Once Nick had settled back home, his personal battle began in earnest. The day would begin with breathing exercises, facial exercises, stretches.. and when he had stretched, I would stretch his muscles and tendons some more. It must have been a strange sight with the small mother knelt with a tall son’s legs on her shoulders, pushing them into the air as far as they would go. We worked on straightening the now-twisted spine.

There were therabands.. like huge elastic bands strewn around the room, free weights.. starting with the little one kilo weight he was given in rehab, then gradually working his way up to a variety of larger weights.  EMS machines, balance balls, pilates exercises… you name it.

Nick decided this wasn’t enough and threw a cross trainer into the mix.

Okay, we had to strap his feet to the footplates, and ok, I had to hold the machine flat on the floor because his balance was so poor, while holding him upright in order to use it.. but it was a start.

The initial paralysis of the entire right side of his body had now become hemiparesis. Imagine the effects of a severe stroke, affecting every internal and external muscle on the right side. Nick was determined to get them working again, and as we had nothing but common sense to work with, the methods were unorthodox.

We thought that if we could perhaps teach the brain where things were located again by physical stimulation and imposed movement, perhaps the brain would be able to connect the dots, as it were, and reroute the signal around the damage. We researched brain injury, neurogenesis,  nutrition, physio.. learned about macrophages, chemical signals, anatomy… anything we could think of to gain a broader understanding.

It must be remembered that at this point we had no professional help. After three months in rehab, that was it, we were left pretty to get on with it. My partner, an ex -footballer with old injuries, explained what he knew to Nick, and Nick drank it all in.

In his ‘spare’ time, we practiced speech therapy, having Nick recite complex poetry and tongue twisters in the hope we could improve the coordination in mouth and throat. He learned to hold a pen and write… very badly at that point, but still, it was something he had been told he would be unable to do. We bought children’s handwriting books, colouring books.. painted…anything that would help fine tune what movement he had and make the most of it.

Then it would be more exercise, for core strength and stability, then standing… holding on at first for grim death… gradually learning to stand for a few seconds unsupported.

The regime was non-stop, obsessive, rooted in Nick’s inability to accept his disabilities or defeat. Rooted in desperation too, perhaps. He worked between 10 and 14 hours a day solid. My biggest worry was that I could not get him to rest and rest is critical for repairing the nerves and recovering.

Nick worked himself up to rowing machines and a multigym, finally able to use both sides of his body together, even though the right side was limited in strength and range of movement. He got a walking frame, he walked holding my hands and shoulders. We tried crutches. We went to the children’s playground with them, so it was softer when he fell. We rigged up a home made contraption similar to a baby’s walking reins.. anything to make it harder for him to rely on me.

Additionally to all this, we began private hydrotherapy. There had been five sessions through the system and perhaps a dozen physio sessions in two years, so Nick decided to go for it and paid for them himself.

Video games, computers, voice recognition software to help enunciation… Pilates, massage, Reiki.. I honestly don’t think we left a stone unturned, even keeping abreast with all the latest medical research on things like stem cell therapy.

Surgeries for his sight (not that it helped any), learning how to use his home and cook again. More exercises. People kept telling him in rehab it wasn’t about muscle mass. He could never get through to them that no, it wasn’t… it was about reconnecting the nerves and any aesthetic improvements were just a bonus that helped his self-image. They never understood that. One physio even said, in writing, that Nick was being ‘unrealistic’ to hope to walk again.

To be fair, we don’t know if he ever will. But we do know that if he doesn’t try, he never will.

Slowly, painfully slowly, Nick has improved. He still cannot stand alone for more than a few seconds. He still cannot walk. His right hand and arm still lack coordination. But they work. He can do things with them. He gets around his home on his feet most of the time, thanks to carefully placed handrails. This is far better for his general health than sitting on his backside all day. He is healthy. And we know that he has done his utmost, tried everything, left no stone unturned in his quest to regain his independence.

I am proud of my son. He deserves to succeed. He has earned it.