Live your potential

Brazil

  Brief stop in Lisbon then off to Brazil. Arrive Recife 14.30 local time, in a very spinky spanky airport. Why Brazil, you may well ask? Well, I spent a year in Central America and have always wanted to go to South America. A couple of friends were going so I could share the flight with them and also share their apartment: free once I got there. And I wanted to do something completely insane and spontaneous. It's so hard to be spontaneous a) when you have children and b) when you're in a wheelchair. So with this chance, how could I turn it down?

  Stay at the Beach Class Suite. Right on the beach, new hotel with stunning views over the Atlantic and crashing waves to rock me to sleep. Have the most incredible breakfast I've ever eaten in my life - endless fruits (how come pineapple never tastes like that in England?) Lots of shrimp to eat. A mix of Portuguese and Dutch architecture and cuisine. Recife is known as the Venice of Brazil, because there are so many rivers. What a beautiful place it is! And how dangerous! Some say it's the most dangerous city in Latin America, and I'm warned not to wander about at night, not to travel in a car with windows open, to go everywhere in taxis...

Kerbs are some 18 inches high and no nice dropped kerbs either. Luckily, I have specific destinations recommended: the mall, which would not be out of place in New York, and is wonderfully flat once inside. And a taxi tour to Olinda. "Founded in 1535 by Portugal, Olinda is atop a small hill between the coast and the traditional sugar cane plantations. Olinda was Pernambuco’s first capital. At the time, Recife was nothing more than a tiny port utterly dependent on Olinda. It changed after 1630 when the Dutch penetrated the northeast of Brazil. The invaders invested in Recife and burned Olinda." How things change. Incredibly steep, cobbled roads, steps everywhere. A complete nightmare with wheels, but from the comfort of a taxi and a driver with whom I can converse in a mix of Spanish and Italian, perfect.

Manage to go swimming, Pay a couple of guys from the hotel to carry me from the beach edge to the water and drop me in the cool waters, white sand and palm trees... Amazing. I so love swimming, and wasn't sure I'd ever be able to go again without a boat. To lie there and float in the waves, feeling the tang of the salt...

What a place of contrasts: extreme poverty side by side with great wealth. Smart black cars glide by whilst on the sidewalk people pull trolleys stuffed with wood and cardboard. When I've travelled before, the contrast hasn't been quite so dramatic. I love this city! Want to explore more, but as this is an insanely spontaneous fly in, fly out visit, it's just going to have to wait until another time.

En route

Sitting on the plane, ready to go. Have had the strange aisle chair experience, alarmingly narrow. First to board, surrounded by acres of empty seats. Upgrade request refused: "oh, as you're wheelchair bound you have to sit in a special seat". Oh. So what's so special about 26C, an aisle seat although I've requested a window? "You're close to the toilets". Ah, ok. And if they're accessible, how am I meant to get to them? Don't quite understand the logic here. But hey, I'm on board, managed to get my chair to the door (it's a long way to push. I'm shattered! 1.5 hrs sleep and a one hour drive means I'm not at peak fitness...). Chased through customs by eager (anxious) ground staff. Ready to rock.

Parking not that clear either. "Disabled parking is by the bus stop". Which would that be then? Luckily a helpful bus driver tells me to follow as we meander through a 3am lit carpark. Ramp on, help off, straight to the front of the check in queue. So there are some advantages to being in a chair...

OK. Off we go. Next stop Lisbon.
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Fear of flying

Off to Lisbon on Thursday with a friend. My first flight since my accident and I'm feeling really anxious. It's something I have to do, and it's not something I want to do right now. Feel the fear and all means I'm going to be on that Air Portugal flight, but there are so many uncertainties. It's blindingly obvious now, but one way to cope is to limit the variables. Go to a new city , but go there by train. Make sure you speak the language. Fly and go to a familiar place. I have been to Portugal, to Lisbon in fact, but all I remember is that cuttlefish are very salty. This is the first time for ages that I've wished I had legs. Everything would be so much easier. I wouldn't have to plan or be organised, I could just go. Be spontaneous and free.

So, the flight first. I've told the airline I'm a wheelchair user ("immobile") and they seem OK with that. I've said I want to take my chair up to the door of the plane and that I want a window seat. I had thought an aisle seat would be easier, because then I wouldn't have to flounder about trying to transfer over armrests. However, Apparelyzed ("Spinal Cord Injury Peer Support") have these useful tips and suggest a window seat. So that's booked (the bulkhead has already gone to the traveller that likes to stretch out). What about insurance? Should I get a specialised policy, "especially created for people who are disabled and those with pre-existing medical conditions"? Or just a simple Amex one? On cost alone, the Amex wins hands down at half the price for the same trip. And it's recommended by a wheelchair using friend who does a lot of travelling. I'll speak to Amex tomorrow and see what they say. They do cover existing medical conditions...

So, insurance semi-sorted. I've been to the doctor. Sitting in the surgery, reading its red dot-matrix display I realise I have done the right thing: "If you are going abroad, make an appointment to see your GP". Ah, well done. Until I read the next bit: "at least eight weeks before you travel". Oh. Spontaneity doesn't rule here then. I'm going in three days. Doctor is very cool about it all (we're incredibly lucky in that we've got a brilliant GP. So brilliant he came round to our house a few days after I'd returned home just to check in, find out what I might need. Amazing). I say I'm worried about DVT "colloquially known as economy class syndrome", having had a clot in hospital. He says that I'm in fact less likely to have a clot since I've already had one, but that medical support stockings might help. I get measured up tomorrow for my glamorous pair. He also writes a letter declaring me "fit to fly" and 'needs self-intermittent catheters' (in case someone thinks all the liquid will be used for terrorist purposes, apparently, bizarrely), for a 'nominal' fee of £16. Excessive precaution perhaps but better to be safe than...

I've talked to the Salisbury Spinal Unit, and they're sending me some information. I've contacted the hotel to get door widths and bathroom door widths. I've spoken to my home insurance company to check that my wheelchair is covered for damage outside the home and abroad. It is. I heard a horror story when I was in the hospital from someone who arrived at their glorious (Mexican) holiday destination to find their chair had been broken in transit. Airline offer temporary replacement for length of holiday. Cushion dies. All fine until last day when pressure sore develops. By the time he's back home, pressure sore major problem and he comes straight from the plane to the Spinal Unit where he lies on bed rest for four months. And the airline refused to re-imburse him for his wheelchair.

God, what a nightmare. I want to travel. I used to travel everywhere, completely spontaneously, just showing up in countries with no idea of where to stay or what to do. Now I seem to have to plan everything down to the last miniscule degree. It's ridiculous and incredibly disheartening, I suppose it's my first time and it will get better. But it doesn't feel that great right now. And I don't even speak Portuguese.

Magic wands

Hmm. My first "review" of a piece of equipment and it turns out to be a vibrator. Well, a "massager". Suitable, given people's prurient interest in sex for wheelchair users. I've been asked several times: "how do you do it?" Got to think of a suitable riposte to such questions. Then again, I haven't been asked quite so blatantly as poor old John Hockenberry. Getting on to a plane, a stewardess queries: "Can you, I mean, can your body, I mean, are you able to do it with a woman". This after a jaw-droppingly-shocking "I guess you are the first handicapped person I have ever seen up close. Have you ever thought of killing yourself?" "Do you ask lots of people on your airline if they think of suicide?" "Oh, goodness no, that would be crazy. I was just wondering about you because you get around so well that you must really have done a lot of praying to get this great attitude". John writes: "This line did not sound like one from the manual.". Um, yes. Anyway, as ever, I digress. We're meant to be talking about, ahem, massagers.

So, sex, vibrators, massagers... One of the consequences of spinal cord injury is the politely phrased "loss of sexual function". I wrote briefly about it back here. Not being able to ejaculate isn't actually as big a deal as I thought it would be. The loss of this ability makes me realise how obsessed we are (I was) on the male orgasm. Yes, obviously you're going to need to if you want to have children, but as I've said before, I'm lucky in that I already have children. Two is quite enough thank you. But if I did, with the miracles of modern medicine, where there's a will... You can actually still ejaculate apparently, but it has to be with the aid of a supremely powerful vibrator. This is offered as a service by your local Spinal Unit. In my case (and I haven't tried this out yet), it involves meeting my consultant where he applies said powerful vibrator (from Sweden, costing something like £400) to the base of your penis, and hey presto, you cum. Oh, the romance.

I can see so many reasons not to do this, not least being that I do not find my consultant attractive in the slightest. Not wishing to fork out several hundred pounds without any guarantee of effectiveness, I decide to try another approach. I explain my dilemma to my friends over at LoveHoney who are fabulously helpful. "Well, the Hitachi Magic Wand is the most powerful vibrator we have". "A magic wand? Wil it cast spells over me as well?" "Haven't you seen that episode of Sex and the City with Samantha's favourite vibrator?" "Umm, no". The review below gives some idea, so it's ordered, in its anonymous paper packaging and speedily arrives. Disappointingly, it doesn't do anything for me on the sexual arousal front, despite its power. But hey, I can use it for its intended purpose (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VaJvg0omaYc) - it is indeed a great back massager, and can pass itself off as one... Not sure I'm going to go visit the consultant though.

BootyParlor.com Presents The Magic Wand

Moblogging and birthdays

Sitting on the train en route to London town. In first class because no 2nd class carriages with wheelchair space. Lovely freebies like unlimited fruit and coffee and drinks and and. But surprisingly narrow access (I just managed to squeeze in), and no table. Big problem with my ultralight and very tippy chair. High risk of falling backward and ending up beetle-like on the floor. Have done that before (on first train trip with my mum. Fine for me with instant help and no sensation of pain, but she looked white as a sheet). Also just realised that 1st class doesn't have access to a toilet. Mmm. Interesting that the plebs actually do much better. Right, a complaining email on its way. "I will not be travelling first class with you again". Don't think I need to mention that I hadn't actually paid for 1st class in the first place. Is that wrong? It's a true statement - I won't travel with them in first class again. They can read whatever they want into what I write. Oh, the joys of subtext.

Chance to practice moblogging - as it sounds, blogging from mobile. I can email my entries. Yet with my trusty BlackBerry (a whole post awaits on this subject), I can actually write directly on the site. And then later, to keep with the theme of new words inspired by mobiles, I will be approximeeting a friend. Given that we both have cellphones, we can leave our plans vague.

Today is Tim's birthday. Fellow tree-faller, para, blogger, Hackney dweller (we used to live there) and parent. He is 40. I was 40 when I had my accident, one day before our 14th wedding anniversary, 16 days before I became 41. I remember absolutely nothing about my 41st birthday. And I was still in hospital for my 42nd birthday, much better because I went home for the day... My 40th birthday party was one of my best ever: went with 30 friends to private room in very posh hotel in London, fab meal, then across the corridor for private cinema showing of Point Break, with wine and popcorn and drunken merriment. Not sure I'd choose Point Break again. Perhaps it was about all I was moving on from (how little did I know!). Or one aspect of my myriad self. And that birthday did have a surfing theme to it: soon after my party, I had a week long surfing course down at Croyde.

So, 40th birthdays - momentous changes. Wonder what this one will be like: the first properly at home since 2005.

Obsession

Old friends have been staying with us. He's an OT (and actually came up with the inspired solution for our house that means I can get to all of the first floor. We live in an Edwardian house, built around 1910. Long straight staircase leads to small landing with bathroom and my office. Then turn the corner and two steps up to what used to be Arden's and Griffin's rooms. Fine for when you have legs - although a bit of an odd set-up - but not so great when you need a stairlift. Our community OTs and builders both suggested that we get a curved stairlift so I could get access the children's rooms. Trouble is a curved stairlift costs at least £6,000. Another option would have been to have a through-floor lift. Starting price £10,000, major structural work and very obvious. Our friend K suggested building up the landing by two steps, so the whole floor would be a single level, accessed by a single, straight and much cheaper stairlft. Completely inspired.. Nothing like thinking out of the box. And on a similar note, K has just suggested how I can cook sauces. Being vain, not wanting a house that shouts "cripple lives here", we haven't adapted the kitchen at all. I love cooking.. But now, I can't see over the saucepan edges. As far as I know, you can't get glass bottomed pans (Pyrex is only for ovens). K's brilliant idea is to put a mirror on the cooker hood. Genius!

Anyway. This post is supposed to be about obsession.. Perhaps it should be about distraction. Well, the category is random thoughts. So, obsession. Annika pointed out that I spend a lot of time talking about disability, the issues and challenges and thoughts it raises. I could say that it's because everyone wants to know how I'm coping (aka living). There are a lot of good, often witty, stories to tell about my encounters and experiences. I'm still a new member of this minority. And I'm not working at the moment. Still, need to watch out for becoming a wheelchair bore (can't resist: "it's wheelie boring". Terrible). Is this something that every new member of the club goes through? Is it obsession, or is it just the fact that it's a pretty dramatic new thing to get used to?