Having been a fit man for 61 years (with a few blips) I was severely injured in a cycling accident in 2019 and am now paralysed below the neck. This blog is intended as a record of my experience since the accident. I try to keep it light-hearted but this is not always possible given the circumstances. The posts are organised with the latest post at the top so if you want to read from the beginning you will need to scroll down.
It’s nearly 2 years since I suffered a cycling accident in Spain which left me paralysed below the neck. This blog is a description of my experiences – not necessarily in chronological order and, given the circumstances, intended to be a light read. It’s the end of December since I last wrote so I think I owe you all an update.
I have not written this blog in date order. This entry aims to describe the difficult period between arriving in the spinal injuries high dependency unit (Edenhall) in Glasgow and moving – six weeks later – to the rehab unit (Phillipshill) where I was to spend another 13 months.
I arrived in Glasgow on Friday 10th May 2019, sedated for the flight from Majorca.
Well, it’s now more than three months since I came home from hospital. It’s been wonderful to see my wife and family again and eat home-cooked food. My loss of weight meant my iPhone failed to recognise my face but with Chrys’s cakes it now seems to be a bit happier. Of course, the house has been turned upside down to allow me to move around and be hoisted out of chair, bed and personal tilt table.
Well, my original plan was to send a message at least once a month. I have fallen a long way short of that. My first lame excuse is the drugs. It’s an awkward reality that the drugs that help to minimise spasms tend to send me to sleep. This has led to some hilarious mornings for the staff when I finally wake, surprised to have been showered, shaved and dressed with only the vaguest memory of the morning.
What to say? My crazy year has been well and truly trumped by recent events. I find myself in a doubly strange world – locked to a hospital environment by a freakish accident, then locked down again by the Covid–19 virus.
That’s not correct – it’s a hospital but I thought it might encourage you to start reading. Until last week, over the nine months I have been in the spinal injuries unit here in Glasgow, I’ve been out once, with my brother to Kelvingrove Park. The nursing staff here have pointed out that I may be running the risk of “institutionalisation” – basically the idea that I could become more at home in the hospital than in my own home. It’s difficult not to love the nurses here, with whom I spend a great deal of time.
I’d like to talk about my bowels and shit.
I failed my O-level biology exam. Back in those days, there were nine possible grades – 1 was best and 9 worst. Grades 7 – 9 demonstrated different levels of incompetence (they signified failure). I scored a miserable 8 which was an accurate reflection of my skills. Fortunately for me, I was a bit better at maths. At any rate, that’s one reason why I haven’t taken a huge interest in the intricacies of my bowel despite having a number of medical and scientific friends.
My retired anatomist friend Mike Moore dropped by the spinal injuries unit last week and gave a short lecture on the functions of the C1 and C2 vertebrae. In the film link below he shows how the bones fit and how they relate to the X-rays and MRI scan.
Watch the film
Mi amigo anatomista retirado Mike Moore visitó la unidad de lesiones de la columna la semana pasada y dio una breve conferencia sobre las funciones de las vértebras C1 y C2. […]
Just for a change, here is a more up-to-date post on my recent meeting with a man with a Taser and his friend with ketamine.
I think I’ve said, my high-level spinal injury means I will spend the rest of my life on a ventilator. Although, that’s the normal outcome, it is not quite true. There is a chance – about 50/50 – that a pacemaker (in addition to my redundant heart pacemaker) can be used to stimulate the phrenic nerve that drives my diaphragm. At best, this can mean I won’t need a ventilator at all. […]
It is possible to piece together what happened to me from correspondence with the race organisers, medical staff and cyclists who stopped to help. Of the day of the event – April 27 – I have no memories other than parking my car, shivering at the starting point with thousands of other cyclists and then dropping my warm jacket with my wife at a roundabout in Pollenca. […]