Me Before You In The Dignitas Queue

 A Series of Unfortunate Events

Well I think it's safe to say that the UK has had an eventful few weeks since my last blog entry! Chris Evans was told to leave quit Top Gear, the England football team did their usual tournament self-destruction and, in a smaller matter, the UK took it upon themselves to leave Europe (the Union not the continent!); dividing the country, sending every major political party into chaos and pulling the pin on a grenade that threatens to plunge us all into some kind of biblical armageddon! Online campaigns have been launched and protests have taken place in the capital as the disabled seek refuge indoors for fear of their chairs or crutches being used as missiles aimed at Boris and Nigel, who after spearheading the leave campaign promptly decided to bugger off! Panic has swept social media as the well-informed and uninformed alike thrust their views and opinions down the throats of all those who will listen, and god help you if you dared voice a different opinion to theirs!

But I'm not here to talk about politics or the referendum fallout, this is a disability blog dammit! And although there could indeed be disability related consequences to it all, the truth is that it will be years before the true ramifications are known, be they positive, negative or most likely, a combination of both. No, I'm here to talk about an entirely different but equally divisive event that angered many people and had whole swathes of the disabled community kicking-off, metaphorically speaking. That event being the 110 minute Dignitas promotional video: Me Before You!

In a Nutshell (Spoiler Alert)

Anyone who has read my "Love Is In The Chair" blog entry will know that I'm pretty much allergic to the OTT, super-cheesy, ultra-weepy method of portraying love and matters of the heart, with Nicholas Sparks being the main offender. And be under no illusion dear reader, this is Nicholas Sparks in everything but name, oozing sentimentality at every possible moment. However, where there would normally be a rugged badboy with a dark past or an emotionally damaged dreamboat for the (pure-as-the-driven-snow) girl to 'heal' with the power of love, in this film there's a bitter quadriplegic with a death wish! But don't worry girls, he's still total dreamy, has a British accent and is loaded with cash, phew!

The suicidal stud in question, Will, was paralysed from the neck down after being hit by a motorbike two years earlier and has since emotionally shut down, shunning his friends, losing his girlfriend and giving up his lucrative banking career, because if there's one thing we know about disabled people it's that it's impossible for them to have successful careers, no matter how sharp their minds may be...

Stephen who?! Never heard of him!

Anyway, he gets a new caregiver in the form of Louisa, a beautiful, upbeat, quirky and entirely fictional girl who lives with her family, struggles for money and goes out with Neville from Harry Potter! Will is resistant to her eternal cheeriness at first but predictably he begins to warm to her until they become friends, fall in love and live happily ever after, having several children and with Will becoming a successful mouth painter. He accepts his injury and comes to realise that the key to happiness does not solely reside in having a fully functioning body, but instead lies in surrounding oneself with family, friends and positivity, overcoming life's challenges in the process.

Except that doesn't happen.

Yes, Will and Louisa fall in love and she encourages him to embrace life, taking him on adventures at home and abroad and making it clear that she isn't phased by his disability and loves him for what's inside his wallet. Will admits to having led a shallow life before his injury and only now sees past the vain, materialistic surface he was previously trapped behind. But unconditional love, support and companionship are simply not enough for this guy, it's a 'normal' life or no life! So he follows through with his plan of going to Switzerland for assisted suicide, emotionally crushing Louisa and his parents, the end. Seriously, that's it. Oh but on the plus side, he does leave Louisa a nice chunk of inheritance, so...all's well that ends well?!

 

The Backlash

The novel of the same name, on which the film is based, came out in 2012 and, although ending identically to the film, seems largely to have gone under the radar as far as controversy is concerned. This is likely because very rarely does the release of a novel garner as much publicity as the release of a movie, especially when it has two recognisable stars in the lead roles. But I very much doubt anyone involved in the film realised quite how much publicity it would receive, and not for the quality of acting or depth of story. No, as the cast and crew were soon to find out: Hell hath no fury like a wheelchair user scorned!

So just be told will you!

As the film neared its release, more and more people became aware of it, the subject it was dealing with and it's controversial ending. By the time it premiered, the roaring debate had reached fever pitch. Disabled rights groups such as Not Dead Yet staged protests at the film's premiere, The Telegraph wrote about a variety of differing viewpoints and 11-year-old wheelchair athlete Ella French penned an extremely acerbic and witty open-letter entitled, Dear Hollywood, Why Do You Want Me Dead? A girl after my own heart!

Me Before You: Not Dead Yet - A Zombie Love Story!

The film's director, Thea Sharrock, defended the film, calling its ending "brave" and "more interesting". Whereas I may not necessarily agree with this viewpoint, I can't help but feel slightly sorry for her as she battles through the shitstorm she's found herself in the eye of. In essence all she did was make a faithful adaptation of a book. Although in one interview she uses the unfortunate phrase, "my nephew is in a wheelchair", which I can't help but find synonymous with an accused homophobe defending themselves with the classic, "I've got friends who are gay!"

My Two Cents

In all honesty, I wasn't hugely offended by Me Before You. This is largely down to the fact that I'm a heartless bastard pretty thick skinned and laid back about life so it takes a hell of an effort for anything to genuinely offend or upset me. But I can understand why others would take offence at the portrayal and message it puts across. It's a fairly shallow portrayal of life with a disability, with many of the positives and negatives either being negated completely or paid basic lip service to. It completely ignores the whole rigmarole of getting up and ready on a morning, and the whole story goes by without a single faceplant or mention of a catheter; although it does briefly address some of the more serious potential aspects of high level quadriplegia, such as septicemia, autonomic dysreflexia and pneumonia. And I couldn't help but smile at the scene when Will's casters get stuck in a muddy patch of a field and it takes three people to haul him out. We've all been there!

I think the most important thing to take into account is that this is not meant to be an informative documentary about life in a wheelchair and the supposed inner turmoil of those who occupy them. This is a trite piece of romantic fiction, a work of tragedy designed to pull on the heart strings of its audience, leaving them emotionally distraught and with completely unrealistic expectations of love. And in that basic aspect it succeeds. Hell, on occasion even I could feel my stony heart strings being unexpectedly plucked in sadistic fashion.

But in the grand scheme of things, who really cares about what a fictional character in a story chooses to do with their life?! Nobody should be watching these films for valuable pointers or life lessons and nobody of sane mind will come out of this film thinking that the characters are in any way a realistic portrayal of actual human beings. This is Hollywood, where for decades men have been stereotyped as tough action heroes, women as damsels in distress; Christian Bale can play an Egyptian, Jonny Depp can play a Native American and John Wayne can play Genghis Khan!

If you're still concerned about the negative impact of films like Me Before You then my advice would be simple: prove them wrong. Go out there, be successful, go travelling, have a family, seize every moment, live your life the way you want it and be the example and role model that others take inspiration from! There are so many disability aids suppliers, organisations and trusts out there whose main purpose is to enable people to live their lives to the fullest. In less than two months the Rio Paralympics will begin and with it, a fortnight's solid, televised coverage showing exactly what people with disabilities are capable of!

And come the end of the year, what do you think will leave the lasting mark and legacy going forward: a 110 minute work of fiction, or a 2 week global event, starring real people, achieving real feats of excellence?

G

P.S. If you're interested in watching a genuinely moving and compelling tale about a non-suicidal quadriplegic that's actually based on a true story, then I would recommend checking out the 2011 French film Intouchables aka Untouchable.

Stumbles and Tumbles and Broken Bone Grumbles

Accidents happen. It's an inescapable fact and an unavoidable truth. It's not something you grow out of or learn to avoid. They will happen to you no matter who you are, no matter how much money you have and no matter what your level of ability or disability is. My injury means that I don't have the best grip in the world, and every now and then this results in a plate or bowl slipping out of my hand and smashing on the floor, going Greek as it were. Although I challenge anyone to go through life without accidentally breaking the equivolent of an entire dinner set's worth of crockery! Thankfully 9 times out of 10 what I drop is empty, however dropping a plate with an entire cooked pizza face-first, and having a jar of bolognese sauce tumble and explode onto the floor like a skydiver without a parachute, are experiences not easily forgotten! And the clean-up, dear god, don't get me started on the clean-up...

Come Dine With Me: Quadriplegic Special!

The accidents that truly separate the walkers from the wheelers however, are the ones that involve a physical impact. A young person walking in a field trips over, loses their footing and collapses in a heap; they immediately spring back up, check around to make sure no one was watching, maybe try and act cool like it was all part of an elaborate in-joke, and then be on their merry way again. Any nearby onlookers have a quick giggle to themselves and think nothing more of it. A wheelchair user hits an uneven bit of paving, their chair jolts to a halt and they're sent tumbling forwards into a heap on the floor, and it's a very different matter. There's no instantaneous chair remounting, not when your legs don't work. Instead you have to roll around and sit yourself up, then make sure you're all in one piece before using your arms to half lift/half drag yourself back to where you abandoned chair! Then it's a question of making sure your chair is upright and in one piece before contemplating how exactly you're going to get back into it. Meanwhile, a unified and audible gasp is let out by everyone within a 100 metre radius and soon a three-deep throng of concerned bystanders has encircled you and what started as merely a caster clipping a paving stone has quickly become Operation: Tip-a-Crip!

Personally, when this kind of thing happens (and it happens to the best of us), I'd much rather people crowded round me en masse than pretended I wasn't there and carried on about their business. Sure, I don't always need help when it's offered and it can be a little galling when it's given against my wishes. "Do you need a hand? Because whether you like it or not, you're getting one!" But I'm grateful to live in a society where strangers care enough about me each other to stop what they're doing and offer to help, because as monumentally embarrassing as the situation may be, the fact of the matter is simple: If people don't help then I don't get up! And it's safe to say I've taken part in my fair share of impromptu floor dives!

One such occurence took place just over four years ago on the way to the pub, when, for reasons I still can't quite grasp, I decided to put my backwheel balancing to the test and attempted to bump my way down three large, concrete steps just along from where I live. A sane person who valued their life would doubtless have tested this ability on something softer first, and with friends around to help in case it went awry. But not I, Gareth Death or Glory Herridge! It was concrete or bust! And moments later, it was my head that was bust, as I lay at the bottom of the steps, a warm liquid running down my face (steady!). Neighbours were beckoned, an ambulance was called and I was ferried to hospital to get myself glued back together.

When I tell my friends how I got the scar...

Another incident took place a couple of years ago as I was, once again, making my way to the pub (starting to notice a pattern yet?). This time however, I had rather courageously managed to make it slightly further than my own street and was cruising down the pavement at a leisurely pace, the high street beckoning. I came to a slightly uneven driveway with dropped kerbs, so slowed down and carefully manoeuvred my chair to the other side. It was at this point, whilst I was travelling at literally no speed at all, that one of my casters clipped the world's tiniest pothole, inexplicably causing me to tumble to the ground with enough drama to put a Premier League footballer to shame!

This time the driver of a car instantly pulled over and, along with another chap who was out walking his greyhound, helped me back into my chair, as I tried desperately to avoid making eye contact with the occupants of the other cars that were rumbling by, faces pressed up against the windows. Now you may have wondered why exactly I felt the need to establish what breed of dog the second man was walking? Well this was because, as we all know, greyhounds aren't exactly known as the most sluggish dogs in the world. These things can move! And unfortunately, as the dog's owner helped me off the floor, he had let go of its leash, and no sooner was I back in my chair than, like a bolt of lightning, the dog was off! Cue the owner sprinting after it whilst frantically yelling its name, as the dog shot round the corner and out of sight. Exit, pursued by a man. As bizarrely comic as this final scene was, I did feel a little guilty and sincerely hope he managed to catch-up to the dog! I'd hate to think the whole thing has made him regret being the Good Samaritan that he was.

The most recent calamity however, and the one that inspired this blog entry, happened only about 6 weeks ago and, in a shocking twist of events, actually occurred as I was on the way back from the pub! Now I know what you're all thinking: Alcohol + wheelchair - core stability = catastrophe of my own doing. And occasionally it does, but nowhere near as often as you may think. Also, before I lose all symathy here, I should point out that on this particular evening in question, I was behaving myself and had only gone out for a few social pints in the evening, so when I left the pub at around 10pm I was by no means the shambolic, rolling wreck I have been in the past! Plus I'd done the sensible thing and, instead of doing the 45 minute uphill push home, had jumped into a taxi and been dropped off in the car park a mere 50 metres from where I lived. What could possibly go wrong?!

Quite a lot as it would happen!

I failed to notice that my chair wasn't close enough to the taxi door when I transfered out. This lead to me briefly teetering on the edge of my seat, before pulling myself backwards onto it, causing my cushion to runkle up behind me in the process, and leaving me somewhat less than ideally sat. Once the taxi had left, I made my unstable way down the bank, towards the path that leads to my flat. So far, so good. However, linking the sloping bank to the footpath is a rather unforgiving (and at that time, mud spattered) dropped kerb that sits at an awkward angle, is fairly worn and as such has several differing gradients, meaning a brief backwheel balance is required to get the casters over the lip of the kerb and onto the path. Unfortunately, due to my unbalanced seating position, I didn't feel comfortable enough tipping my chair back and instead decided to simply use brute force to push my casters over the lip of the kerb and onto the path.

Monumental error!

As soon as my casters were on the lip and I pushed forward to get them onto the next bit of gradient, they spun sideways, causing my entire chair to whirl to the right. My left caster rode up the kerb and then bumped off it, jolting me forwards so that my chest was now resting on my thighs, my head was between my knees and I was facing down the bank (stop laughing). And then the unthinkable happened...

My chair began to move!

Not just a little. It began to roll; down the bank; picking up speed, and there was no realistic way I could see of halting it (I said, stop laughing)!

Like this, but with poise and grace being replaced by uncoordinated terror!

I knew full well how this ride was going to end; with me in a heap on the floor. I just prayed for it to be an unscathed heap. The concrete kerb I was veering towards at some speed, sadly had other ideas and beckoned my right caster towards it, clipping it and causing my face to bury itself into a mixture of kerb and road from almost point blank range!

Game over man, game over!

Blood quite literally exploded from my nose and continued to pour out at a somewhat alarming rate, as I lifted my head up, slightly groggy from the impact. Moments later a neighbour from across the street, who had been standing outside her front door at the time of my face plant, came rushing over with her young child. After establishing I wasn't dead but was still in need of medical attention, she phoned an ambulance as the little boy, rather than being scarred for life by all the blood, decided to chat to me about what had happened and why I was in a wheelchair, perhaps seeing some potential correlation! A few more neighbours from various houses on the street came over to check I was okay and soon there was a nice, little welcome party waiting for the ambulance to arrive from the nearby hospital. And it did arrive, three hours later!!

Three hours slumped at the side of the road, nose blooded and swollen, feeling sorry for myself as I tentatively dabbed my tender nostrils with a tissue to try and ease the thick flow of fluid (I apologise to anyone who's eating whilst reading this)! And do you know what? Pretty much every single one of those neighbours stayed out with me the entire time! As the temperature dropped and Saturday became Sunday, one of them brought me out a cushion and blanket to wrap round myself and keep warm, and another was on the phone chasing up the mythical ambulance. They stayed outside with me until 1:30am when the ambulance finally arrived (from mainland Europe I can only assume!) and the paramedics scraped me off the ground, tossed me in the back and carted me off to hospital, cleaning my face up en route so I looked slightly less like a member of an underground bareknuckle boxing ring!

The 1st rule of Disabled Fight Club is, you do not walk about Disabled Fight Club!

Anyway, to cut a long story short, once at the hospital, I was poked and prodded by various doctors and nurses of the highest calibre, given an MRI scan and found out I had, unsurprisingly, broken my nose. Fast forward to the present; the swelling and pain have mostly dissipated thankfully, although my nose is still slightly skew-whiff and in need of rhinoplasty (which I'm sure many people would agree was the case even before I broke it)!

So there you have it: a brief rundown of some, but by no means all, of the embarrassing tumbles I've taken and the overwhelmingly helpful response I've received every single time from strangers who didn't have to go out of their way to help and could just as easily have kept on walking, armed with a comical anecdote to tell their friends. And besides the odd scuff, scrape and broken nose, it's mostly just a case of injured pride more than anything else. I'm sure I'm not the only one who doesn't like to admit when they need help (I'm a man dammit!), and if it's not needed then I'll politely decline. But in those few instances where help is genuinely necessary to make life a hell of a lot easier, then you can bet I'm bloody grateful to be offered it! I mean, what's the alternative? Lying there star-fished, grinning like an idiot whilst trying to look cool?! You wouldn't catch me doing that, no sir!

G

Love Is In The Chair

As you may recall, in my last entry I went into too much great detail about how I get myself in and out of the bath unscathed, a rollercoaster ride of emotions and excitement I think we can all agree. As I wrote and published this around mid-February, I decided to sign off with a little Valentine's Day quip and thought nothing more of it. It was only a week or so later that my palm hit my face and I realised the colossal missed opportunity I had squandered: to write a blog entry addressing the subjects of love, romance and dating for someone in a wheelchair. I considered leaving it until next February but as I struggle to remember things eleven days in advance, I think remembering something eleven months in advance may be pushing it a little. I blame the knock on the head I took during the crash and, dammit, no one is going to tell me otherwise! So I'm striking whilst the iron's hot (or at the very least, tepid) and delving into dating with a disability. And to quote numerous fast food employees, "It's only a month out of date, I'm sure no one will notice..."

For the most part, I quite enjoy the process of meeting a girl and flirting with them whilst desperately trying to find the (often Dutch) courage needed to ask them out. I've actually become more confident and dare I say charismatic around girls since the accident, and as a consequence have been on far more dates since too. However, I think I'd put this more down to age and experience making me slightly less of an awkward mute around girls, rather than my spinal injury awakening a dormant Casanova in me! Although one of the first questions I remember asking in hospital after regaining full consciousness and lucidity was whether or not the *ahem* 'soldier' could still 'stand to attention' (he totally can, high five!), so I think it's safe to say that aspect of my life has always been fairly important to me!

But regardless of any physical, mental or emotional irregularities, the general consensus seems to be that dating is an absolute minefield of potential heartache and confusion, with the vast majority of people trying to blindly separate the good eggs and the keepers from the rotten apples and the bunny boilers. Films and novels often like to go to the extremes, portraying the idyllic, love at first sight, happily-ever-after side of things, or to give it its official name, the bullshit side.

Nicholas Sparks, ladies & gentlemen, bullshit peddler extraordinaire!

Television is also happy to go along with this and likes nothing more than pairing people up and squeezing the tiniest drop of romance out of every situation. The Undateables on Channel 4 combines people's obsession towards love, with their curiosity towards disability. It does this by attempting the oh-so-delicate act of portraying its participants as unique individuals who, just like everyone else, are wanting to find a kindred spirit to share their lives with, and not as desperate oddballs who will literally settle for the first person who pays them the slightest bit of attention. But every time a new specimen is thrust in front of the camera, you can practically hear the myriad of ranging viewer comments: "He/She's alright, I would!", "Poor thing", "Aw well, it's nice they found someone", "Do you think they can have sex?"

I'm certainly not above making the odd jokey comment myself and shows like this will often come up in conversation during wheelchair rugby training sessions. In fact, we've even been approached by Channel 4 to see if any of our ragtag troupe fancied going on The Undateables! Unfortunately we all declined, despite our best efforts to convince one or two of our members that it'd be in their best interests to allow their every move to be filmed and that it wouldn't at all be embarrassing to see your mum get interviewed and talk about what an amazing person you are with so much to offer that special someone and how love is the one thing missing from your life...

Recently, I've come across a number of articles to do with dating when you have a disability, all written from personal experience, with a fair few of them detailing how much harder it is to find someone when you're in a chair, that people are put off by it and don't see you in a romantic way. I suppose this is a notion I briefly entertained in the very early days of my injury, but if my experiences since are anything to go by then this isn't the case at all. I've had a number of relationships post-injury, ranging from three minutes hours all the way up to three years, and when break-ups have occurred, it's never (to my knowledge) been anything to do with the fact that I couldn't stand up to reach the top shelf in the supermarket...

"I'm sorry, but if you don't love me enough to pass me down the Uncle Ben's Wholegrain then I just can't see a future for us!" - said no one ever.

I agree that relationships would doubtless be more straightforward if I weren't paralysed, with extra planning and forethought having to always go into things such as holidays, hotels, restaurants and house hunting, but I don't believe that it has massively hindered my love life. That honour must surely go to my delightful personality!

Do I think that some prospective partners are put off by the fact I'm in a chair? Of course. I dare say there aren't too many girls out there whose idea of the perfect guy is one who is flawed by a flight of stairs and rendered immobile as soon as he ventures onto a beach! But equally, before my injury, do I think some girls were put off by my less than towering 5'8" stature, wannabe punk hair and god-only-knows fashion sense? You're damn right I do!

The lesser known Sid Vicious: Smooth Jazz album cover

I say that some prospective partners may be put off by a wheelchair or disability, but as the article Active Hands recently shared on their Facebook page goes to show, there are those to whom it has quite the opposite effect and are in fact physically drawn to people with disabilities: devotees! Now I've sadly never had the pleasure of meeting any of these wheelchair worshippers in person, however a few years ago a girl did begin talking to me on Facebook about how she was turned on by guys who had limited sensation in their legs and how she would love to see my legs on webcam! Well how could I say no to a request like that?? Quite easily as it happens, and after having as much fun as I could with the conversation, the mystery woman eventually realised I wasn't going to be her naughty, little CamCrip, and left empty-handed and heartbroken. Because some people will literally fetishise anything!

I certainly don't believe having a disability should make a person feel unattractive or put them off the idea of dating (or indeed flaunting themselves on webcams if they so wish!), and if the people I know via wheelchair rugby are anything to go by, it most certainly doesn't! At league weekends you see an ever increasing number being accompanied by their devotees husbands, wives, partners and children, and of the ones who are single, most of them are happily swiping away on Tinder, myself included!

Personally, I've never found it soul-crushingly impossible to match with and talk to people when using an app like Tinder. However, my one recommendation to any person with a disability who frequents these kind of apps/sites is, be honest! In most of my pictures, you can't tell I'm in a wheelchair, so I just look like a regular guy with a penchant for having his picture taken whilst sitting down! This meant that, if I got on with a girl well enough, I'd at some point have to have to have that conversation with her. In truth, I never received a terribly negative reaction from anyone and ended up meeting a few, but it still didn't make me feel any less awkward when dropping the W-bomb. So now I've made sure to mention it in my bio in as lighthearted a way as possible, my disability is an unavoidable part of my life that cannot be and should not be hidden. But it certainly shouldn't be my defining characteristic. And sure, some girls may be put off by it, but if they don't want to take advantage of blue badge parking, 2-for-1 gig tickets, crowds parting down the middle to let you through and several other perks of the condition, then it's their loss! Incidentally, I recently read an article by a woman who met up with a couple of guys from Tinder but didn't tell them beforehand that she was in a wheelchair and I assume thought it would be better to just wheel out and shout, "Surpriiiiiiiiiiiiiise!" when they met?! Why exactly she thought this was a good idea is beyond me, but she seemed genuinely shocked that things immediately became awkward and uncomfortable! I know I said that being in a chair shouldn't be anyone's defining characteristic, but it still needs to be factored in and processed, especially if you're meeting someone for the first time! Remember, be honest!

So there you have it, a gimps guide to disability dating...of sorts. I have a tendency to ramble in these things, but I'm sure that's gone by virtually unnoticed! Anyway, the message to take away from all this is that you should never let disability stop you from dating, if anything it should encourage you to get out there and embrace it. You've overcome so many obstacles in life already, are you really going to let the small matter of asking someone out be the thing that finally defeats you and stops you in your tracks?! Of course you're not! Be confident, be funny, be charming, be fearless! Because if god hadn't wanted disabled people to date then he wouldn't have made us so darned irresistible!

G

New Year, Same Me!

I'm back, fear not, normal service has been resumed! I know I said I'd return in the new year, and it's now February, but in my defence internet pornography is not going to watch itself I've been remarkably busy with wheelchair rugby, getting my shoulder acupunctured, shooting product demo videos and also writing a sporting article for the Active Hands website, to do with the Paralympics and why people should be inspired to get active in the year ahead. Click here to check it out *nod nod, wink wink, plug plug*! I'll be honest with you, I did contemplate just copying and pasting it into here for an easy life. But after much soul searching I came to the conclusion that you lot deserve original material and so I'll do my best to entertain under my current fragile circumstances. Those being that I'm possibly coming down with a UTI and this morning I managed to somehow trap my arms and head inside a hoodie as I tried to pull it on, resulting in me falling out of my chair and into a blind heap on the floor. In all honesty, it'll be a small miracle if I make it to the end of this post without collapsing against the keyboard, my final moments being used to dramatically sign off and click 'Publish'...

 So anyway, here we are: 2016. As has been the case for over a decade now, last month saw me celebrate my special birthday. That is, the day I decided I was tired of having to continuously climb up and down stairs, park miles away from the shops and stand with the unwashed masses at gigs, no thank you sir! As my wheelchair rugby teammate's tattoo proudly states:

Ancient Wheelchair Proverb say...

 And so it came to be that on that fateful January morning in 2005, I crashed my car, broke my neck and haven't walked since...At least, not without the aid of a £90k robotic exo-skeleton, similar to Wallace and Gromit's The Wrong Trousers, but without the remote control, sinister penguin or comic caper shenanigans! So yes, I am now *drumroll* "11 years down the line", and bravo to anyone who spotted the subtle change at the top of the page! And even though I'm now firmly into my second decade of disabled debauchery, I'm still learning new ways of doing things, I'm still attempting new feats and I'm still finding out new things about myself and my injury. And so I thought, nothing remotely interesting has happened this year yet but I've got to write about something what better way of opening the first blog post of 2016, my first since turning 11, than with a wee look back over the past year to see if there were any particular challenges I'd attempted and possibly even overcome, followed by a look at what possibilities this year has in store. This may all seem somewhat self-indulgent, but rest assured there will be the usual amount of self-deprication along the way. I'm basically wanting to use myself as an example to show that no matter how long ago an injury may have taken place, you should never stop attempting things, no matter how ridiculous you may look whilst doing them! Of course, if I come to the swift realisation that last year I attempted and accomplished nothing, then this will be a rather monumental backfire on my part!

The principal thing that stands out as far as last year's endeavours go, is a prime example of attempting something whilst looking utterly ridiculous. Combine that with the fact I was completely naked whilst doing it and you have all the ingredients for a You've Been Framed post-watershed special. "But what exactly is this demi-godlike, mind over matter exploit that you performed??", I hear you ask with baited breath. Well brace yourself ladies and gentlemen, because last year I slayed my mythical dragon, I exorcised my demon, I climbed my Mount Everest...I got myself out of the bath!!

Now I'll admit, on paper this doesn't sound like the most earth-shattering of breakthroughs and, in terms of stature, levitates me only marginally above your average house spider. However, I assure you, this was very much a game changer for me, especially when it comes to being on holiday or away on rugby weekends!

Due partly to my injury level and partly to my stumpy, T-Rex arms, I am unable to lift myself from the floor, into my chair. Don't get me wrong, I can lower myself onto the floor, but this is more of a controlled fall than anything. This essentially meant that, when staying in a hotel, I couldn't use a shower cubicle (or a bath either I assumed) and so would either have to wash myself as best I could at a sink (aka, the hobo bath) or ring up hotels individually and go through the painstaking process of explaining what exactly a wet room was and whether any of their rooms were equipped with them. (If I've learnt anything over the past 11 years it's that when booking hotels, the term 'accessible room' can have a wiiiiiiide variety of meanings, ie. doors an inch wider, with spyholes a foot lower and a grab rail located at any random spot in the bathroom!) However, being able to get out of a bath eliminates almost all of those issues, making it infinitely easier when planning a trip away, because whereas very few hotels offer wet rooms, all of them offer baths!

It turns out that the secret of getting out of a bath when you can't move your legs and only have very partial tricep strength, is that you don't so much lift yourself out as pull yourself out. This begins by me draping a towel over the edge of the tub and lifting my legs over and out (as seen in Fig.1), so that my body is now squashed between the width of the tub.

Fig.1: Why you should never go to B&Q drunk!

Obviously the water has been drained by this point, my ever expanding waist doesn't make me the most buoyant of land mammals! Then I find that by hooking one arm onto my chair (which is sat patiently by the tub), and pulling myself forwards with this arm, whilst pushing against the back of the tub with the other, I can get myself off the floor of the tub and onto the edge. Now comes the tricky part! When a spinally injured male lifts out of a bathtub minus his clothes, certain...'items' will dangle! And if, once perched on the edge of the tub, he was to lose his balance and fall forwards, then what I can only imagine to be a guillotine effect would occur! Now I may be 33 and single, but I've not entirely written off the possibility of settling down and having a family one day, plus over the years I've become rather attached to my various body parts. So the possibility of 'castration by bathtub' is not something I take lightly. Thus ensues a delicate dance, gradually shuffling forwards whilst ensuring certain 'bits and bobs' remain above the danger line! Then, once I'm right on the edge of the tub and as stable as possible, one quick lift and I'm back in my chair, Gareth - 1 Bathtub - 0. Of course this is all with the proviso that I don't repeatedly lose balance and slip back into the tub...

"I can has help?"

So that was the main gain of 2015. Other than that, last year was memorable for interviews in London, travelling here and there, starting track racing, damaging my shoulder and subsequently stopping track racing. Oh and my chair and I also got hoisted up in the air in a crowd-surfing manner by four guys at a music festival, but that wasn't so much overcoming adversity as it was drunkenly agreeing to something and then immediately realising that I was one intoxicated stumble away from a hard, concrete death!

As far as 2016 is concerned, the stand-out events pencilled on the calendar so far are buying a house, going through the rigmarole of getting it adapted, and of course visiting Rio and New York in September. Littered in between these will doubtless be plenty more blog-worthy occurences, comical mishaps and things for me to grumble about!

Now if you'll excuse me, I hear the postman at the door, doubtless out of breath and struggling to carry the numerous sacks full of Valentine's Day cards and gifts sent to me by secret admirers. Yep, same story every year...

 

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In The Bleak Midwinter, Frosty Gimps May Roll

Well here we are at the final entry of the year. With Christmas just around the corner, the streets are lit up with decorations and supermarkets are desperately trying to bring every potential customer to tears with their diabetes inducing 'Spirit of Christmas' commercials. So I thought I'd do my bit and make an attempt at a festive post to put everyone in the holiday mood. But after spending several days pondering what part of Christmas I could awkwardly crowbar a disability angle into, I was forced to admit defeat and will instead fall back onto that most British of conversation topics and something which has been even more prominent over the last week or so than Santa's impending arrival: The weather!

I'd like to begin by saying that, for a country whose weather throughout the year can more often than not be described as 'bleak', we don't seem overly prepared for it when it arrives and it really doesn't take a lot to send people into blind panic. Within the next couple of months we can look forward to witnessing the entire country grind to a halt as the customary quarter inch of snow dusts the streets. And currently half the country seems to either be underwater or in ruins following the onslaught of Storm Desmond! I'll be honest with you, it's not the most menacing of names, but I presume those are specially reserved for hurricanes, earthquakes and locust plagues. I wasn't even aware storms warranted being anthropomorphised. Before long the Met Office will be warning people to stay indoors lest they run the risk of getting their hair ruffled by Strong Breeze Rupert! But I digress...

I wanted to use this post to talk about the varied effects the weather can have on people with disabilities. However I've just realised that I spent the entire last paragraph mocking people for not being able to cope with a bit of harsh weather but am now, rather sheepishly, going to talk about how perilous that same weather can be for people such as myself. I therefore apologise for the glaring irony and double standards. I know, it's all 'me me me'!

The truth is though that the weather can quite often be one of the biggest issues in a disabled person's plans. I drove up to Edinburgh for a couple of days last week to do some shopping on Princes Street, look round the Christmas market etc. The day I arrived seemed to coincide with the start of Scottish monsoon season and it wasn't long before I was sat in a squishy puddle where my cushion once was, my sodden jeans gripping to me like a wrestler's leotard, as my swollen gloves squelched against the black rubber pushrims either side of me. And these pushrims, so grippy when dry, suddenly become bars of soap in your hands as soon as the rain hits, leaving you cold, wet and moving with all the grace and coordination of Bambi on ice! If only there were some way of staying dry whilst retaining one's dignity...

Gimp In A Bag - The must have Christmas accessory!

The second day in Edinburgh was almost completely rain free and after having wrung out and dried my jeans overnight, I was ready to hit the shops again, but as I soon found out, the wind was ready to hit me harder! In all honesty though, I don't have much of a problem with the wind. I mean sure, it can slow me down (or speed me up depending on its direction), turn me into a human wind sock if I forget to do my jacket up, or try to amputate my leg by slamming the car door on it as I'm trying to assemble my chair, but I'll take that over rain any day. Anything is preferable to rain, that is except...

...Snow and Ice: the bane of the disabled!

Yes, cover the paths and pavements in a few inches of the white stuff and wheelchair users quickly become prisoners in their own homes, especially if, like me, the car park is located a hundred metres from your front door! Of course we've attempted the journey, us wheelers aren't cowards you know, and for a few victorious seconds it can almost seem as though we're making progress, take that Mother Nature! Alas, with the next push you feel the wheels spin forwards whilst you however, remain rooted to the spot. You try again and again, with the same result, until you find you've carved yourself a neat, little wheelchair treadmill where you can spend hours in the same spot, pushing at various speeds from the comfort of your own street! Ice can be just as tricky and even more devious, the invisible assassin! At least when it snows you can see the danger and prepare for it. When there's ice on the paths, half the time you don't even realise it until you find yourself questioning why, instead of going forwards in the direction you're pushing, you are in fact sliding sideways towards a particularly univiting-looking bush! And every transfer in and out of the car becomes a life or death struggle, as your chair takes on a mind of its own and mid-transfer decides to glide a couple of feet in any given direction, as you desperately try to rein it in whilst flailing mid-air! Yes, if you wish to venture out safely in the snow and ice, there really is only one solution:

To Waitrose Jeeves and step on it!

So in conclusion, I'm not saying that as soon as the temperature drops into single figures I lock the doors and stare longingly out of the window until the first blossom of spring emerges, but I certainly wouldn't complain if the government saw fit to introduce a scheme whereby all wheelchair users were airlifted to warmer climates for the winter months...but not too warm mind you, some of us can't sweat to cool ourselves down! I know, there's just no pleasing some people.

Right, that's me done. You'll be distraught relieved to hear that I shall return in the new year, about six kilos heavier and loaded with more rambling tales of obscurity. In the meantime, enjoy the holidays: eat, drink, be merry! And in the event of a snowfall, if you see a person in a wheelchair struggling, before offering to help, why not follow the example of my friend and get your phone out for a quick picture! You never know, it could make for a cracking, politically incorrect Christmas card next year:

Laughing Photographer: Charlotte. Freezing Model: Gareth.

 G

The I In Team

Sport is something that is enjoyed by billions of people across the world, whether it be playing, coaching or simply watching. Sport is about more than just keeping fit and the desire to win; it brings people together from all walks of life; it unites them regardless of ethnicity, gender, religious belief or sexual orientation. Put two golf fans from completely different backgrounds in a room together, stick the Ryder Cup on television and a few hours later they will emerge as best friends. Stick two rival football fans in a room during a derby match and a few hours later they probably wouldn't emerge at all, but that's beside the point! The recent Rugby World Cup saw fans of opposing teams congregate together: drinking, singing, laughing and bonding. On the pitch were players from opposing teams, each desperate to beat the other, but at the same time holding complete respect and admiration for their fellow athlete. And of course there was the famous Christmas Truce of World War I that saw enemy soldiers on both sides of the trenches put down their guns and engage in a friendly game of football in no mans land. Last Sunday I returned from Leicester where our team had taken part in the opening wheelchair rugby league weekend of the season, so I thought now was as good a time as any to talk about disability sport and the profound effect it can have on an individual.

I've briefly spoken about disability sport before, in particular wheelchair rugby, something I've been mastering (in much the same way a turkey masters flying!) for the past decade. It's something that I tried out at the Spinal Games whilst still in hospital and began playing as soon as I was discharged. I was drawn to it because you get to smash into people and tip them out of their chairs it is a team orientated sport with a strong physical aspect, the only full contact wheelchair sport, specifically designed for people who have a disability in all four limbs. As a quadriplegic who had previously enjoyed playing football and rugby at school, along with the occasional manly wrestle at university (I was frustrated and single okay, don't judge me!), wheelchair rugby, formerly known as murderball, sounded right up my street! And I've said it before, so I'll say it again: it was one of the best decisions I've made since the injury...

...unlike this hairstyle!

 It's by no means just wheelchair rugby that's out there either. There are dozens upon dozens of sports and activities on offer to people of varying levels of disability, from basketball to boccia, visually impaired football to powerchair football, table tennis to er...tennis tennis! And the number is just going up. Next year at the Rio Paralympics nearly 4,500 athletes from around the world will compete in 22 unique sports. At home in the UK, disability sports clubs are sprouting up all over the place and there really is something for everyone, no matter your level of disability, thanks to the numerous companies that provide sporting adaptions and aids (looking at you Active Hands). Yet there are still those who suffer debilitating injuries, who come out of hospital and then simply go home, unsure of the next step, their lives on permanent pause. There is no doubt in my mind that if I hadn't taken up sport post injury, I wouldn't have acquired the mental and physical strength required to live an independent life, and I cannot adequately verbalise the significance of this.

Yet as important as it is to find an activity that gives you muscle fitness, lung fitness and exercise goals to aim for, the physical benefits aren't even the most significant aspect, at least not to me. Imagine the shock at suffering a spinal injury: a large part of your body is no longer willing to do what you tell it, your legs won't move, you can't feel your feet, you're unsure of even when you need to go to the bathroom, and this is just the tip of the iceberg! You will have questions that you don't feel like your pre-injury friends and family would be able to help you with, and you will likely experience problems or incidents that you would feel embarrassed talking to them about. Well this is where the friends and connections you make through sporting activities come in. The vast majority of them will have had the same queries or suffered similar embarrassments to you and so you feel at ease to open up and discuss these things, often in horrendous detail, but almost always ending up in fits of laughter as you take turns recounting the horrors you've seen and experienced, each trying to one-up the other. And then everything feels okay. What may have initially felt like a cataclysmic event that had left you praying for the ground to swallow you up, was now a trivial source of laughter because you were surrounded by people who'd gone through it all before and you no longer felt alone or ashamed. And it is this sense of camaraderie that is the most important thing I have got out of sport since the injury.

Without the people I have met through sport, in particular my wheelchair rugby teammates, I wouldn't have the confidence I do now, I wouldn't have the independence and ability I do now, I certainly wouldn't have the emotional strength and mental willpower I do now, and I wouldn't have travelled anywhere near as much as I have during my time in a chair; whether it be for rugby tournaments around the UK and abroad, gigs, music festivals or other social events. In fact even as I type, tickets are being bought and flights and accommodation are being booked to watch the Paralympics in Rio next year, because lord knows, I'm not going to get there off the back of my ability on a rugby court!

And before I start getting accused of going all sentimental and coming across overly saccharine whilst painting a nauseating an idyllic picture of a bunch of guys who are 100% supportive and emotionally in tune with one another, I should point out that the vast majority of our interactions involve mercilessly ripping the piss out of each other to such an extent that in any other circumstance, we would be under investigation by social services! And don't even get me started on tipping each other out of our chairs...

Hitting the deck in 3...2...1...

Man down!

 So that, in a rather bloated nutshell, is why sport has been so important to me post injury and why I implore people of all abilities and disabilities: Give sport a go. Even if you don't think it's for you. Take a deep breath and jump into the action. You never know, it might end up surprising you and you might end up surprising yourself!

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