‘This is serious, he will not be leaving anytime soon.’
The first words I heard from the A&E consultant as he spoke to my wife hit me like a baseball bat.
Five days earlier, my wrist started to swell, locking in place. I initially thought I had been typing too much or I had banged it during the week.
But the next day my knee swelled so much I could barely bend it. I had tears in my eyes as I hobbled from the car to the house, and I was worried something was really wrong.
My other knee eventually locked in place and my shoulder started rising up to my ear as my joint began to swell. My mother-in-law took me to the hospital and I was wheeled off to a ward as the shock set in and pain intensified.
I was just 29 and life up until then was rosy. My wife was six months pregnant with our second child and we were financially secure.
The mental health challenges at university that had led me to isolate myself, be taken home by my parents and fail an academic year, plus my redundancy in the economic crisis, felt like the distant past.
After two weeks and several tests, I was finally diagnosed with autoimmune arthritis. My immune system was attacking my joint tissue.
It’s a chronic disease, but we didn’t know why it had suddenly impacted me.
Things I had taken for granted were impossible to do alone. I couldn’t shower myself and I struggled to eat. The shock wore off and the despair kicked in.
Frustrated, I was healthy and young. ‘Why me, why now?’, I asked.
Being hooked up to a drip on a hospital bed is very limiting, but as I tried to put my feet on the floor, I realised that I couldn’t bend my knees or bear any weight.
After a month in hospital, where I had a quarter of a pint of fluid drained from my knees, numerous tests and injections to control my immune system and pain, I was discharged, with a recovery path outlined and my battle began.
Walking rehab and intensive physiotherapy was hard. Many mornings I woke up stiff and in agony, especially during the first six months.
Then my daughter was born. I knew that she would be walking soon, and that gave me the fuel to fight through the pain and setbacks.
The severity of the situation hit me when I got home. I was so lucky that my wife was now on maternity leave. She helped me to move between rooms, and I had to adapt to doing tasks either sitting or holding a surface.
We had a number of handles installed so I could transfer more easily and situated chairs so I could cook sitting, shower seated and start to do more for myself.
When we designed our house the previous year, in 2013, I had never given a thought about accessibility. But our hallway was so narrow that the wheelchair couldn’t pass without scraping the wall. Luckily, I only needed it for the first few weeks before moving to using walking aids.
Losing my athletic ability, my physicality and my independence left me feeling like I was missing part of me. I had some dark times during recovery where I questioned my value as a human being and wished I could turn back the clock.
Initially the consultants thought that I may make a full recovery, so I had a glimmer of hope, but when I started to swell again they advised that I would spend the rest of my life managing it.
There were times when I thought I might not get back to walking fully, especially after my lumbar vertebrae starting compacting six months into recovery, putting me back into intensive physiotherapy.
I found hydrotherapy to be really powerful in my recovery, with the water supporting my weight so I could improve how I walked.
It all came together 11 months later, when I walked a mile unaided. It had taken walking rehab, two periods of intensive physiotherapy and a daily practice of walking, stretches, exercises, as well as sweat, tears and pain.
I had walked this far with my daughter’s pram for support before, but on this sunny May day, I had set off alone with the intention to make it the full mile without stopping, even if that meant me falling over.
Stood there, next to a lamppost, breathless and close to tears, I realised I had stepped up to the challenge.
My daughter started taking her first steps a few weeks later, and we walked together just how I had imagined. The feeling of inner celebration is very difficult to describe and the feeling of pride, achievement and joy fused together to make a memory that still makes me cry today.
My condition is now under control, and I can walk for miles until it becomes painful. I can’t run very well but I have a good range of movement. I have spent the last five years experimenting with my sleep, nutrition and movement to find what energises me, what drains me, and what triggers inflammation.
Losing the ability to walk was one of the best things to ever happen to me because it made me appreciate the little things in life and the people that care for me. I now think it happened for me to help me to become a better human being.
I occasionally think about the potential of losing the use of my legs again, but having been through it and becoming more mindful, I now live in the moment much more often, celebrate the small wins and accept that anything outside of my control, I shouldn’t worry about.
Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk.
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In this exciting new series from Metro.co.uk, What It Feels Like… not only shares one person’s moving story, but also the details and emotions entwined within it, to allow readers a true insight into their life changing experience.
source https://metro.co.uk/2020/10/18/i-had-to-learn-to-walk-again-at-29-13421820/
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