by Ed Jackson
I was back in the pool where I had broken my neck. A ten-second event that had taken me from the bottom of the stone steps, shedding my shirt and shoes on the way, to diving in.
Walking further into the deeper end, I appreciated the ease of movement that came with the buoyancy of the water. There was no fear or worry about the pool. My diving days were over anyway – the pool would have to try a lot harder if it wanted to finish me off.
Lying on the carpet, I took a moment to catch my breath. My shoulder ached and my face was only inches from the sharp point of the coffee table. After gingerly testing that everything was still working, I stared up at the white ceiling.
I’d had another fall.
This was something I was having to get used to after deciding not to use my wheelchair in the house any more. My leg would go into spasm, or sometimes it was poor timing on my FES machine lifting my foot. Often it was just a general lack of balance. Any of these things could send me tumbling to the ground. I’d go into shock for a few seconds and then have to try to roll myself into a position where I could pull myself up. So far, I hadn’t done much damage beyond some cracking bruises. I’d quickly learnt to always look for somewhere safe and furniture-free to angle myself towards in case I fell.
It was the feeling of being accelerated into my eighties that got me down. I had to be careful all the time and consider where I was placing my feet. I couldn’t allow myself to be distracted by anything as I moved around the rooms in my dad’s house. A simple conversation could send me tumbling to the ground. I was too young for this.
Rubbing my shoulder, I used the couch to pull myself up. I was now late calling the wife of a man who had recently sustained a spinal cord injury. She had contacted me through Instagram and I’d promised that I’d talk her through what she and her husband were facing. This was the first time I had offered to do this. I wasn’t really sure what to say, I guessed that a large part of it was just to listen. I still clearly remembered all of the confusion and anxiety my family and I went through in the early days of my own injury.
‘I just don’t know what I should be doing to help him,’ she said after she had explained the details of her husband’s injuries and treatment so far. It was strange to hear about someone else’s story, so similar to my own.
I thought about it carefully before I spoke. ‘It sounds like you are doing loads to support him. Just being at hospital with him will help more than you can imagine.’
‘But there must be something more I can do …’ she said.
Was this how it had been for Lois all those weeks I was in hospital? Back then, just her presence had been enough to reassure me, but she’d been desperate to find something practical she could do to help. Maybe that’s what the relatives need in these situations.
I took a breath. ‘Let’s talk about the steps to move him from intensive care to a spinal injury ward, because then he can start physio. That transfer is something you can possibly try and help speed up …’
Two hours later, with promises to call again later in the week, I turned off my phone. I was in exactly the same position on the couch as I had been when I’d made the call, but my mental outlook had shifted. The transformation was huge. No longer did I feel aggrieved with my situation; it had been replaced by a calmness and a degree of perspective. Settling back into the cushions, I realised that I’d had my first taste of the power of helping others. Of course I would still have called her next week even if this call had made me miserable afterwards, but it hadn’t; the bonus was that I felt grounded and able to tackle anything that was presented to me.
I had been thinking about this for the last few days. Having spent quite a bit of time by myself in recent weeks, I’d had time to reflect on lasting happiness. What had become apparent to me was that happiness was like a cup: some things I put into it would quickly evaporate; but others would keep that cup filled for much longer. I’d even started making lists of what had longer-lasting effects, marking them from one to ten. One meant there was an instantaneous high that faded within a few minutes and ten lasted several days. Here’s what I came up with:
Helping others: 10
Seeing friends: 9
Walk with just me and the dogs: 8
Spontaneous hug from Lois: 7 (rugby lads, admit it – men need hugs too)
Beating my own time at something: 6 (rewarding, yet never-ending)
Completing a task I had been putting off for days: 5
New toy, gadget, present to myself: 4 (the anticipation of owning it was often more exciting)
Beating someone else’s time at something: 3 (instantly rewarding, but there is always someone better than you)
Takeaways: 2 (sometimes, when this was particularly ineffective, I would start planning my next takeaway while eating the current one)
Video games: 1 (fun at the time but no real happiness left over. Sometimes this is -1 when I lose badly)
Writing out this list made me realise that I needed to move away from the bottom four. The amount of time or money I put into them didn’t produce the rewards that came from the top six. I’d learnt a long time ago, when Tom had died, that life can be very short, and that happiness is something that needs to be worked at.
Over time, I had started to get used to my situation. However, occasionally, something still caught me off guard and made me step outside myself for a moment. Attending a fundraising curry night for my rehab was one of them. Who would have thought I’d end up in this position? That people would care enough to donate to the causes that I supported.
Early on in my recovery, when the charity Restart had become involved, I had made a promise that I would pay back every single penny that was donated to my rehab. I wanted them to be able to pass the funds on to others who needed them just as much as I had.
Holding Lois’s hand, I entered the restaurant in Bath where the fundraiser was being held. Although very grateful that it had been organised, I was struggling with the idea of it as I didn’t think I had done anything to deserve it. The room was packed and there was a small cheer when I popped my head around the door to the function room. I spotted a few familiar faces but also a lot of people I had never met before. I spent the first hour trying to make my way around everyone to thank them for turning up. I was a bit overwhelmed. We all sat down for a meal, and I answered everyone’s questions before some live music started up. Here I was, the recipient of so many good wishes and pats on the back (not to mention the generous donations that I could pass on to Restart). It made my head spin.
This is what I want to do. This is what I want to work on.
I’d had an epiphany. The most rewarding thing I’d done since my accident was speaking to other spinal cord patients and their families, helping them face what was probably one of the toughest curveballs they had ever been dealt.
How could I scale this up? The best way would be to help raise money for others who needed it most. The more I raised, the more people I could help. I just didn’t know where to start or how I would fit it in with trying to get back to work. These questions were hardly the ‘finer details’, but they could wait for the moment. At least I had a goal, an outline of what my future could be.
The following day I tapped out a message on Instagram.
I’ve been to my fair share of fundraisers in the past, that’s nothing new, but how the hell have I become the benefactor of one?! It’s crazy but it’s also lucky. I probably use the word lucky too much and should consult a thesaurus now and again but it’s the best way to describe how I feel most of the time. I’m not saying that it’s all down to random chance, what I really mean is that I’m fortunate (lucky) that I have the means to at least have a chance of a decent recovery and Monday night was just an example of that. At the same time, I’m fully aware that many others aren’t afforded the same opportunities that I am. This has become increasingly clear to me having got to know so many others with SCIs over the last few months and is something I am determined to shed more light on and
try and change moving forward.
*watch this space*
I’d put my intention out there, in front of thousands of people.
I couldn’t go back now.
Chapter 14
New Chapter
I watched as Lois cooked for us. Bringing the spoon to her mouth, she considered the sauce for a moment before adding a sprinkle of this and a dash of that. She was able to make a mouth-watering dish from any ingredients presented to her. Whenever I cooked, I’d chuck everything into a pan, cross my fingers and top up everyone’s wine glasses if it didn’t come out as expected.
‘So, I saw Alex today,’ I said, trying to fill the silence.
‘Oh, yeah,’ she responded, not looking up at me. ‘How’s he doing?’
I rattled off a few of Alex’s anecdotes, all the time watching Lois. Not once had she looked up at me.
Silence descended on us again.
‘Can I do anything to help?’ I asked for the third time.
‘No, just sit there. I’m nearly done now.’
Lois pulled cutlery out of the drawer and walked out to the terrace to set the table … I could have done that. I followed her outside and took a seat, trying to think of topics to get her to talk to me.
It was late when we finished dinner, nearly nine thirty, as I had been working on my physio until eight.
‘Right, that’s me done for the day,’ Lois said, already pushing her chair away from the table and picking up our plates. ‘I’m going to get an early night. Try not to wake me when you come in.’
I watched as she retreated inside the house.
Things hadn’t been great the last two days, but everything had been brilliant up until then. It had been three months since I’d left hospital, my recovery was going really well, Lois had been incredibly supportive and we’d been seeing all our friends again. I’d thought that everything was back to normal.
I wracked my brain. What could be upsetting her? Perhaps she was missing work. She hadn’t gone back yet as I was still waiting for the DVLA to agree to me driving an automatic car. In the meantime, Lois therefore had to ferry me to all my appointments. My licence should be coming through the following month and then she could return to work. It must be that …
An hour later, I got undressed outside the bedroom, hoping not to wake her. When I entered the room she was silent, but I knew she wasn’t asleep. Climbing into bed, I reached down with my hands and pulled my left leg underneath the covers. Lying on my back, I stared up at the ceiling in the dark. Two people awake but pretending to be asleep. There was an ocean between us.
The next morning Lois disappeared for three hours. I was busy with Pete, but I had seen her car leave. She hadn’t said goodbye, which wasn’t like her. She was probably just going to see a friend and hadn’t mentioned it. I tried to distract myself with my physio and avoided thinking about where she was. She needed her freedom just as much as I did. I couldn’t wait to get my driving licence again, to be able to head out whenever I wanted and in whichever direction I chose.
It must be really tough for her being tied to the house, I thought, waiting for when I need her.
After lunch, Lois’s car pulled up and our two dogs barked their greetings. They scampered down the stairs to meet her, but I remained where I was – by the time I negotiated getting down the stairs, she would be halfway up them.
When her head popped up above the staircase, I looked down at my iPad, not wanting to stare at her.
‘I chased up the DVLA again,’ I called out, my ears pricked, waiting for her answer.
She came straight over and sat on the coffee table in front of me.
‘Ed, we need to talk.’
Crap. I went cold as I registered her tone. Something was very wrong.
‘I went to see a therapist today,’ Lois continued.
She couldn’t meet my eyes as she spoke.
‘Oh,’ I said, blinking rapidly. ‘So, it’s not about my driving licence then?’
‘What?’
‘I thought you’d been quiet because you wanted to get back to work and needed me to get my driving licence.’
‘No, no. It’s not that.’
‘Then, what? What’s wrong?’
I leant forwards, waiting to hear if she had started feeling low, not quite herself and what I could do to help. It was really common for people who had sustained life-changing injuries to become depressed, and also those closest to them as well.
Lois started twisting her engagement ring rapidly. ‘I went to see the therapist about us. I’ve had some worries for a while.’
I felt as if I’d been punched in the stomach. The air left me and I just stared at her. This couldn’t be right; we were fine. Strongest couple around. Everyone said so.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘There’s a few things I need to talk to you about. The therapist said I had to be more honest with you.’
Oh, God. She hadn’t … she couldn’t … when would she even get the time? She was always here … although she had disappeared for a few hours last week.
I slumped back into the sofa. ‘Who? How long …?’
‘Oh, no, Ed!’ Lois said, leaning forwards. ‘It’s nothing like that. I wouldn’t do that, you know I wouldn’t. Well, that’s part of the problem actually …’
‘Wait a second,’ I said, my head spinning. ‘Can we just be clear about this. You’re not having an affair? And part of the problem is that you can’t have one?’
She looked shocked, genuinely shocked.
I lowered my voice. ‘Can you please just tell me what this is about?’
‘Sorry, yes. I’m not doing very well at this … It’s just that we’ve been together for years, spent most of our twenties as a couple. Grown up together, I suppose. We trained together, socialised together. We were busy all the time, a really tight couple, but also very independent of each other. It just worked … And it doesn’t feel like that any more. I suppose we were a happy-go-lucky couple. And we weren’t equipped to deal with this sort of thing.’
I nodded, trying to distract myself from wondering what the giant ‘but’ would be. ‘Things will get better Lois; we’ll get back to how we were before.’
She stared up at me. ‘That’s the thing, Ed. I don’t think they will. This accident has altered you in so many ways. I don’t even think you’re aware of them.’
I tried not to react but inside I was crumbling. Was I so different? Had I not noticed something that everyone else was aware of?
‘So, you’ve been feeling like this right since day one?’ I asked. ‘Right from when I was lying in that hospital bed?’
‘Not right after the accident. In the first couple of months I went into “Monster Mode”. I tried to become superhuman, was all over everything, trying to be there for you every minute of the day. I arranged everything that we needed, kept our house going, kept you going when you were down. I was just so grateful that you were alive. And then I was so proud of you for throwing everything into your recovery. You were amazing.’
‘But …’
‘But now you’ve been out of hospital for three months and I don’t think it’s going to go back to how it was before. It’s like I’m having to get used to being engaged to a different man. The accident changed you. Not in a bad way. You’re just … different. Everyone thinks we’ve returned to a normal life, but it’s not normal for us.’
My heart began to hammer in my chest as I scrabbled to understand what she was saying. I couldn’t be that different … could I?
‘How have I changed?’
‘Your priorities have changed. You don’t have the personal ambition for yourself career wise … You’ve started getting really into charity work now. Which I’m proud of you for, but you don’t seem to know what you want for yourself. Rugby used to take up so much of your time and that has just gone.’
I hadn’t realised that those things were so important to her.
‘You can’t be upset at me for wanting to do charity w
ork?’
‘No, of course I’m not. I think it’s great you want to do it. You’re just so preoccupied with it … you’re so serious about it. And between that and your rehab, it doesn’t leave much room for anything else. I don’t want you to change that; it’s just something I’m going to have to get used to.’
I took a moment before daring to ask my next question. ‘Are there other ways I’ve changed?’
Lois swallowed and dipped her head. ‘Physically you’ve changed. You’ve lost loads of weight, which was so sad to see. I know it sounds really shallow, but it was who you were. You worked so hard to get to a place where you were confident with your body.’
These were the words I had feared the most. I’d known that I wasn’t the big, strapping rugby player any more. But to hear her say this hurt more than I’d imagined. My chest felt tight as I realised that she was no longer attracted to me.
It was true, I had changed physically. Lying on my back for the best part of two months had meant I’d lost all that muscle. I couldn’t get it back either; I didn’t have the strength to work out in that way. I couldn’t change back to the man I had been. What did that mean for us?
I took a deep breath. ‘Do you not find me attractive any more?’
Tears formed in Lois’s eyes. ‘Yes, of course I do. I still find you attractive; you just look different, even smell different …’
‘I smell different?’ My cheeks burned. ‘Lois, do I smell?’
The shame. All this time and no one had told me …
‘You don’t smell in that way; you just smell different. Not like the man I was with for seven years. Oh God, I’ve made it all sound so negative. I didn’t mean for it to come out that way. The accident showed me how much I love you. How strong our bond is. I just need to find a way to get used to the new Ed.’