wrong. Negative Equity big-time.

The really ridiculous thing is that this key worker housing scheme would not allow me to rent out the property, thereby saving me from this hideous situation! They allowed it only for a short period of time (for a fee, of course!), even though they knew of my exceptional circumstances. They insisted I put it on the market. And now I owe them a ton of money. Surely this can't be right…? Surely somewhere along the line it can't even be legal…?? So that knot in my stomach I mentioned several days and paragraphs ago that was going to be replaced by something else, it is now tripled in size and my duvet is my best friend. 

Oh, and three years yesterday I broke my neck.

Entry 11: Infiltration Complete

Tetra b-log, Star Date: 15022013.

 Assimilation into native surroundings has so far been successful. It has not been an easy journey and it would be a lie to say I'm not still adjusting. However, the native humanoids have been incredibly supportive at my designated infiltration point. My general observations have led me to believe that these humanoids are actually very compassionate. They carry a level of empathy (granted it is at differing amounts) which allows them to perceive some of the difficulties I must deal with adjusting to their world.

The difficulties described in the original brief have been faced and your advice was invaluable. I have stuck very closely to the team sent with me to enable my every-day functionality and has allowed my further development towards maintaining a reasonable standard of living here on this planet.

Due to the differing physical abilities that separate our species, I have found it difficult to initiate a work and recreational regime. Although I have put myself forward to many organisations, offering my services free of charge in many cases, there is often unwillingness to receive my help. The native humanoids are very suspicious of where I come from and what I'm capable of, and therefore run extensive diagnostics upon my person and background. This has taken a lot longer than expected and I have grown accustomed to having a lot of free time. Whilst this might sound pleasant, the long-term effects of this upon my mind and body have been adverse. My tolerance of noise is not what it used to be, I am no longer able to concentrate for long periods of time, and my memory has suffered. There is nothing to mark out the days as different and so therefore I end up forgetting what day it is. Much like the muscles that are no longer of use in my legs and body, I fear that my brain has also atrophied.

It appears that the natives gain respect and self-esteem as well as vital "money" for survival through employment. I am attempting to gain such employment but for the aforementioned reasons, it is taking much longer than expected.

There is a system already in place here that would suggest I am not the first of my kind to have arrived here. There are specially trained locals who interact with me frequently, and who have a greater grasp of my necessities than the general populace. They even have methods of supplying me with equipment that makes my life here bearable, and at times can even increase my comfort. Without wanting to put myself in a position where I am an object of study, I have made inroads with these native humanoids towards helping my body adjust to this planet's atmospheric conditions. They wish to put me on a course of "hydrotherapy" involving immersing my body in very warm water and move my limbs in various ways. Apparently this may lead to a significant reduction in the amount of spasms suffered and a general improvement in the muscle tone throughout the rest of the body.

A few weeks after arrival I contracted a local bacterial infection that immediately affected my lungs. Upon your advice that our lungs are not designed to efficiently take in oxygen on this planet, I immediately sought medical advice from my team and the local humanoids. Although the episode was greatly unpleasant for myself, as I was in great pain and I will admit I was scared of how little I could breathe, the overall outcome is one of success. They placed me in one of their "hospitals" were more of these 'specially trained' locals were able to administer medicine, and use specialised equipment to loosen the phlegm on my chest that the bacteria had produced. A collaboration between myself, my team, and the natives led to my healing.

I believe that further collaboration, clear communication and a willingness to understand on both sides should lead to a successful full integration in the long-term. I shall continue to report on my further discoveries of life on this planet.

Entry 10: The Week That Was…

Monday

(Photograph stolen from Wikipedia)

I did not sleep very well last night. I've become a bit of an addict of the program Fringe, and watching five episodes back-to-back does not create a good mental state prepared for sleep. This morning I had to face dealing with something I had been putting off for well over a week… The ongoing saga of claiming compensation for my injuries and accident. I'd had all the info sent to me, and reading through it is somewhat taxing, and always raises up a highly emotional state in me. I could not eat breakfast. Nor lunch. I want to move forward, psychologically, emotionally, and literally in my life but dealing with the compensation claim takes me right back to 3 years ago and the huge life destroying incident that ruined so much of my present and future, and robbed my family, friends, and myself of so much.

Thank goodness for fresh air and massage therapists! I managed to get out for a little bit, get a change of scenery and then later on in the afternoon I had my first massage session. I'm paralysed from the mid chest down, so I hold all my body tension in my shoulders, neck and upper arms. I have struggled for three years now with pain in my muscles and tendons and nerves in this region and I get a lot of trigger points/knots that just cause deep aches I have no way of shifting. On the advice of my cousin, a physiotherapist*, I decided to invest in myself and employ a regular masseuse who is trained in deep tissue massage. Best New Year's resolution ever.
*http://www.thephysiotherapycentre.com


Tuesday
Today I have been battling with a very serious conundrum: how am I going to re-highlight my hair. Shocking revelation, so brace yourselves - I'm not a natural blonde. Or rather I am blonde, just not as blonde as I like to appear :-). I cannot go to a regular salon, because I cannot transfer into the chair that is bolted to the floor in front of the sinks… And so washing out the hair dye is an impossibility. In fact, it is the primary problem - even at home, if a mobile hairdresser were to highlight my hair, I would have to sit in my shower chair, and then once it is washed out, I would end up getting soaked and would need to be hoisted onto the bed to get changed… Or at least I would need to be hoisted into my wheelchair because the shower chair would be wet. I don't particularly want to be hoisted in front of a stranger… And it's a bit bizarre sending them out into the kitchen to hang about whilst I get sorted.

A friend of mine who is training to be a hairdresser came around this afternoon to give my hair a much needed trim (the ends were so damaged you'd think I'd dipped them in actual Domestos). I was horrified when she suggested that I return to my Natural Colour. Now not sure if friendship is worth maintaining… Natural colour, indeed!*Scoffs*

This might seem like a real stupid thing to be blogging about but actually it is quite serious - my appearance has completely changed since becoming quadriplegic. Every woman has parts of her body she dislikes and occasionally there are even parts that she likes. For me it was my hair that I liked, the rest I would have happily swapped. And maybe my feet… I quite liked those too. Given that I'm now constantly wearing a wheelchair, have a Tetra-slump hiding any kind of waistline I might have had, and of course, let's not forget the scar from my tracheostomy, I don't exactly feel very confident about my appearance. I never had much confidence anyway, and now I don't think I will ever feel attractive again. The only thing that could give me confidence would be my hair. After all, it is probably the only thing that has not changed or been affected by my injury. So dammit, I want to get my roots done, and highlight it properly! Anyone with any solution to this conundrum, Please do message me!

Wednesday
Okay, I've been umming and ah-ing whether to mention this… But as I decided that this week I would give an open and frank window into a general week in the life of tetraplegia I may as well talk about it. 
Have you ever wet yourself in public? Can you even remember the last time you wet yourself? Exactly how embarrassed would you be? How would you deal with it? Well, as I have no feeling, or control of my body from the mid chest down I therefore have to 'manage' my bodily systems. 

I was out with a friend having coffee, when I look down and noticed that my foot-plate is wet. I realise that one of my boots is a lot darker than the other. It is not the first time and I can almost guarantee it won't be the last time when my leg bag for some reason, has opened and leaked urine. Not only is my sock soaked but my boot had absorbed quite a large amount too. Kudos to my amazing friend who totally did not make a big deal out of it; she put her baby son in his pram and just as if it were an everyday occurrence we went into the loos and sorted it out. I doubt any of the other customers realised what was going on, although when I crashed into one of the wooden posts and knocked it off its plinth… I think I might have drawn some attention…

Following that drama I then had – Another Trip to the Opticians… I really didn't trust the first guys who did my contact lens assessment, so I made another appointment at a very well-known pharmaceutical/opticians that is named after a type of shoe. Turns out I really am getting longsighted! Well actually, that's a bit of an overstatement - I'm so shortsighted that it is known as a "complex prescription" and eligible for the NHS to contribute to any glasses I buy. But it would seem that due to my age I am now less shortsighted than I once was.… If this keeps continuing then hopefully by the time I reach 50 I won't need glasses at all!

To recover from what has been quite a stressful day I have some Quality Time with a good friend of mine and her two rather large dogs. As I'd been transferred out of my wheelchair and was sat like a Lady Muck on my comfy pink sofa chair, buried under my duvet, I was unable to go for a walk with them and get some much-needed fresh air! So instead they came to mine, and I was greeted by one of the dogs happily jumping onto my lap and giving my face a thorough clean with added "dog snogs." Now I know I said I miss snogging… But I'm not as desperate as that yet!

Thursday
Tetra-Morning today, so got up a little bit earlier to take care of certain personal needs. And that's all I'm going to say about that! 

I'm actually writing this on Friday morning, because I'm such a lazy moo that I couldn't be bothered finishing off last night. I mean, what should I tell you about today? (Thursday I mean, not Friday!). 

Following my Tetra morning, I had lunch out with some friends. Fortunately it was sunny weather, and quite warm. That meant that once the flat was tidy, I went through my post, with the aid of my PA, and then she helped me put my shoes on, helped put my coat on, and then she helped put my hat on and I went outside. I trundled along the pavement to where there is a dropped curb and then I trundled back along the road towards where my vehicle is parked. My PA aided me to get in the car, and bracketed me down, making sure my wheelchair won't move and then off we went to meet my friends.

If I'm trying to share with you something of "life in a chair", then the above little description of preparing to leave the house gives a small, tiny taster of what it's like. I am truly blessed with some amazing friends who frankly have rolled with the punches as it were, with my accident and adjusted to my new way of being. We were having chips in a pub that my friends had chosen specifically for its accessibility.

Friday

(SA Home Loans's photo)

I spent the morning sat in front of my laptop, editing this post. I actually really need to tackle a pile of paperwork that I keep ignoring. It means my PA and I need to make phone calls and write letters and organise post office trips and get out all my files so we can put paperwork away. Frankly, I'd rather play Farmville on Facebook! Having reread my week so far, I have become very aware of how many friends I have seen… And how they have really and truly just "gotten on with it." I know for many of them dealing with my tetraplegia has been quite hard to accept - and yet I am so fortunate, that they have still accepted me and gone beyond that to helping me and adjusted the way they do things so that I can be included.

Okay, so I got on with my paperwork and make phone calls. I'm sure this is making a riveting read! 

With the aid of my PA, I went through papers on benefits, solicitor details on selling my flat, papers from solicitors for my compensation claim, application forms to Canine Partners, finding paper with an old address on it to prove where I used to live… 

Making phone calls were my PA would have to dial the numbers and occasionally even have to "press one should this be your choice or press two If that is your choice," blah, blah. And then of course there is all the filing. I promise myself one day that I'm going to shred all my old paperwork from being at the spinal unit and from living in Liverpool, just as a way of updating myself. However, I have recently applied for a CRB and because I didn't throw away old papers I actually had evidence of where I used to live… Some people I'm sure find it really easy delegating, and putting work onto other people. In fact that kind of sounds like what most people would want to do - so maybe it's just the way my brain works, but I would far rather be able to flit about here and do a bit on that piece and then flit about there and do a bit on that. Unfortunately this makes it very hard for the person working with me to follow my train of thought. Not only am I thinking of what it is I'm actually doing, but I have to think about the other person and how they are going to accomplish what it is that I'm doing. Does that really sound bizarre and does it even make any sense? I'm not even sure myself!

Anyway, I gave us both a break and went out for a little walk, sorry, roll around the estate to get some fresh air and get away from this blasted laptop that I seem to spend 95% of my time in front of. Fortunately this time we remembered to charge my chair up!
And now I'm back in front of my laptop. Blogging to you lovely people :-) 

Entry 9: Snow and battery failure

(photograph courtesy of DJ) 

It's been a bit of a strange week, and I've been really struggling with coming up with this week's blog. It's probably because I had loads of plans that then got cancelled, with me being stuck indoors for many a day due to loads of snow and ice, low temperatures and a rather healthy level of fear of catching pneumonia again. I've been watching on Facebook as people uploaded their photos of the fun and frolics they've been having, making snowmen and snow angels and throwing snowballs at one another. Whilst being joyful at not having to actually leave the house to do anything, I also felt like I'm literally watching life pass me by through my window, especially as I only had one visitor the entire time. It made me a lot more aware of people who really are stuck indoors all year round who don't have anyone around them to support, and no way of connecting with people. Particularly the elderly and frail. Unfortunately this only served to make me chomp at the bit even more to get out the house, so that I could go around and visit people that I was worried about when I myself should actually not be leaving the house.

Oh, I am just so sexy in those specs!

Fortunately, by the time I really did need to go out for yet another eye appointment, the snow had mostly melted. I still however, had to succumb to the rather degrading blanket across the knees as it was sleeting, and the temperature was around 0°. I felt like a right old bag! These days I'm quite accomplished at swallowing the lump of pride that rises in my throat when I have to deal with embarrassing/undignified situations that being quadriplegic leads to. I'm always aware of it, though. Some days I choke over it, and other days it goes down as easy as a Flake desert. But it's still there.

Getting out was really refreshing and I decided that now there was no snow I really should make more of an effort. After all, why should I let a bit of frozen water stop me from getting out and about? Other disabled people don't! I know paraplegics, whilst probably not exactly relishing the thought of wheeling through snow, still would be getting on with their life, and frankly, with the right sort of power chair, there's no need to quibble at a little bit of snow. I probably did my body and chest a disservice, and insisted on going out the following day to walk a friend's dog, and then pop in on someone else for a cup of tea. Alas, I had failed to take in to consideration the battery on my chair. Because I'd been indoors for five days on the slowest setting, I'd not needed to charge it up and therefore halfway through walking the dog it became very apparent that if we did not make a pit stop and charge me up, we would not be finishing the walk at all.

Unfortunately, even with the pitstop my chair battery did not survive the journey round and on the way back I slowly came to a grinding halt. I'm just glad I managed to cross the road first! So, another mini adventure, not dissimilar to the one mentioned in my previous blog, although this time I'm not stuck in mud – I'm simply out of power. I ended up having a very nice gentleman who could see I was in dire circumstances push me back the rest of the way… Luckily it was just round the corner and not too far. This power chair ain't exactly light! I can practically hear my mother groaning at my stupidity, 300 miles away… Sorry Mum!

Entry 8: Bingley, Briefs And Missing Snogging.

This is Bingley. I bought him as an eight week-old pup, who appeared at first very shy and very scared of the world around him. A bit like I was, following my accident I suppose. Bingley was brilliant. He totally bought me out of my shell as I attempted to bring him out of his… Although it wasn't long before he was pretty much in charge of the household!

Oh yes, Bingley ended up with all kinds of names as we helped him learn to house train, and teach him his basic skills and manners. I suppose the main thing I have to be grateful to Bingley for is getting me out of the house. You see, being Miss Independent I would go anywhere and do pretty much anything that I wanted, with very little thought to other people. I was pretty selfish (and still am I suppose). But following my accident. I was in a manual chair for a good year or more. In fact, thinking about it, it must have been two years or so I was in a manual chair where I could not go anywhere without another person pushing me. That meant I could not face the direction I wanted to, change my position in the room, change the room, or just pop out… It was so limiting it's hard to describe. Anyway, I kind of got into the groove of not being able to move myself around, and this habit stuck after I got my power chair. I was lacking in confidence too – I had not been outside on my own for over two years. Leaving the house was a huge deal. I discussed it with friends and family. I talked it through with a mentor from the Backup Trust. I discussed it with the psychologist at the spinal unit. But basically it was a case of my taking a deep breath and just doing it. I never did. Not until I got Bingley.

Somehow with him trotting by my side as I rolled down the street, I was no longer as self-conscious as I was. I was braver, and I felt more able to deal with roads and traffic and bumpy pavements. People had an excuse to stop and talk to me and I had to stop and talk to them, but actually I really enjoyed doing it. I was no longer "the girl in the wheelchair looking a bit strange," I was now  "the woman taking her dog for a walk, who happened to be in a wheelchair." It was just in my head. This major change in my perception of myself and who I am. It gave me a huge confidence boost – I am still a woman with interests, issues, ideas, and intrigues. I'm still as much a person as I was before my accident. I simply now have an extra dimension in my life that embodies being disabled. It is amazing how much being disabled takes over everything else. It really does impact on every single area of your life, which is why I'd managed to somehow forget that I'm a person, I am not the disability.

another digging expedition!

We had many adventures, Bingley and I. There was the incident(s) where we got completely stuck in the mud… I should have known better. It had been raining for days! However off we trotted to the park and I don't know why but of all the parks available I'd chosen the one where the concrete path runs out and you have to go around the steps, up and over the green hill slope. So it's about 6:30 PM, its grey and overcast, I can feel spots of rain coming down. Bingley is running alongside me happy as Larry, until thwack!! My front castors stuck solid in mud. I nearly garrotted Bingley as he strangled himself on his collar and lead so unexpected a stop did we come to. The back wheels dug right on in and spun round and round as I tried to get us out to no avail. Bingley thought it was amazing – after a mud shower he promptly jumped up on the side of my chair, licking my hand then buried head, front paws and belly in the mud in a digging frenzy. The park was empty. I had no way of contacting my PA. She wasn't even sure of which Park I'd gone to. I looked around for help, but there was nobody there in the coming gloom. That was when the panic set in. Scream at the top of my voice was an understatement. I yelled and I hollered. I cried help, I cried hello, I cried girl in wheelchair … Thinking about it I was very lucky there was no dodgy bloke lurking about in the bushes, which frankly in Liverpool one should really expect rather than take as an exception. Anyway, a bloke did come to my rescue, but only after enough time had passed for me to picture the newspapers: Police Hours Wasted by Daft Quad Stuck in Mud. In my mind the police had out their dogs, even the helicopter with its heatseeking camera… Though it wouldn't work of course, because my body temperature would have dropped from being outside so long. As I was saying, a guy walking his own dog came along and was chivalrous enough to help me out the mud. Boy, was I relieved to see him!

My PA, however, was less happy to see me and Bingley as we were both chocca with mud and she had the pleasant task of cleaning is both up *cue evil laugh… mwah ha ha!                      

And then there's the time when Bingley stole my knickers…

He looks so sweet and innocent, doesn't he? Butter would not melt. It's all just a ruse to get away with as much trouble as possible! My PA had hung up my washing on the clothes maiden. Unfortunately, she had decided that the lower levels could be used for my delicates, and this was far too enticing a treat for Bingley. He sneaked up the corridor, gingerly took a pair of knickers when nobody was looking and then bolted hell for leather back down the corridor, through the lounge past my wheelchair and out into the garden.

It was so funny that I couldn't stop laughing. At the end of my garden was this gorgeous little creature, the naughtiest imp I had come across with a pair of my briefs between his jaws – I wouldn't have minded except they were my Supergirl pants! Naturally I had to send a PA to rescue them from him.

Underwear is frankly a whole new ballgame when you become disabled. Especially if your upper body has no muscle tone/control left. You want to buy something that fits, but you also have to take into account the fact that you cannot feel it once you're wearing it. You therefore do not know if anything is digging in where it shouldn't be, and you don't know if anything has fallen out that needs to be kept cupped. And of course there is the ongoing decision – do you buy something practical or something you don't mind being seen should you end up in hospital surrounded by male doctors… Why can't there be something both practical and attractive? Why must I always end up at M&S, instead of Agent Provocateur?

And then that begs the question why should I bother worrying what my underwear looks like? The only people who get to see it are my PAs, the occasional paramedics and those unfortunate enough to come around on wash day. I guess the reason my brain is wandering along these lines today is because frankly, just because a person is paralysed doesn't mean that they have their sensual side switched off. Dammit, I miss snogging! My close friends will probably be groaning inwardly because they've heard that sentence before many a time, even from before my accident! The point I guess I'm making here is that just because I'm paralysed, it doesn't mean that fundamental part of being human has gone from me. I think I can speak for pretty much the whole of the disabled community here in saying that just because we are disabled, it does not mean we no longer crave intimacy. If anything, we may need it more than before our injury because so many people withdraw from us. And let's face it, it's always nice when somebody fancies you!

Please follow me on Twitter: @TingleTetra

Entry 7: Eyeballs

Eyeballs – either you can touch them or you can't. For many a year I was unable to do this… I started wearing glasses when I was 10 and over the years have steadily become increasingly blind (sorry, I mean shortsighted). I literally cannot see past the end of my nose, though I hope metaphorically I can see much further than that. In my 20s I attempted several times to wear contact lenses, and failed. Overcoming that completely natural and overwhelmingly strong reaction of stopping anything not only touching my eye, but putting something in it was very difficult for me. Basically, I was one of those people who could not touch an eyeball!

My glasses became like a piece of armour. I hid behind them, knowing (or at least believing in my head) that I was less attractive because of them. If the eyes are a window into the soul then my glasses were a shield hiding my soul away. My glasses were quite a feature of mine, that even after I had stopped wearing them for a good year or so, when an acquaintance designed a graphic avatar for me, he made it with me wearing glasses. When an elderly family relative greeted me at a function after not seeing me for many years, she had no idea who I was. When I told her "I'm your grandniece – it's Helen!" Her reply was "oh, I didn't recognise you; I was looking for your glasses."

Needless to say then, finally conquering the fear of touching my eyeballs and overcoming the involuntary reaction that stopped anything going anywhere near my eyes was a big deal for me. Starting to wear contact lenses meant that I was no longer hiding. My soul was there for all to see, if you looked deep enough into my eyes.

Any person wearing contacts knows that you should never leave them in longer than 8 to 12 hours. You are told that because of germs breeding on the contact lens the risk of infection is great. You run the risk of causing Keratitis (an infection of the cornea that could end up in a cornea transplant; herpes, bacteria and fungus can all cause this (http://www.geteyesmart.org). I was therefore fastidious about washing my hands and making sure I took them out at night. When I had my accident in Chile, they got left in for four straight days. When they finally realised I had contacts in my eyes, they did take them out… And I got my glasses back. I went from being able to see everything, to only being able to see through the little window of lens provided by the frame. Once I returned to Britain I insisted I would start wearing my contacts again, much to the disapproval of my parents. Hospitals are places that germs run riot. And now I would need to have somebody else putting in the contacts and taking them out. If I think about it, this was the very first thing I insisted on doing/achieving when everyone around me was saying it was impossible. It took a while, but after several weeks in the ITU of having to constantly ask somebody to push my glasses back up my nose (at one point we Sellotaped them across the bridge of my nose It got so bad), I insisted that I wore my contact lenses again. The nurses in the unit were fantastic – and they were all for touching eyeballs!

Now I am able to train up every new PA that I have to put in contact lenses and take them out again. However, in the two years I've been out of the unit I think only one of the girls I've worked with actually knew how to use them from wearing them herself. Everybody else simply had to be willing and able to touch my eyeballs! I happen to know that of all the jobs that the PA has to do, dealing with my contact lenses is THE most hated job. As a result, I end up leaving them in. More often than not, they get left in for almost a week… Not wanting to deal with their reluctance and having to brace myself to have the trust in this person to basically put their fingers in my eye.

Yesterday I went to the opticians for a full checkup/MOT of my eyes. I've recently been having trouble seeing my laptop screen, and focusing on text at a distance and also waking up with headaches over my eyes. The optician immediately told me I had an eye infection beginning and I was not to wear my contact lenses for five days. We had fortunately caught it in time. He didn't name it, but perhaps it was Keratitis. I reckon that as this is my first ever eye infection since I started wearing contacts, and certainly the first trouble I've had since, ahem, I've been leaving them in for days at a time that I've been very lucky indeed.

Entry 6: Behaving Badly

Smoking, picking your nose, drinking too much, breaking wind from either end in public, driving over the speed limit, biting your nails, not washing your hands after the toilet (yes, you know who you are and there's more than one of you!) – We all have our own little bad habits. Things that we have either chosen to take up consciously, such as eating too much chocolate or never really noticed we were doing such as drumming fingers on any available surface.

I had many a bad habit. Over the years I've had bad habits that have come and gone (yes, I will admit that I used to smoke *Shocked face*), and I had ones that stayed with me right from childhood such as biting the skin around my nails… Not biting my nails you notice, which would of course be the normal habit to form, but the skin around them. I have wondered what a psychologist might make of that at times! There have been times when I have drunk too much. A glass of wine after work, becoming a bottle… It became a habit to a point where I thought that I could see the very faint line between habit and dependency. Ironically enough, I was saved from that bad habit by getting a job in a pub!

Quite often we don't even realise we are doing something habitually, and it is only when we are not able to satisfy our unconscious need that we suddenly realise we even have a habit. For instance, now that I have to consciously ask other people to do something for me I never realised how much I procrastinate. I mean, I knew I always had a lazy bone somewhere but I always kind of thought it might be a small one like in my hand or foot, and I always knew I dreaded having to deal with slightly scary yet important things of which I would put off till the last possible moment. I like to adopt the "mañana philosophy" of Peruvians whereby if something can be done tomorrow instead of today, then let it wait until tomorrow. Is that a bad habit? Or the adoption of a culture style from my many travellings? Okay, okay, perhaps it is not the most efficient use of time…

I know of a bloke who lives in Southport, who became a high-level tetraplegic following a virus attacking his spinal cord. He was a typical scally. For those who do not understand Scouse – a scally is a person one might observe in Shameless (that highly educational and informative TV programme that renders travelling unnecessary to observe another culture style). Don't get me wrong, I'm fairly certain he'd be proud to wear the label. :-) I mention him because he would have had pretty much all of the above bad habits that are mentioned at the opening of this blog, along with a few that my innocent mind would never be able to come up with. He smoked. He drank. He dabbled in drugs. His language was more colourful than a rainbow. However, now he can no longer hold a cigarette, let alone light one. If he wants to drink too much, he must plan ahead. First, making sure that either a) someone will be on hand to administer an intermittent catheter or b) have an indwelling catheter put in for the evening and attached to a leg bag making drinking to excess non-lifethreatening^#1 (in the short term at least). In many ways it could be observed that because of his paralysis his quality of life/health have actually improved. So, do we say hooray for the SCI?? That is out with the jury for me…

So then, how can I perform bad habits when I am most consciously aware of them, and what's worse would have to ask another human being to either do it for me or to me? I have to admit that my intake of chocolate, dark, milk and white alike has remained fairly consistent with the level consumed prior my accident. I did however experience the embarrassment of asking my PA to come back and then come back again and then I would call her yet again for more and evermore pieces of chocolate. I kind of figured that I'd been through far more embarrassing situations to really give a toss what the PA thought. She was leaving in three days anyway…

The worst is picking my nose. There's nothing more annoying in the world then a bogey you just can't reach. Or in my case,  it's a bogey that I can feel is up there and constantly making me twitch my nose. I end up going through a bit of a process – 1. Does the bogey need to be imminently removed or has it yet to make its way towards the exit doors? 2. If the bogey must be removed imminently, can it wait until I have finished what I'm doing/until bed/until I can be bothered to call the PA? 3. Does the PA have the required amount of toilet paper necessary to complete the upcoming task? Nose Analysis undertaken to determine necessary amount, then after initial blow, Reassess. 4. Is it necessary for the PA to initiate the Shadow Finger Technique, because the bogey is clinging on like artex to a ceiling? 5. Although I'm totally grossed out by the entire process, insist on looking at what said process produced… All that hard work and effort must've been damn worth it!

I challenge all the able bodied people out there reading this right now, next time you need to blow your nose get someone else to do it for you. It makes for an excellent bonding experience…

I knew I always

The reason I started to think about bad habits was because I was staring at my fingers the other day, and noticed how lovely and clean and neat they were, instead of red raw with little bits sticking out that I just wanted to nibble on. In the past I would chew on them both consciously and unconsciously, born out of the nervousness that self-doubt and low self-worth can bring. For years and years people told me to stop biting. It was not unknown for me to draw blood. The reason a habit is called a bad one is because it is an undesirable behaviour pattern. Don't get me wrong, I did not win the war on biting my fingers and manage to stop. No, this bad habit has been conquered by my SCI, by making it impossible. Whilst I'm genuinely happy that finally, after 30 years of hideous hands, I can be bold enough to say "actually I might go with the pillar-box red nail varnish," I still think the price was too high to pay. So I'm going to throw it out there and ask what bad habits do you have? What is the one thing people are forever telling you to stop doing? Is there something that you would give anything to have the willpower to be able to stop?

Well, I gave control over my body, the ability to feel warmth on my skin and I'll never be able to brush my own hair again. I gave my dignity, privacy and my independence. But I have nice fingers… So long as you don't count the claw-like shapes that they make now that my tendons are tightening up…

If you have a bad habit, and you really do want to stop – then get help and do it. But if your bad habits are fun… And that's all your bad habits are at the end of the day (yes, I have a parent who will belch at both ends in public and smile whilst doing it. It's not my mother.) Then carry on behaving badly because we all need to laugh more anyway!

#1 – and overfull bladder can lead to Autonomic Dysreflexia. This is the body's way of letting you know something is wrong, but basically your blood pressure gets higher and higher. Eventually, this can kill you if you're not careful. AD only occurs in people with high level SCI's.

Please Follow Me on Twitter: @TingleTetra