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The Golden Road To Recovery

In June 2002, my world fell apart ... my life changed, i became chronically ill, and by Christmas 2002 i was disabled, loosing the use of my left arm, and the use of both my right and left legs was extremley impaired. I aspired to be were i had once began, to walk.

My dream of walking at that point in time, was highley noted. Yet, we knew that quite possibly that could be at least a year off. My first in a series of aims was to be able to tie my shoelaces. Petty as that may sound, i was unable to do this. A, because my mind was unable to remember. B. Because my hands were so sore i couldnt physically do it. There was no C, my willpower was always there.

The introduction of physiotherapy proved highly demanding. It took an hour round trip to Alder Hey Children's hospital, every week. The hour was from leaving the house to getting out the car at Alder Hey. Then i would endure a period of time in which i would undergo physiotherapy.

Guided by a physiotherapist named Alsion Cohen, exercise/streches, which were usually quite minimal for the average healthy person, would happen. Hidden in a darkened room on a bed, 'ouchs' and 'ows' could be heard. This was me, in pain usually ... tears would fall and id consider what was going on. This was a tough cookie, and i hated it immensley. Yet Alison remained optimistic, keeping my dream in tact.

As i lay on that bed, i never thought that i would actually achieve that dream, by God i wanted too, and nothing would stop me wanting it, but i didnt feel i would. I felt physically incapable, i felt unable physically. Yet it didnt stop me wanting, it made me want it even more.

Over christmas 2002, i took a big kick and relapsed (if that was then possible) quite severley. Unable to dress, wash, walk ... i was carried and most things were done for me. As i was hauled up in my bed, i would use the spare and very limited energy to cry. I wanted answers of this 'thing' this 'thing' i hated. I took a dent, without repair i carried on.

Each physiotherapy appointment became slighlt less painful, but my walking never changed. Ihad test after test, most notably an MRI of my brain, yet each result came back fine. To this day i still have every letter ever sent to my house, MRI appointment, appointment cards, psyhciatric assesments. I have them all. A reminder that things were not as good as they are now.

My life was in free fall, falling rapidly i was falling apart. Battered and torn i kept going, never sure why, but with only one destination ... to walk.

Also aiding my recovery was Dr Derek Proudlove (written about in Home From Home section), a psychiatrist, who would support both me and my family.

My aspirations of walking continued, but still incapable of moving forward physically they seemed out of reach.

I wanted to recover, and my will power showed that, yet i was never sure i could. At 20% at best for parts of early 2003, i was never sure id be the same again. Yet in time this would tell.

This section is called The Golden Road, a road that i hoped, wished and prayed would lead me to recovery.

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