Live your potential

Achievements

As this annus horribilis draws to its close, I find myself reflecting on the meaning of achievement.

Since moving down to Wiltshire seven years ago, my career focus has changed. The move was for the kids, for schools, for space. We could ensure that we'd be present parents who could drop the children off and pick them up from school every day, we could sit with them as they did their homework. Life was very different in London, where long hours in after-school clubs were the norm.

We want to keep that balance, without using au pairs or other childcare. This means that it's not possible for me to work full-time, and it's far less likely for me to have a glittering career. Like the many (usually) mothers who choose to take part-time employment, the rewards are different, more internal rather than out in the world.

I still want to make a difference. I still want to have an impact. But I need to remember that I can measure my achievements in a different way.

Silence

I've not written here for a long time and my absence has been commented upon. It's been a strange few weeks. I've felt a real loss of purpose and direction. I've been feeling as if I have little to say and have retreated inwards. Though this has become a slightly self-fulfilling prophecy in a way - the less I say, the less I have to say. I have shrunk. But let me state some facts:

I've been rowing intensely, three times a week for the last eight weeks. My final session was last Friday and I reckon I've crossed the Channel more than four times, racking up a total of some 140 kilometres. Fitter, faster.

I've started working for a local domestic violence project, fundraising for them a couple of days a week. It's wonderful to be part of an office environment again, to have the routine of going to work on a regular basis, to be part of a team.

I'm hating the cold. I feel so disabled.

I'm not looking forward to Christmas, my first without the kids, my first since I moved out.

Those are some facts. The feelings are confused. I feel as if I'm in a state of change and uncertainty. I wonder what I'm achieving. I think of what I achieved before my injury.

But perhaps that's the solution to my questions: there are no answers. Or at least they'll be a long time coming. So I could try accepting the uncertainty rather than fighting it. I could try accepting my lack of fluency rather than struggling to find the right words. Maybe that would be an achievement in itself.

Dependency

My car died last week. I'd just dropped off my son at the car share and was returning home to take my daughter to school when the gearbox failed. Utterly. Five miles from home and no way to get back. And I didn't have my wheelchair with me either.

Thank heavens for mobile phones. Called my daughter, arranged someone else to drop her off, got hold of the RAC, the garage, Motability, a car hire company... The RAC towed me home, collected my chair from the house and took the car to the garage. A combination of taxis and friends collected the children from schools. And I sat at home out of the rain.

It made me realise how completely dependent I am on wheels. Without my chair, I cannot move. Without my car, I'm largely stuck at home, particularly if the weather is bad. I hate it.

Exposing myself

I've been in the public eye and ear today and it's stirred up my memories. First was a radio interview on BBC Wiltshire this morning and then a talk to 150 sixth form girls at a school in Oxford.

The questions bring up unresolved issues and I realise yet again that I don't accept my injury. I wonder if I ever will.

"Do you feel pain?" Yes, all the time. It's a constant ache. Yes, in the middle of the night when I can't sleep. Yes, I feel pain.

"What do you find the hardest?" The time things take. Always being exposed. Being so often defined by my disability. The patronising comments (I dropped something in the street. I picked it up. "Well done", said a passer-by). The way I can't feel touch. Being cold most of the time. Being so affected by rain and snow.

Oh the list is endless. I'm glad I can raise awareness of the issues around disability. I'm glad people are willing to listen. I just wish talking about it didn't leave me feeling so raw.

Testing, testing

I've just started the last and most intense phase of my rowing training. I have to row three days a week for the next eight weeks. And when I'm not rowing, I have to be leg conditioning with FES for an hour. I wonder how I'll feel by the end.

With fitness you get back what you put in. Because of the 160 mile round trip, I've only managed to row once, sometimes twice a week up to now. Consequently my fitness has stayed pretty much the same. Far better than had I not been rowing but nowhere near fit enough for me.

Now there's a step change. The last couple of sessions have been incremental exercise tests in the lab, with oxygen mask to measure VO2 max, ear sensor to calculate oxygen saturation and heart monitors all plugged in to a computer. After my eight weeks I'll be re-measured to see what impact the training has made.

The increased training has already made a difference. I've just come back from my fifth session and my power output has increased by some 10% (though the calories used haven't gone much above the 250 mark. Intense exercise has never seemed like the best way to lose weight). I've rowed 20km so far, another 80km to reach my target of a treble crossing of the Channel. You can boost my efforts by sponsoring me here!

No cat for you: you're disabled

I used to have three cats in my old house. I miss them. I miss the company of a purring animal sitting on my lap. And the kids would like a pet here.

All good reasons to get a cat then. It's the wrong time of year for a kitten so we decided to look at local cat rescue centres. We start with the Cat Action Trust (N &W Wilts). On their website, there's a rather lovely elderly black cat who I'm rather taken by so I call up to arrange a visit to the fosterer. I mention I'm in a wheelchair. "Oh, you won't be able to get to her. There are a lot of steps in my house". "I'll be with my children. Can they come in and take a look?". "Yes, that's fine". We arrange a time. There's a second cat we'd like to see but the fosterer can't be contacted.

The next day I get a phone call from the administrator.

"I've got some bad news. The fosterers of the two cats have been talking and they have decided you cannot have a cat. You won't be able to change its litter tray".

I'm shocked. "None of you have ever met me. How do you know what I can or cannot do?"

"I'm sorry. Life must be hard with your condition and I don't want to make it any worse. Do you have a carer?"

I'm getting angry now. "Not that it's any of your business, but no, I don't have a carer. I live alone and independently"

"Well, you won't be able to catch the cat if it escapes. You might run over it with your wheels. And you didn't tell me that you were a wheelchair user when we first spoke. You should have told me"

"I don't think my being in a wheelchair is relevant. Are you saying that someone in a wheelchair can't have a cat?" (And, I wonder, how easy is it for anyone, in a wheelchair or not, to catch a cat that's run away?)

"No, of course not. We've just re-homed a cat with an elderly lady who uses a wheelchair. But she has a husband".

I'm speechless at this prejudice but it seems I am not going to get anywhere.

Finally, a valid point is made:  "We must see how the cat responds to a potential owner, so if you can't get into the house, then we can't tell how you'll get on with each other".

I'm getting weary with this conversation. I would have felt differently had the fosterer said this when we first spoke to arrange the visit. But the fact that the two fosterers have discussed me and decided I can't adopt one of their cats without ever meeting me leaves me incandescent. This will be the first time that I make an official complaint about discrimination under the Equalities Act.

(There is a happy ending to the story. I went with the children to the Bath Cats and Dogs home. No one mentioned the fact that I was in a chair. We're adopting a cat, Rothen - he's the one in the photo.)

Gliding

I enjoy sailing because it's a sport where you're on a more or less equal level with others: the fact that I'm in a wheelchair makes little difference. I love the freedom of the wind, the endless horizons, the silence.

So perhaps it's not surprising to discover I love gliding. You're on a more or less equal level with others; the fact that I'm in a wheelchair makes little difference and I have the freedom of the wind, endless horizons and silence.

It was a random decision to go. I was feeling restless and wanting to break my weekend routine. A friend had posted on Facebook about gliding so I typed in "disabled gliding" into google to see what my options were. The British Gliding Association lists eleven clubs with accessible facilities, including one about an hour's drive away from me.

I call them on the phone. "Are you flying today?" "Yes, it's good weather and there aren't too many people around. Come along". A short drive through the Wiltshire countryside brings me to the Shalborne Soaring Society and a large, empty field. A sign instructs me to drive around the edge, warning that "under no circumstances should you cross the airfield". Several bumpy minutes later, I see a caravan, a wind-sock, several cars and three gliders. The clubhouse is an old bus with a ramp, tables and a kettle. A brief bit of form filling and then a parachute is strapped onto my back and I'm wheeling across the field with an instructor. There's no hoist, so I'm lifted out of my chair and lowered into the front of the two seater glider with its dual controls: I'm going flying!

I thought gliders had to be launched by motor powered aeroplanes. This is the so-called "aerotow launch": the glider is pulled up by a light aircraft with a strong rope which is released when you reach the required height. But it turns out a "winch launch" is far more common. This involves being attached to a winch with a long reel of wire. When the wire gets pulled in, the glider gets the speed to fly into the air like a kite. When you are airborne and almost overhead the winch, you release the cable. This is what they have at Shalborne.

The acceleration is faster than a sports car: 0-60mph in three seconds. It's a strange experience, rushing over the grass and then climbing at a steep angle with no sound other than the wind over the wings. The views are extraordinary - with a crystal clear cockpit, I can see miles over the country. It's incredibly beautiful, and incredibly calming.

Then I'm flying: "you have control", says my instructor. As it's a trial flight, I'm not expected to use the rudder (hand-controlled in an adapted glider, in contrast to the usual foot operation), only the joystick. Move it left and the glider banks to the left; right and you go right; down and as the nose tilts down, you accelerate, up - well, you can guess. The glider is amazingly responsive and it only takes slight movements to get a reaction. We swoop across green fields at some sixty miles an hour and I could stay up here for ever but all too soon the instructor takes control to bring us into land. A gentle bump, a rush across the field and then a car tows us back to the launch point for another flight.

So, two flights of ten minutes for £69. This buys me membership of the club for a month and I can return whenever I wish during the month for more flights. These will cost £8 for the launch and then 25p per minute of flying. It's far cheaper than I'd expected and far easier than I'd imagined. The next stage is to work toward flying solo. I'm hooked.

 

Disabled rights and wrongs

I was complaining to a friend the other day about women using accessible toilets when there were queues for the ladies. "Why shouldn't they use them?" she asked. "Why shouldn't you have to queue?"

Hmmm. Interesting question. It got me thinking about the assumptions I make about my rights. What's reasonable to expect? What's fair?

Is it right that I get a subsidised car? Yes, because without it I wouldn't be able to get around in the country, where few buses are accessible. But what about those people who can't afford a car and are equally stranded by an unreliable transport network? Am I more deserving than them?

What about free seats for a carer at the theatre. The Tobacco Factory in Bristol doesn't offer them. Their response when I queried their approach:

"To Mr Farrow,

 I was passed on your details from a colleague concerning the issues you had raised in terms of Carer tickets for productions that we hold here at the Tobacco Factory.

 I completely understand your frustrations at this current policy, however due to financial constraints we are unable to offer a free ticket to carer’s at this point. We do in all cases of a concession price being available, offer this for a carer, however unfortunately this is not an option for La Traviata as it is a set price.

We would however like to assure you that this is something we are constantly reviewing. Before the release of our current brochure we related with other theatre organizations in Bristol and how maybe as a collective group could offer a set concessions structure, including carer tickets, in the future, and this was received with positive feedback, although not something we could put in place by the time our current season went on sale.

 We will again be looking at this for the next season and will definitely be taking into consideration the feedback that you have raised.

Should I get privileges or advantages just because I'm in a wheelchair? Who decides what's right?

 

Disability and disadvantage

I've been invited to a series of RADAR Leadership days. The first took place last Tuesday. Whilst I consider myself a leader already, I thought it would be a good chance to network and make new contacts. It was.

It's the first "disabled" event I've gone to. I'm still struggling with the idea that I'm disabled. Yes, it's part of my make-up but it's not the foundation, more like eye-liner /guyliner. So it was strange to be at an event where that was indeed our foundation: the one thing that we had in common was that we were all disabled.

And what a range of disabilities. It made me appreciate the advantage of being in a wheelchair: people with invisible disabilities, particularly those with mental health issues, often seem to have a far harder time. I don't need to explain why I'm entitled to use an accessible toilet: people can see. I suppose I encounter a purient curiosity ("how come you're in a wheelchair?") but I don't need to justify certain privileges I might receive.

I got what I wanted from the day: contacts and the possibility of coaching work. I'm keen to work with people who are facing sudden change through serious illness or injury: I've been there, and believe coaching is a useful tool to get people thinking about their futures. But reaching said individuals is hard. Being at the Leadership day made me see an alternative. As part of the Leadership programme, each participant gets to work with a coach over the length of the course. It's my first experience of a disability organisation working with coaches and I reckon it's the way forward. I've asked to join RADAR's books. Now I've got to research who else works in the field...

Speaking up about disability

Just back from my first talk for Inspirational Speakers for Schools to a group of sixth formers down in Poole. The title was "A disability awareness workshop" but with two hours to fill (and after discussions with the head of sixth form), I decided to mix things up.

So we looked at perceptions of and attitudes to disability and had a fascinating debate about what being disabled actually meant. We came to the conclusion that there was no such thing as normal; that in a way, everyone was disabled - everyone had something that they couldn't do very well. I was impressed by the willingness to consider and discuss the issues. I learnt a lot myself.

Then we looked at coping with change, using my own story as simply an extreme example, the impact it's had on me and how I've learnt to cope (or not). Very forthright, direct, refreshing questions...

Oh, it was fabulous to be speaking in front of a group again. It's been too long. Great to challenge and provoke at the same time as be challenged and provoked. More please, especially when I get feedback like this:

"I enjoyed the whole thing as it made me realise that my life could change at any moment and that I just have to adapt to it".

And if you want to get a flavour of what I was talking about, there are some excerpts here on youtube...