After the Accident, Something Strange Happened

Where there’s a will, there’s a way

The first few weeks after the accident are a bit of a blur. Even now, all these years later, I still don’t remember it all.

I think it’s nature’s way of protecting us; nature always knows best, doesn’t it?

I clearly remember the conversation with the doctor when he said that he didn’t think I’d walk again, but I don’t know how it fits into the timeframe…

I do know that writing about my accident has triggered memories that I’d forgotten. Like the daily routine when my physiotherapist would bend my legs, and push my feet up towards my shins to keep my calf muscles stretched.

The strange thing was not feeling anything, and I don’t just mean my legs; I felt emotionally numb as well. I suppose it was the shock of it all, and the loss of my dream…

The wheelchair…

Then, one day, for no particular reason, the emotional numbness was replaced by anger and self-pity. After I’d screamed at my physio’ out of sheer frustration, she said, “That’s it; we’re getting you out of bed and into that chair.”

The chair she was referring to was a wheelchair, and I did not want to get into it. I almost knocked her out at one point. I remember struggling, but she was stronger than me, and eventually I let her pick me up and put me in the wheelchair.

I felt light-headed and embarrassed for making such a fuss. Before I knew what was happening she had wheeled me out of my room, down the corridor, and into a large room that reminded me of my school hall.

Nobody called it therapy then…

There was a group of young men all in wheelchairs in a circle. Two of them moved over and made room for me. My physio’ said “I think it’s time you took part in a group discussion; I’ll pick you up later.”

I tried to turn and call after her but my body refused to move. I felt like I’d been thrown into the ‘Lion’s den’.

The psychologist — I can’t remember his name — asked me to introduce myself to the group. I was embarrassed. I hadn’t combed my hair; I hadn’t looked into a mirror for days. I think my Mum used to comb my hair for me, but that day she hadn’t visited yet.

There was an assistant taking notes. She must have noticed how shocked I looked, because she put down her notepad and crouched down in front of me. Then I cried and just couldn’t stop. The young man next to me wheeled in close and put his hand on my knee. There were tears in his eyes too…

I can’t remember what I or anyone else said that morning, but I do know that a bond formed between us. We were all victims of motor bike accidents. The boys had been riding them; me, I’d been knocked over by one.

Parallel bars became my best friend…

The day after the group discussion I met my ‘best friend’. Parallel bars are wooden bars about three feet apart on adjustable metal legs. The legs are secured to an anti-slip wooden base.

My physio’ pushed me in my chair down to the ‘rehab room’. She talked to me about setting goals to help me adapt to my new situation.

I had just one goal. I was going to walk again. My mind refused to believe that my body would be confined to this wheelchair.

All those years of dance classes had made me wiry and strong. I’m five feet nothing now, and I think I was almost that height when I was fifteen. I weighed about seven stone, and my waist measured nineteen inches! Isn’t it strange how we remember the little things?

You win some…

I started by wheeling my wheelchair between the parallel bars, and trying to push myself up into a standing position. I became obsessed with achieving this, and early one morning about two weeks later I stood up! I was so proud of myself.

Then, a couple of weeks later I took a step, another week, another step and so on, until I could very slowly walk the length of the parallel bars. It wasn’t a very attractive walk; it was more a case of using my body to swing my legs forward, but it worked!

I had also become very adept at wheeling myself around, and the more I spun those wheels, the stronger my arms became.

I went in search of Dr Weiner, the doctor who had told my Mum that I wouldn’t walk again. I found him and convinced him to come to the ‘rehab room’ with me.

Typically, I fell over on my first attempt, but the physio’ helped me up, and I walked the length of the bars. Dr Weiner wasn’t exactly contrite, but he did congratulate me.

Then you win some more…

I can’t remember when it happened, but one day my big toe started twitching. Then slowly over the space of a few weeks first my feet, then my legs started to tingle. I progressed from a wheelchair, to crutches, to walking sticks, and six months later I was walking unaided.

It’s been just over fifty years since my accident. I have diligently stuck with my physiotherapy day-in, day-out. I still can’t feel my legs properly, but the feeling is enough for me to maintain control, and I continue to be mobile!

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