Lucky

by Ed Jackson

  Lois suddenly looked deflated, like all her energy had drained away.

  ‘The therapist said that smell is really important to people,’ she continued, speaking softly. ‘That it contains all these memories about a person and if that changes, it takes a while to get used to someone again.’

  ‘I’m sorry you’ve been feeling that way,’ I said, leaning towards her, wanting to comfort her but not sure how.

  ‘I’ve been finding it hard when we … you know,’ she said, not meeting my eye.

  I hadn’t known. Sure, it wasn’t quite the same. You don’t sever eight millimetres of your spinal cord and take up swinging from the chandeliers again. We’d both been keen to get that side of our relationship back after I got out of hospital. The little blue pills had helped at first when the messages weren’t going in the right direction and I’d spoken to other patients about it. We had been trying, and I thought it was going well … I’d obviously been wrong. I’d let her down, and I hadn’t even noticed.

  ‘Oh, God,’ she said, dropping her head into her hands. ‘I can’t believe I’m even saying all of this to you …’

  I reached for her and she didn’t move away.

  ‘I still love you,’ she said. ‘I still want to be with you. It’s just that I’m having to get used to the new you. And when we’re together, I feel like I’m cheating on the old Ed.’

  I paused for a moment, before pulling her into my arms. She didn’t resist and curled up against me. ‘So that’s why you said it would be easier if you were the type of person who could have an affair?’

  She nodded.

  If it was possible, I loved her twice as much in that moment. I hadn’t realised the lengths she had been going to, just to make me feel wanted. All that time she hadn’t felt comfortable with me. The enormity of what she had done was inescapable.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Lois. I’m so sorry I didn’t realise. I was so busy trying to tick off a list of everything I could do again, that I didn’t notice how it was affecting you.’

  Lois sniffed and wiped her eyes. ‘I do still love you. And I’m sorry it’s taking me longer than I thought. I’m so proud of you and everything you’ve done.’

  ‘We’ll take it very slowly. Go right back to basics. No pressure, no expectations. We’ll take it at your speed.’

  She looked up at me. ‘And you’re okay with that?’

  ‘Of course I am. The last thing I want is for you to be uncomfortable with anything. Why would I ever want that?’

  She smiled at me. ‘Thank you. The therapist has made a few suggestions. She was really helpful, actually.’

  I kissed her forehead, and we talked, curled up together, for the rest of the afternoon.

  I had never been one to talk about my feelings, and neither had Lois. We just got on with things and tried to find the fun side to life. I suppose that’s where we were tested – there’s limited fun to be found in relearning the things you first conquered when you were 2 years old, or watching the man you love change beyond recognition. We did it, though; we tried to make the daily tasks as light-hearted and interesting as we could. But that light-heartedness couldn’t fix everything. Not everything can be made better with a joke. We needed to be able to talk to each other when we couldn’t deal with something by ourselves.

  ‘Do you know,’ Lois said, as she got up to close the curtains against the night sky, ‘this is the lightest I’ve felt in months. Just being honest with you has taken this weight away from me.’

  I watched her as she moved freely around the room. ‘I didn’t know. I hadn’t the slightest clue that you were keeping everything inside. You were always so cheerful.’

  ‘I suppose I felt it was my duty to do that. You had enough going on without me adding to it.’ She held her hand out to me. ‘But no more secrets.’

  I needed to test myself. The urge had been with me for a month and, with Pete’s blessing, Lois, Wyn and a few friends joined me for my first hill climb. We had chosen the Blorenge peak in Wales as we could park a car at the top and I wouldn’t have to walk back down again. I had also hiked it the year before, so it was a good benchmark for what I was capable of before and after my injury.

  It was nearly eight months since my accident and I had so far only walked uphill for one mile on tarmac. I was really going to test myself by walking four miles this time.

  Wyn was by my side as I set off with two walking poles to steady myself on the steep woodland ground. It was late November and the russet golds and reds of the leaves high up in the trees were a dangerous distraction. Keeping my eyes firmly fixed on the ground, I navigated my way around fallen branches and protruding rocks. Fifty steps in, I realised that I’d thrown myself in at the deep end. With each step I had to tense my core to be able to lift my left leg high enough to clear the ground.

  Lois and our friends walked ahead at a leisurely pace and then sat for ten minutes while I picked my way around the various obstacles that woodland undergrowth brings with it. I tried not to think of all the walks we had been on together where I was always the first to the top, sometimes even jogging the last stretch to work on my cardio. The first half an hour was exhausting – step, tense, big step … step, tense, big step … My stomach muscles ached, and I was beginning to wonder how I could bow out of this with my pride still intact.

  As I stopped for a moment to peer up the ascent, another walker was on his way down the hill. With no shame, he looked me up and down. I met his gaze, my walking poles in hand and the FES machine that lifted my foot on show.

  ‘You’ll struggle up there, mate,’ he said, before briskly carrying on down the hill.

  For some people that might have been confirmation that they should turn around. For me, it was the motivation I needed to keep going.

  I put my head down and got back to it.

  A year ago, I had romped up this hill in just over an hour. I’d jogged the last bit and then circled back round to chivvy along the other people we were with. I wasn’t showing off (well, maybe a little) but I loved to push myself, test myself at all times.

  The second time I tackled this hike I had certainly tested myself. What once took me just over sixty minutes, now took three and a half hours. Yet, instead of regretting my loss of movement, I basked in the knowledge that I’d made it to the top. I still had the mental strength to keep going, had managed not to damage myself and there was a great pub back at the bottom.

  In the following days, we waited to see if there were any knock-on effects, but there weren’t. I felt both physically and mentally alive. It may have been because I had given myself a few days of rest afterwards, but I believe this feeling of well-being came because I had achieved something. I had challenged myself and I’d won.

  My birthday, Christmas and New Year passed in a flurry of celebrations but also some moments of quiet reflection. I had started giving some charity talks, which had taken my life in an interesting direction. A couple of times a month, I would be up on stage talking about topics that ranged from spinal injuries to long stays in hospital and enforced career changes. Surprisingly, I found that I could speak openly and honestly about my experiences without any negative emotions. Of course, it was unsettling at first to speak about personal issues in front of people I didn’t know, but it soon became normal and I now had no issue standing up in front of four hundred people and explaining how catheters worked.

  On the surface, I looked as though I had nearly made a full recovery. Yes, I used walking poles to get around and my gait was uneven, which created a limp. But on the whole, it looked like I was able to move around with relative ease. I was so grateful to be at this point in my recovery but a lot of it was smoke and mirrors. The truth was that if my FES stopped working when I was out and about, I was pretty much rendered immobile. This caused a lot of underlying stress and whenever I left the house I had to pack spare pads, units and batteries. There was also the issue of leg spasms – at my first talk I was nearly catapulted off the stage when all of the mus
cles in my left leg decided to randomly contract at the same time.

  These things were frustrating; however, the most troublesome issue was still my bladder. I had been left with an overactive bladder that liked to spasm when it was asked to hold anything above 200ml. This meant I needed to use the toilet regularly and I had about two minutes before I couldn’t hold it any longer. Whenever I went out I’d limit how much I drank and also relied on incontinence pads or pants – not something that this 29-year-old thought would become part of his morning routine, but it was better than the alternative. The pads rarely got called into action, but it was reassuring to know that if I did have an accident then it would be trickles rather than floods. If I had to go on a long journey or attend an event that would last several hours, I would wear a convene or ‘condom catheter’ which attaches to a 500ml leg bag. This could slip and explosions had been known to happen, so none of my options were foolproof, but, without them, I would be limited to staying within fifty metres of a toilet.

  When I had been thinking about how my life would change in the long-term after the accident, I worried about lots of things – my relationships, whether I’d walk again – but never thought this would be one of them. I had believed it would resolve itself in a few months. Yet it’s such a huge part of everyday life and affects so many people with spinal cord injuries, as well as a whole load of other medical reasons for incontinence. So many spinal cord injury patients have confided in me that this is the thing that affects them the most, so I really believe it’s important we can talk about it.

  Despite all of the difficulties with getting out, I wanted to keep going with my charity work and Lois was fully supportive of my wishes. We just had to figure out a way to scale it up.

  Surrounded by boxes, Lois and I sipped our first glass of wine in our new home, a rented cottage up the hill from my dad. We hadn’t gone far as our lives were here now. We loved Cardiff but had only moved there for my rugby contract and it was a long distance from the majority of our friends. We were incredibly grateful to my dad and Sue for putting up with us for six months, but it was the start of a new year and we wanted to move on with our lives.

  Lois was curled up next to me on the sofa and there had been a comfortable silence as we watched the flames flicker in the open fire. She idly ran her hand along my arm as we sipped at our wine.

  ‘I’ve been thinking, Lois.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘About how I can try and raise more money for charity.’

  She pulled herself up and crossed her legs underneath her.

  ‘I’m going to climb Snowdon.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘When?’

  ‘In three months’ time, just before the one-year anniversary of my accident.’

  I studied her, waiting for her response. I needed her to be behind this, behind me.

  She kissed me lightly on the cheek. ‘Well, you said you were going to walk again, and you did. Who says you can’t do this too?’

  Chapter 15

  Snow and Sun

  Rolling out of my bunk bed, I pulled back the curtain and surveyed the scene. Bright sunshine lit up the early morning sky and there wasn’t a cloud in sight. I opened the window and took a deep breath of crisp mountain air.

  The warmth of Lois’s arms encircled my waist. ‘It’s perfect weather, isn’t it?’

  Nodding my agreement, I turned to face her. ‘My only regret is that I didn’t bring my shorts.’

  She smiled. ‘We can always do a DIY job on your trousers if it gets too hot for you. And anyway, you might need some more shorts when we go on holiday.’

  It was a week before the anniversary of my accident and a week before our holiday to the Philippines, but first I had a mountain to climb.

  After spending the past few days checking the weather reports, I was beyond pleased to see that the climb up Snowdon would be going ahead. The conditions in Wales, never mind the mountains, had been changing on a daily basis. It was only after peering out of the window that morning that we decided to leave my snow spikes back at our rented cottage for the day.

  The past couple of months had been spent training and fundraising for this climb. I had set an initial target of raising £2,000 and, thanks to many generous donations, my sponsorship had swelled to £20,000. Now I just had to make it to the top.

  We piled out of the rented house and made our way to the car park where the hike would begin. My friends and family had made the effort to join me for this climb and there were thirteen of us staying in the cottage. I had also put out a few messages on social media that there was an open invitation to join us if anyone wanted to. I hadn’t expected many to answer that call.

  Laughing and chatting amongst ourselves as we pulled our rucksacks from the cars, I spied a large group of around seventy people in the corner who must have been a coach party. Doublechecking my Artificial Foot Orthotic was in place, I pulled out my walking poles and headed to the car park gates. I had stopped using my electric FES machine for the off-road hikes as it would often misjudge the timing of my steps. Instead, I now relied on a manual AFO that looped around my shin and shoe. As I limped across the tarmac, testing the newly applied straps on my ankle and knee, the coach party streamed towards me.

  ‘Ed!’ one of them called out.

  I turned but didn’t recognise him. He waved at me, as did some of the others.

  It was then that I realised they weren’t a coach party after all; they’d come here for me. I was incredibly humbled to see so many people whom I had never met before waiting to accompany me up the highest peak in England and Wales.

  After I’d tried to introduce myself to as many of them as possible, they all looked at me expectantly.

  I cleared my throat.

  ‘Thank you all so much for choosing to spend your Saturday following me up a mountain. I really appreciate that you are taking time out of your busy lives. Nearly a year ago today, I broke my neck. I was told that it was unlikely that I would walk again and so it is important to me that I do this before the anniversary of my accident. I’m not just doing this to raise money for charity or to prove myself; I want to do this for everyone who has supported me during my recovery and for everyone who might use this as motivation in the future.’

  There was a cheer from everyone around me.

  ‘Oh, and one last thing,’ I said, with a smile. ‘Please go at your own pace, don’t think that you have to hang back with me. I walk slowly and also need to stop every twenty minutes to pee. If I lag behind, don’t worry … I’ll see you at the top.’

  With the rise of voices, everyone split off into smaller groups. I turned to Wyn and my friend Josh, who was a surgeon by day and a bodybuilder by night.

  ‘Right, lads,’ I said. ‘Are we ready?’

  ‘Ready when you are,’ Wyn said, hoisting his ginormous bag onto his back.

  Off we set, Wyn walking next to me and Josh behind. They were two of the biggest men I knew and were there to catch me if I fell. The sun was shining brightly and I had my family and friends here to support me – it didn’t get much better than this. It was ten miles to get up Snowdon and back down again and I hadn’t walked this far since my accident. It was unmapped territory and we were concerned that my left leg might give out.

  With my trusty walking poles in both hands, we set off up the tarmacked road that formed the first mile of the hike. Tarmac is a relatively easy surface for me to walk on and, although steep, I was able to set off at a decent pace. It wasn’t until we reached the proper path that I realised that I’d made a mistake. All the adrenaline buzzing around my body had made me walk too fast. I had committed the first sin of any endurance test; I’d forgotten that starting slower leads to finishing faster.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ I said, turning to face Wyn, ‘I feel like I already need a lie down and a Mars bar.’

  ‘Me too,’ he said, adjusting the straps on his bag. ‘The next section is a bit more uneven, so you’ll naturally slow down. We’ll adjust our pace.’


  I began picking my way around the stones that were scattered across the steep hill. The group began to spread out as some of the fitter members surged on ahead whilst others dropped back and took their time. I felt a bit self-conscious as I was overtaken, but I knew that if I was going to make it to the top I was going to have to go at my own pace, one foot in front of the other, concentrating on every step.

  Every few hundred metres I stopped staring at my feet for a moment to take in the view. The lush green landscape whipped up into the snowy peaks of the mountain range. Up ahead was the shallow tidal water of the Menai Strait that curled its way into the distance. This vast natural horizon stretched in front of me and my boundaries felt limitless.

  Putting my head down again, I carried on for the next three miles, one foot in front of the other, my body beginning to ache with the strain.

  Things began to get a bit more serious when we reached the snow line. By now a thick fog had descended onto the peak. Gone were the spectacular views and instead the world closed in on me. As we approached the last stop of the Snowdon mountain railway, I realised that the queue coming back down the mountain was impossibly long for this early in the day. Many of the hikers ahead of us must have been turning back before reaching the top.

  Word spread down to me that the paths up ahead were treacherous with compacted snow and ice. The official advice had changed for the day – it was inadvisable to continue without crampons, long spikes that fit onto the bottom of your shoes. Stopping for a moment, I imagined my snow spikes sitting on the edge of my bunk bed back at the cottage; if only I could will them to appear in my bag. I’d decided to leave them behind as the weather had been so good.

  Normally, I had difficulty stabilising myself on the uneven surface of a field; I took tumbles all the time. Add an ice rink into that equation, and things were starting to get pretty sketchy. With each step I took, it was pot luck whether my foot would slide from underneath me, with either Josh or Wyn needing to make a grab for me. Behind my big smiles and my best ‘Bambi on Ice’ impression, I was feeling nervous.