Lucky

by Ed Jackson

  ‘The boulder field is next,’ Seb said, standing next to me. ‘We had better continue.’

  I nodded in agreement; the view would still be here in a few hours’ time.

  I had read about the boulder field but nothing could have prepared me for it when a twist in the mountain path revealed its looming presence.

  ‘Oh, shit,’ I said, stopping for a moment. ‘How am I going to get up that?’

  ‘With my help,’ Seb responded.

  Imagine a chunky gravel driveway. Then tip it up to an angle so acute that you can’t believe all the gravel isn’t sliding down to the bottom. Finally, shrink yourself down to the size of a Borrower and try to climb up it. This was what I was facing. To cross the boulder field, you had to step and hop from one boulder to the next and some of the boulders were the size of small cars. One misplaced footing would send your leg plummeting down the gap between them, resulting in a nasty sprain or worse.

  Seb helped pull me up onto the first boulder. While I tried to keep my balance, he surveyed our options.

  ‘That one over there,’ he said, pointing to a boulder to our right.

  Holding onto his arm, I stepped towards the boulder. Using my walking poles to engage the strength from my top half, I pulled my reluctant left leg onto the second boulder and took a moment.

  ‘Maybe that one there,’ I said, pointing to a boulder directly in front.

  ‘No, I think not,’ Seb said. ‘It looks as if it could rock under your weight. That one there is a safer option.’

  I was putting all my faith into Seb, a man I had only met two days ago.

  With the next step, I had to lead with my left leg and was able to push my stronger right leg across to meet it.

  On we went, up this sheer mountain of ancient rock. Seb stuck by my side at every step while also keeping a watchful eye over the rest of our group. I can honestly say I wouldn’t have been able to do it without him.

  When I clambered down from the final boulder, panting from the exertion, we all agreed to stop for half an hour to eat an early lunch. The 6 a.m. group caught up with us shortly afterwards and we were pleased to be summiting together. Packing up, we pushed on, with Seb still by my side, helping me with every step.

  When I occasionally glanced up from staring at my feet, I noticed that the French people who were coming down the mountainside were now tipping their hats at me. They were also saying ‘chapeau’, which means ‘hats off to you’, as they passed our group. Instead of looks of confusion, I was now receiving looks of admiration. Seb’s supportive words had obviously spread both up and down the mountainside.

  Two hours later, after zoning out and concentrating on just putting one foot in front of the other, everyone dropped behind me as we made our way up the final kilometre of the stark grey peak of the mountain. There was no snow or ice to contend with as there had been at Snowdon, but I could honestly say that the climb was the hardest physical challenge I had encountered. Its steepness and duration tested me all the way.

  The summit was covered in loose rocks and I had to concentrate on every step as my trusty walking poles helped with the final few steps. Three thousand feet above sea level and only three more strides to go.

  And then, to cheers all around me, I reached the top. I had done it.

  Looking around over the sprawling alpine range towards Mont Blanc, Seb pointed out the five countries that could be seen from my vantage point. My love for the mountains had solidified and I knew it would remain within me for the rest of my life. To my embarrassment, tears began to form. It was overwhelming to know how far the support of my friends and family had brought me less than a year and a half after my accident. I was so grateful to be alive. I was so grateful to be able to walk again. I knew that I was one of the lucky ones.

  Everyone crowded around me as we congratulated each other. Try as I might, I couldn’t stop my tears. My cheeks flushed as everyone turned to me, expecting me to say a few words.

  I cleared my throat and raised my head to address the eighteen people who had made this journey with me. I had to smile. I had gone from being a tough rugby player who never showed any sort of emotion, to someone who wept at the beauty of being alive at the top of the Alps – and I was okay with that.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said, wiping the tears away. ‘I just remembered that we have to walk back down again.’

  Even though I was laughing along with everyone else, the tears still kept on coming.

  ‘It’s going to be short speech as I’m a bit emotional,’ I said, while wiping my face again. ‘For a long time, I didn’t think that I’d visit places like this again. And that’s why we should never take things like this for granted, because a lot of people can’t do this. Focus on the things in your life that are positive, the things that you already have, not the things that you don’t. It’s been an amazing, positive experience for me and I hope it has been for you.’

  Everyone cheered and we grinned at each other.

  Now we just had to get down the mountain.

  It turned out that getting down was just as hard as getting up. And not just for me. Everyone had to concentrate on their footing as the loose stones meant that in a split second your legs could go from underneath you. This was difficult enough on the way up, but throw gravity into the equation and you could easily see yourself sliding down the mountainside, gathering pace all the way.

  But down we went.

  Strangely, the way back down was just as motivating for me as the way up and this was solely because of two people I had the pleasure of walking with. Damien and Ally were the owners of the tour company that had facilitated the climb. I hadn’t spent much time with them before, but, on the way back down, they took to helping me with the perilous descent with gusto. Across the boulder fields we went, past the place we stayed for the night, until we reached the steep trails that led us back to Buet village.

  As they guided me through the many pitfalls, their story naturally came out. Both of them had enjoyed successful corporate careers but had always longed for something else. Their greatest pleasure came from the mountains. When Damien was offered what should have been a dream corporate job, he turned it down after Ally persuaded him that it was the right thing to do. He wanted to realise his actual dreams, not what everyone expected of him. So, he and Ally turned their backs on that life and set up a company that combined performance coaching with guided tours of their favourite mountain ranges. And they had made a success of it. They also organised fundraising trips for charities, so Damien and Ally’s values had finally aligned with their work.

  All the way down the mountainside, I noticed how everyone in our group was laughing and chatting with each other, helping each other along the way. The mountain had broken any ice that had lingered between this group of mostly strangers and there was a natural camaraderie that normally only comes after years of friendship.

  Speaking to Ally and Damien broadened my horizons of what was possible. It gave me the confidence to start considering whether Lois and I could set up a charity together. The cogs in my head had begun to turn and I couldn’t wait to get back home and speak to Lois about it.

  When we finally reached Buet village, we were all limping after twelve hours on our aching feet. There is a special sort of bond that grows between people when they participate in something this intense. The walk had equalised us, united us. As everyone hobbled to the minibuses that would take us to our beds that night, I felt as if I was amongst my closest friends.

  I was crossing the field next to our house when I had a thought – did I really need these walking poles? Looking down at my hands, I decided to drop them. They landed with a clatter even though the grass was soft. I took a few steps, kept my balance and something magical happened. With every stride, my left leg straightened and began to take its fair share of my weight. My ankle clicked into place and my foot arch began to strengthen and rise.

  Holding my clawed left hand out in front of me, I watched as it unfurled like a buddin
g flower. I hadn’t yet realised that I was dreaming. I looked around – I needed someone else to see this and confirm that it was real, but I was alone. I had to get back to the house and tell Lois what had happened.

  Quickening my pace, with each step I felt my body respond to these new demands. I broke into a jog. Slowly at first, just to test myself. But the uneven, rough grass was no match for me. With each stride my body reacted instantaneously, subtly tilting me in the direction I needed to keep my balance. The wind picked up and blew behind me, pushing me forwards. I began to sprint, faster and faster … I was free.

  I blinked open my eyes and for a moment I was still in the field, strength coursing through my body. I had this dream all the time. In the year and a half since my accident, my mind had adjusted and I limped in all my dreams. But then, in some of them, I would make a miraculous recovery in a matter of moments. I would be back to where I started, able to pick up my old life. If I wanted to.

  I sat up in bed, hoping to shake the disappointment away. I would never run again, I knew that. That didn’t make me miss it any less. Pulling my legs from the bed, I tensed my core as I tried to stand. A spasm hit my left leg and I sat on the edge of the bed again. I stared down at my thighs, my left about a third smaller than my right as the muscle had withered away and never recovered. It was going to be one of those mornings where I couldn’t make the few steps to the bathroom without stretching my limbs first.

  Glancing down, I checked the catheter bag that I wore every night. Almost full. I’d have to get to the bathroom soon.

  I began a series of squats at the end of the bed to try to wake my legs up. My left leg would often lock in the morning and it would take ten to fifteen minutes of repeating these exercises to get it moving again.

  When my legs felt more supple, I hobbled along the edge of the bed until I reached the chest of drawers. Holding on to its side, I swung my left leg in a circle to move it forwards, until I reached the chair next to the bathroom door. From there, I took a step and reached out for the door frame. I had to trace my way around the furniture that edged the room so I would have something to hold on to and not fall. There were no direct routes for me in the mornings.

  Taking off my catheter, I emptied the bag in the toilet and cleaned all of the equipment. I took a shower, the soap slipping from my clawed left hand. Before putting on my clothes, I attached the orthotics to my leg that would lift my left foot and allow me to step forwards rather than swinging my leg around in a semi-circle. Holding on to the bannister, I took each step at a time as I negotiated the staircase. The dogs needed their morning walks and they circled around my legs, eager to get out for an hour.

  Without thinking about it, I walked to the field I had dreamt about. I had my walking poles with me to help steady myself on the uneven terrain. The dogs were off their leads and Molly was bounding farther ahead, while Baz celebrated being out in the crisp winter sun by rolling in the grass.

  I looked down at the poles in my hands. What would happen if I threw them to the ground and tried to run? One step and I’d topple over, probably flat on my face. There was no point even thinking about it. I picked up my pace as I’d lost sight of the dogs when they had crested the hill.

  ‘Baz! Molly!’

  Their excited barks signalled their position and I aimed for it.

  Turning too sharply, my left foot caught the back of my right and I was falling. I dropped my poles, twisted to the side to protect my neck and braced myself.

  The impact hit my shoulder first, then my hip, but my neck was safe. I lay there for a moment allowing my breathing to calm and my racing pulse to quieten. Adrenaline coursed around my body, ready to help me if I needed it.

  It’s okay … you’re okay. This is just a part of your life now.

  Pulling myself up so I was sitting, I called for the dogs. While I waited, I tried to brush some of the mud from my jeans. The dogs raced back to me and Molly circled me protectively. Sometimes, it was as if they knew there was something wrong. Baz padded over and licked my face, which made me grin – now I was covered in mud and dog slobber.

  I pulled myself onto my front and pushed up with my stronger right leg and arm. Grabbing my poles, I hobbled back to the house. Perhaps I’d hit my left hip harder than I’d thought. The cold November air was biting at my hands and as I pulled out the key from my pocket, my right hand seized up. My left hand is always curled around – I call it ‘The Claw’ – so it acts pretty much like a fist. I therefore rely solely on my right hand for anything that requires more finesse than ‘Hulk smash’. If my right hand seizes up in cold weather, I’m pretty much screwed.

  I tried to fish the key out of my trouser pocket and managed to slide it into my palm, but I’d lost all dexterity in my fingers and couldn’t pick it up. That’s how I ended up spending the next half an hour with my hands clamped between my thighs, trying to warm them up so I could get indoors.

  With less time available than I had anticipated, I began to pack up what I needed to attend a talk that evening. Into my bag went a spare catheter, change of clothes and pants in case of an accident. I’d only be away for a few hours but a lot can happen in that amount of time. About six months before, I’d had an ‘accident’ on the A4174 that required me to drive all the way home to shower and change – it wasn’t a wee accident either. Fortunately, my bowels were now a bit more under control, but my unruly bladder still meant I either had to wear a catheter or stay within fifty metres of a toilet. Those were my choices.

  I switched my orthotics for the electrical FES, packed up all the spare batteries and pads for it and waited for Lois to get home from work so she could do up the cuffs of my shirt. Surveying my large backpack, I thought about how I used to take less on a weekend away. All chances of spontaneity had gone.

  Shirt sleeves done, I got into my automatic car, checked my catheter again and drove the ninety-minute journey. I wanted to arrive early so I could scope out where the toilets were.

  As I walked down the carpeted entranceway of the plush building, I recognised an old acquaintance I hadn’t seen for a few months.

  ‘Ed,’ he said, stepping forwards and shaking my hand enthusiastically, ‘you look fantastic. And I heard about your climbs up Snowdon and Buet. You must almost be back to normal now.’

  I suppose none of us ever really knows what lies beneath.

  Chapter 18

  Pathways

  When my younger brother and I were children, we developed an all-encompassing addiction to video games. Hours were spent kneeling nose-close to the TV screen. PlayStation controllers were launched at each other’s heads if there was any perceived cheating or unfair advantage. One time, we argued for so long over Donkey Kong in the backseat of our parents’ car that my dad ordered us to throw our Game Boys out of the window. After pleading with him for half the length of the M4, he wouldn’t relent. So, with many tears and plans to call grandparents to inform them of the depths of our mistreatment, two much loved games consoles were thrown out of the window of our Mitsubishi Shogun.

  When we got home, all of our consoles, games and comic books were taken away and in return we were both given a subscription to the National Geographic. Our mum believed this would encourage us to read and broaden our horizons beyond memorising maps for Golden Eye or the tracks of Mario Cart. We believed it was one step down from child abuse.

  But, much to everyone’s surprise, it worked. Before long, we were both hooked and back outside again building dens in the garden.

  One edition of the magazine in particular has always remained with me – Nepal. So, to be stepping off a plane in one of the countries I’d fantasised about since I was a boy was pretty special.

  It was a month after I had climbed Mont Buet and this time it was just me and Lois journeying together. After two days of travel, three flights and five thousand miles, we arrived in Chitwan, which was to be our home for the next few days. We had been invited over by Neverest Orthopaedics, a charity that was trying to raise
money for a new spinal unit in Nepal. I had heard about them through a family friend who was an orthopaedic surgeon and I’d agreed to go over and visit to help raise awareness. Helping them gave me some purpose. Lois and I hadn’t done anything like this before and weren’t sure what to expect.

  As we made our way through the small corrugated iron shed that served as an airport, Lois nudged me. ‘I think they’re here for you.’

  Following her gaze, I saw a group of people who were beaming at everyone who passed. At the front were our family friends, Geraint and Carole, who had told us about Neverest Orthopaedics and had helped organise the trip for us.

  Stumbling under the weight of my bags, I was already profusely sweating as we approached the small crowd and introduced ourselves. In a flash, we were relieved of our luggage and a flurry of handshakes and namastes ensued.

  ‘I’m so glad you’ve finally made it out here,’ Carole said, as she led me to the cars that were to take us on a tour of Chitwan.

  ‘Who are all these people?’ I asked, trying to keep my voice down.

  ‘Some of the spinal surgeons and doctors who work at the unit, a few local dignitaries and some supporters of the project.’

  I glanced around at Lois who was happily chatting away to our welcoming party. We hadn’t had a reception like this since our wedding.

  ‘Who do they think we are?’ I whispered to Carole.

  ‘There’s not much interest in the spinal unit over here. Anyone who they think can help always gets a grand welcome.’

  ‘Well, let’s get started,’ I said, as I pulled open the car door.

  The first stop was the proposed site for the new spinal unit. Chitwan itself is in the lowlands of Nepal, which is the farthest area from the Himalayas in the north. It has a large national park that borders India and most of the landscape is made of jungle.