It is late. It has been another busy day and it is not over yet. I have still to return my son whence he came… Hades comes to mind. Once, that is, he has finished wallowing in my carefully hoarded and steaming bath water. The very same for which I had plans tonight. Plans, I might add, that involved the delicious scent of lavender oil and rose, with perhaps a soupçon of dittany to aid the nice, relaxed dreams that were sure to follow. Instead, I am on taxi duty and by the time I get back home again it will be later still and I will probably not care about the bath.
I don’t exactly mind. I can sympathise with his desire to wallow. A shower is all very well for getting clean but I wouldn’t swap his Italian chrome and travertine marble for my simple white tub, not for anything. Sometimes, wallowing is good for the soul. As well as all the other bits.
Even so, the thought of yet another drive into town tonight is less than appealing. There is something about the denizens of the road on a Friday night that I do not care for. People who have finished their working week seem intent on relaxing as hard as possible and their grim determination seems reflected in the way many of them drive … and the long, dark road is a fast one connecting the villages to the town. Not a road to drive when you are tired.
Every so often I ask my son if he’s trying to kill me. He generally grins and replies that he’s doing his best. It usually involves a requirement for something physically impossible for one of my diminutive stature. Like perching precariously on kitchen worktops or shifting his weights vest … which weighs about as much as me… or trying out a new piece of exercise equipment. Or worse still, installing it, then trying it out.
I have, on numerous occasions, pointed out that I am not insured and that my untimely demise would only leave him with a bill to foot for my obsequies but this does not seem to deter him at all. He appears to think the local council won’t leave me above ground too long if I snuff it. On that score, at least, he probably has a point.
This time, however, he has surpassed himself with the projected journey next Friday. He wants me to go to London. In the car.
Not, I hasten to add, the bit of London with all the nice museums and churches and history and stuff. No… the bit with traffic, airports and the M25 between me and it. On a Friday. Which, if it doesn’t finish me off for him, should at least ensure I end up a gibbering wreck. And as I will once again be on taxi duty, he will get to watch. At least he is no longer surprised by my command of gutter English, which is something to be thankful for…in his teens, he taught me pretty much all I know.
I don’t really mind the drive next week… it will, after all, take us through some lovely countryside and past the grandeur of Windsor Castle and Hampton Court Palace by way of Runneymede where the Magna Carta was signed. What bugs me about it is the necessity. We are going to a specialist orthotics appointment… which is good. What bugs me is that, like so much of my son’s recovery, it is a private appointment at his own expense, the health service having provided no rehabilitation for him since 2010, a year after the attack that left him unable to walk.
The report from that final official physio appointment… of which a copy was also sent to my son… stated that his goal of walking again was ‘unrealistic’. A word which has since become a byword and spur for his constant efforts to prove them wrong. It gets to me sometimes how any system can so easily dismiss hope and the power of the human spirit based on no more than statistics and economics. I can understand the need to apportion strained resources to where they are deemed to be of most use… but not the curt dismissal of hope.
For now, however, he is cooling down and drying off in my spare room, attended by a small dog ecstatic at having one of her boys to cuddle. He had, quite unrealistically, taken himself up the stairs on his own two feet. He will, equally unrealistically, get himself back down the stairs too. Soon, I will take him home to a place he walks around unrealistically on his own two feet and, where, late or not, I will apparently get to electrocute him… so it isn’t that bad an evening after all.
Sue Vincent's Daily Echo 
…I hereby appoint you as President , and myself as Vice President of the Wallow Club, m’Lady, Sue:):):)
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… I’m going to need a bigger bathtub 🙂 Pass the loofah, Seumas 😉 x
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He’s a good looking guy! Standing very unrealistically on his own two feet, if I’m not mistaken! Good luck with the appointment. I know how you feel. Having recently privately employed a physiotherapist for Carys who has completely turned everything on its head, after only 3 weeks she is starting to do things of her own accord that She never did under the state provided care. I wont go into it here. But I feel outraged on you and your son’s behalf. I know how it feels to have the experts you rely on so much at that tender early stage wash their hands of you, say there is nothing more they can do, and effectively abandon you. I was told that in 100% of cases babies with Carys’s symptoms die before they are born. Talk about extinguishing hope! She’s nearly 10 years old and happy and loving. Doctors should never play God, and we should never say never. Look what love and determination and hard work has achieved for you and your son. Never give up hoping! You can do wonderful things!
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Nick’s effort has been as constant as his determination to succeed. I have no doubt that he will. He’s made a lot of progress since that photo was taken (and grown a rather fetching beard). The medics can work wonders these days, but there is that immeasurable drive and strength in human beings that can surpass all expectations. Our children remind us both of that daily, I think.
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He’s an inspiration! So are you!
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He is 🙂 Thanks, Ali.
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very inspiring post, Sue. Just goes to show what a bit of positive thought and a ton of determination can do… more power to both of your elbows! ❤
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His elbows, not mine. This is all his own work 🙂 x
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Reblogged this on Anita & Jaye Dawes.
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Reblogged this on oshriradhekrishnabole.
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It’s saddening to hear that in practice the recovery ceiling is set so much lower than all the latest best evidence demonstrates. Yours is an inspiring story none the less.
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My son has always had a stubborn streak, but it has saddened us for a long time how the system encourages acceptance instead of a hope based on possibility.
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Nothing is ‘unrealistic’ or ‘impossible’…as you both have shown! Thinking of you both at this time and hope the app’t goes well..hang in there, no matter what anyone says : )
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He does. 🙂 Thank you Karen !
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Some people simply don’t have faith that the impossible can become possible. This is why I hate anything health related that requires an outside force deciding if something is worthwhile for the individual in question. Then again, I’m from the land of insurance companies squirming out of saving lives, so I’m a little bitter. Anyway, good luck with the driving, appointment, and getting your wallowing time in.
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I have every intention of a good wallow shortly .. after the small dog has dragged me across a few muddy fields. 🙂
My son doesn’t hold with impossibilities… he never did.
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That’s a great way to live. Both the wallowing and ignoring impossibilities. Not sure about the muddy fields though. The dog must be having fun.
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Well, the dog has chosen not to eat for three days. If a long run doesn’t work up an appetite I’ll be thinking about the vets…
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Hope it does. Maybe a juicy steak will do the trick too. 😛
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Chicken… if all else fails, that gets her 🙂
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Good taste. 🙂
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Chicken it is.
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Hey, my “you” in my comments wasn’t the YOU you, it was the “you-all” you. You in the collective. English is not good about making that distinction and obvious neither am it. I was NOT pointing a finger at you, Sue. I was speaking of You, The Mighty World. By which I am feeling — at least for the moment — afflicted. I’ll be better in a day or two. I have to come to terms with Life.
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I know the feeling at present… I am, in the colloquial, utterly knackered at present. Doesn’t take a lot to get through the soft shell at times like that.
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No, it doesn’t. I am reminded of the old advertisements on television for Timex watches. “Takes a licking and keeps on ticking.” I often feel we are the Timex watches of life. I do not, however, have to enjoy the licking.
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me neither, though doubtless when I learn what I am supposed to from it I will appreciate its opportunities. Meanwhile.. I want a bath, a glass of wine and an early night, I think!
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Good looking young man. I hear a lot of pride in your words. Congrats. I have always believed that the reward for letting our kids reach adulthood is that they present us with grandkids.
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There is a good deal of pride for both my sons. My eldest was stabbed through the brain when he was 25, nearly 6 years ago. He was not expected to survive the coma, so what he has achieved and the fact that his mind and humour are intact and as sharp as ever is as near a miracle as I will ever see.
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Professional arrogance is a bane of us all – my old profession (the law) as much as all the others. There were so many ways to deal with what might have been unlikely without actually kicking hope in the knees. At bottom it is going to be down to the individual to make what they can of what they’ve got and you and your son have done that in bucket loads.
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We haven’t finished yet eaither 🙂
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Of course they don’t believe walking is possible. National Health is not in the miracle business. After making sure no one dies in the hospital parking lot, additional medical care is (in their opinion) cosmetic. That your son is on his own feet … WOW. That is more than remarkable. I don’t even have a word for what it is. I’m sure your national health system has an even smaller vocabulary that I do.
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To be fair, that he is alive at all is down to a miracle of modern medicine as much as his own stubborn determination to stay with us. The aftercare, though, when it got to rehab, seems more geared towards allowing people to accept their disabilities rather than beat them. I suppose that allows for recovery to be a bonus without any possible litigation through overoptimistic prognoses, as well as attempting to ensure emotional adjustment. What it doesn’t do is give a sense of possibility.
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Such a good looking young man! And another humorous story of the pressures of motherhood!
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You wouldn’t believe what he’s had me doing today… 😉
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So, write us another story!
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I might at that 🙂
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Will keep you both in mind next Friday. Xx
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Thank you xx
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I have no idea how you do it! So here is my question…if he is walking…then why is it not realistic?? My favorite saying is “That which does not kill us makes us stronger” by Fredrich Nitchky (sp) You are both blessed, that is for sure. Stay strong Sue 🙂
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It has taken a lot of doing for him to get this far… now he wants to be able to walk without support. At present he needs something to hold on to. He’ll do it too if it is humanly possible.
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