Hello all – me again – with the Spring edition of my Blog and (again) my apologies for the time between posts but I’ve had a busy and uncomfortable time since I was discharged from le Mont.
First of all I must state that the care and support I received whilst in rehab here in France has been second to none – I believe that there’s something universal about all those who work in the caring professions – they are all just so caring – special people doing a special job, it’s really as simple as that as far as I’m concerned.
I left le Mont on Friday 27th April, Karen picked me up in the truck and off we went home. I’d been there for the best part of 2 months and to be honest I was getting more than a little homesick. Whilst it’s nice to be looked after by people who are more than prepared to fetch and carry for you all day that’s not my style, in fact the biggest problem I have dealing with my handicap is that I can’t do much, if indeed anything, for myself except with a lot of help. I was ready to get back home and start trying to fully utilise the new shoulder I’d been given and before I knew it my increased dexterity was being put to the test in the kitchen. There was a time when I really enjoyed being in the kitchen. I loved cooking and the whole experience of preparing and eating food was a great pleasure. That ended after my accident, my sense of taste and smell seemed to go and for a long time eating became a pit-stop for fuel rather than one of life’s delights. Fortunately that is less the case now and we try to eat out once a week, if for no other reason than to relieve Karen of the domestic chores incurred through the prep, cooking and clearing away of a meal. My main role in the process is the preparation of the ingredients, especially peeling and chopping veggies and this is where my new shoulder comes in useful. The extra mobility means that peeling spuds or chopping carrots no longer hurts, and I know it doesn’t sound much but believe me it matters. I’ve got months of tiny, baby-step improvements to work at and this is one of the first, so I’ll take any benefit as it comes.
A couple of weeks after my escape from le Mont we had to go back to Clermont-Ferrand to see Mr. Lecomte for a check-up on my shoulder. As a treat we went to L’Ours des Roches for our lunch (a favourite restaurant as mentioned in a previous post) and ate like royalty from their 22€ fixed price menu. We were seen exactly on time and Mr. Lecomte was well pleased with the extra mobility in my shoulder and bid us a fond farewell for another 4 months.
Whilst I was in le Mont I was plagued by what I thought were water infections which were causing me no end of trouble. I was catheterising myself every 4 hours in an attempt to prevent me from wetting myself. Sometimes it worked, other times it didn’t, it was usually OK during the day but the nights were murder and often very wet! Incontinence is horrible as I’m sure I’ve commented on before and it was really getting me down. I was tested for an infection, to be told that I was germ-free, so the Doctor made me an appointment with an urologist in Montlucon on Thursday 17th May to try to get to the bottom of the problem. As with most things in rural France the trip to Montlucon involved a 90 minute drive but it was straightforward enough, mostly along country roads and we got there in good time. Our appointment was at 14:00 and we were welcomed right on time by Dr Ollier and his Nurse. We left an hour and a half later! There was absolutely no rush with the man, in my best French (ably assisted when needed by Karen) I explained my accident, its consequences and the problems I was having with my waterworks. He asked lots of questions and then I hopped on to the bed – another good thing from the shoulder operation is that I can transfer from my chair much more easily now – and he tested my bladder capacity and pressure limits. This involved me emptying my bladder and then them filling me up again with water and then pressurising it. Did I mention ‘dignity’? Forget it! Dignity marched off with my will to live a long time since, never to be seen again I’m afraid. Anyway, the result was I have an overactive bladder which results in abnormal contractions and so lots of ill-timed squirting. Mr. Ollier was pleased to be able to help and prescribed a drug called Ditropan (or Oxybutynin), assuring me all would be well. We went home feeling an awful lot better than when we went but we left picking up the tablets until the next day as we were both knackered. I started taking the medicine on Friday 18th May and the effect was immediate – I’ve not had an accident since and my bags have gone back to every 6 hours, which makes the nights so much easier, especially for Karen. The drug isn’t without it’s side-effects but I don’t seem to be getting anything other than a bit of dry-mouth, which is easily dealt with (just have another vin rouge) and dosage dependant (cut it in half) so that’s not a problem. Of concern is a link, albeit slight, with Alzheimer’s amongst more senior recipients of said medication. That’s one for a bit more research I think, assuming I remember to be bothered.
Once back at home I quickly had to slip into the old routine, the one where the Nurse came sometime after 10:00, emptied and cleaned my bum and then hoisted me into my chair. In le Mont I had had to take to wearing man-sized, fat arsed nappies and the carers there cleaned me on an as and when basis. That was because manual evacuation is a nursing function and there were only ever 2 Nurses on duty at a time, both almost fully occupied looking to the demands placed upon them by the more elderly in-mates. On getting home I soon got back into the normal swing of things and the nappies have been hidden away in the corner and now that the waterworks seem under control my incontinence is much less of a problem than it was, which is good because lately I have found myself slipping into some dark and lonely places mentally.
Mental health is a funny old thing and, prior to spazification, something I never really thought much about – sometimes things got a bit sticky, you got a bit fed up with things but you slogged your way through it and popped out the other side, usually with no, or little harm done. A circle of mates you could talk to helped, but weren’t always necessary or even of much use because, in truth, unless they were living through what was bothering you they couldn’t really understand what the problem was. Often, though, all it took was a shoulder to cry on or an ear to bend, maybe over a pint or two and it didn’t really matter if they understood you or not, you just unloaded and that was enough. When I was in Stanmore there were 2 psychiatrists, both ladies, one in a chair and, not to put too fine a point on it, I didn’t find the one I had been allocated much use. I had the lady in the wheel chair and you would have thought she would have had some understanding of what I was going through, but no, that proved not to be the case. It’s true to say that no 2 spinal injuries are the same and that every individual suffering a spinal injury is different psychologically and physically but the only advice offered me was generic, as if it had just been cut and pasted put of a text book, a one-size fits all plaster. The last thing my mangled psyche needed was platitudes from someone who hadn’t managed to steer herself through her own disability. There’s nothing more depressing, or distressing, than going to your session with your trick-cyclist, hoping to be guided through your awful times, than to be greeted by the most miserable, glum looking face this side of anywhere! I soon gave up on her and sought more practical advice from others on how to manage and deal with the day to day problems I had to face. Unfortunately this hasn’t really proved to be of much success. Every day I am reminded by my own inabilities, or the efforts put in by Karen or my Nurses, just how fucking useless I am, and it is this, these fundamental failures on my part to be able to do anything for myself that keeps kicking me deeper and deeper into despair.
Now you might, at this point, be thinking ‘get a grip’ or ‘stop feeling sorry for yourself – you’re alive aren’t you?’ to which I’d have to answer ‘yes’ but if you think this is a life then you’re very much mistaken. This is an existence, no more and no less, but it doesn’t qualify as a life, not as I understand it. Basically I have 2 options: accept things and try to deal with it or end it and more often than not ending it all is the brighter of the alternatives. The trouble with that though is that it would be like me turning my back on all the love and support I’ve enjoyed, and still enjoy from Karen, my kids, family and friends – but then I ask myself whether I owe them all the misery of the life I’m living by way of thanks to them? It’s a problem, and one I have no answer for.
On 27th May, Karen and I celebrated our 5th Wedding Anniversary and but for my accident we would be marking that event on holiday somewhere. In the past we’ve returned to our honeymoon destination in Paris, but now I have to accept that I’ll never go on holiday again. When Karen signed on for a life aboard the good ship Jem Brookes it wasn’t to give up on relaxing, resting and recuperating, all the things she needs in abundance now I’m like this. My Dad is seriously ill with cancer, his clock is winding down and I have to accept that I won’t see him again in the flesh. There are very practical reasons for this, namely the logistics involved in me going anywhere much more than a few hours away from home. The journey here in the first place wiped me out for 2 weeks, I was that poorly Karen had real concerns about me getting over the drive and got the Doctor too me immediately we got here. When we returned to the UK back in October 2017, that time flying rather than driving, again I was totally knackered for weeks after but also we had to arrange nurses, a hoist and hospital bed at the hotel we used and access to an adapted vehicle to cart me about in. I also need easy access to a Doctor or Hospital that understands what Autonomic Dysreflexia is and how to treat it, because it could kill me quite quickly. It’s all do’ able, but it’s a lot of work (a lot more work for Karen) and fraught with potential disaster.
One thing not being able to go anywhere has done is focus our minds on the way we live and as a consequence we have started to investigate a number of ‘home improvements’ to make our lives as easy and comfortable as possible – we watch way to much ‘Grand Designs’ and that Kevin bloody McCloud has a lot to answer for! Under consideration at the moment are: a terrace around the house which will allow me to go out of one door and come back in through either of the other two, a conservatory on the west side of the house – somewhere for me to set up some equipment I need and leave there ready for use and a couple of patio’s, one to step out onto (or in my case trundle) from the conservatory and the other on the north side of the house. We’ve had a word with an architect and we’re waiting for her response so here’s hoping it’s all affordable.
At the moment we are both hooked on the BBC’s ‘Springwatch’ – that Packham geezer is brilliant and we watch all the ‘Winter’ and ‘Autumnwatch’ programmes as well. Living here has really enthused us with a love of all things natural as our garden and field attract all sorts of wildlife. At the moment our field is a wild-flower meadow and the bees and butterflies are all busy doing what they do. We have birds nesting under the eaves of the house and there are nesting birds in all the trees – cuckoos, woodpeckers, tits of all varieties and (my favourites) a pair of buzzards in the woods behind us. During the winter Karen got up to find 3 deer in our field, perhaps 50m from the house, standing there bold as you like and we often hear wild boar rummaging around. Both of these can be quite a nuisance and the local hunters love to take pot shots at them come the chasse but we close our gates to them and don’t allow them to hunt over our land.
Karen tries her best to keep the wildness of nature at bay in the flower beds, whilst at the same time allowing other parts to grow as wild as they like. The result is a plethora of different moths, butterflies, birds, bats, lizards and larger four-legged beasties – all of which add to the pleasures of country living. We are also on our second year of growing some of our own food. Last year it was strawberries and spuds and we had some real success – fresh strawberries every day for at least three months and we didn’t have to buy any spuds for probably four months! This year we are back on strawberries (we’ve had 3kg already) and spuds but have added haricot vert (green beans), lettuce, radishes, carrots and tomatoes to the mix. It’s a gamble as they’re all in the open air, so vulnerable to the wildlife and the weather (it’s a bit on the damp side at the moment) but if it works out we’ve plenty of room to hide a poly-tunnel or put up a greenhouse for next year. There really is something satisfying about stepping (trundling) out to pick food straight form the ground where the field to fork distance can be measured in metres and the flavour knocks supermarket veggies for six.
Right, I’ll draw a line under this missive at this point, you will have had enough of me feeling sorry for myself and you’re right – I need to get a grip as best I can and look on the bright side of life. City won the Premiership and the World Cup is almost on us, so there’ll be lots of footie to keep me amused. I don’t think for one minute England will win the World Cup, I think making the Quarter Finals will be a result and if we get as far as the Semi’s that will be amazing but I think it’s too much to hope for a place in the Final. The European Championships in 2020 though – now that will be something else!
Anyway, for now, TTFN. Speak soon. Jem.