Wednesday 28 December 2011

Month 1 - I believe in miracles

Well a belated Happy Christmas to you all, whoever you are out there. I hope your Christmas was as relaxed and relatively pain free as mine! No I don't mean pain free from relatives, I mean pain free from...oh you know what I mean.

Now at this time of year when people say they believe in miracles they are usually talking about the immaculate conception. But in this instance I am not. Granted the virgin birth would definitely be up there in the Top 10 miracles of all time, but in my chart ADR surgery is the highest new entry. And that's what we call backtastic pop-pickers.

Today is my one month milestone. So in the 12 week journey I am a third of the way there! Woo-hoo!! If there is a god then thanks be to him or her. Oh and David Harrison, he deserves another mention and a big fat cigar.

And the big news of the day, even bigger than the big, big news is that I am back in my car driving. Ok my journey wasn't far, a shortage of milk on Boxing Day meant a mercy dash to the local convenience store (admittedly I also couldn't resist the two for one offer on Kettle Crisps. Damn those BOGOF's!). But I drove and it was fine. A bit uncomfortable but hey, I can live with that. I used to drive a Morris Minor many moons ago so believe me I know what uncomfortable driving really feels like and it was nothing compared to that.

But anyway I digress....so guess what the first song was that I heard playing on my stereo in the car when I turned on the engine? "I Believe in Miracles" by The Jackson Sisters. Honestly, I kid you not.

Now you may may not be familiar with this sweet slice of rare groove from 1976, but I urge you to get it into your life...and I defy anyone not to move their booty to it...even a month post ADR surgery.



So how does my iPod know exactly what to play at just the right moment? Its actually rather spooky. I parked my car on the street in London a few months ago and the last song I was listening to before I turned off the engine was "Accidents can happen" by Elvis Costello. When I returned to the car some hours later a coach had decided to plough into the side of me. Not funny iPod. Not funny at all. I'm always a little worried when Adele's "Set fire to the rain" starts to play when I'm driving in the wet. Stranger things have happened, miracles even.

But getting back to the point. Here I am one month down the line after my operation and I feel damn good all things considered.

If anyone had said that this is how I was going to feel after a month I would have taken it every time.

I was convinced that I was going to be a complete wreck for months after the operation so to be walking, sitting, swimming (well kind of...), driving and most importantly laughing, just a month down the line is truly something to be thankful for.

The one other thing that I have been able to do is...err have sex. Now this is probably too much information for most of you (particularly my daughters) so feel free to skip this paragraph. But there is very little information on the internet about how long it is before you can have sex post-ADR surgery, so I think it's important to say something on the subject.



Now I know at this point my girls will be screaming with embarrassment and saying "Dad please stop!!" but I feel that I owe it to anyone reading this who is considering having the operation or has got it scheduled to tell them that yes, sex is possible too, after a month. Not acrobatic that's for sure, in fact I would say that the word that feels most apt and describes the experience best is 'gingerly'. I'm not going to draw you a diagram, but suffice to say everything seems to work as it should. Cue the Jackson Sisters.

Before I had the operation I spent a lot of time on the web trying to research stuff like this and what I should expect to happen after the operation and to be honest what I found out was pretty patchy. I sleep on my side, for example. Nowhere could I find out if I would be able to do this after surgery. The answer, for me at least,  was yes from day 1.

There are some wonderful support groups out there undoubtedly with lots of useful information, but I came to the conclusion that the majority of people who posted on those sites were those for whom surgery had perhaps not been that successful. Now there's no doubt that they need a lot of support and they have all my sympathy, but for somebody like myself who was approaching the operation I found that reading a lot of negative stories simply added to my worries. I read about things not going according to plan, of pain made worse and it just ended up scaring the shit out of me! Where were the success stories? Surely there had to be some. But then why would those people be there? They are living their lives again, probably the last thing on their mind would be to go on an ADR forum. So I was determined to write this blog and whatever the outcome to try and provide a balanced view of my experience, with a dash of humour of course. In my 'old life' pre-ADR I could feel the humour and the laughter being slowly sucked out of me and I was adamant that my 'new life' would see the return of who I really am. Welcome back, it's been a while.

I got an email from somebody yesterday who is scheduled to have an ADR operation in January and they were clearly having exactly the same doubts and worries that I went through. All I can say is that in my case this has been the best possible decision I could have made and my only regret is that I left it 6 years. I'm not saying that everybody has such a positive outcome but there are lots of us out there. And I'm guessing that we all believe in miracles.

Roll on 2012 it's going to be a good year.

Tuesday 20 December 2011

Day 22 - Sticks and stones

Whoever said that sticks and stones may break your bones obviously had never had ADR surgery. Because for us it's clearly shoes and socks that are the troublemaker.

I literally laugh in the face of sticks and stones ha ha ha...but I run scared of shoes and socks (well ok, technically I walk slowly in the opposite direction).

There are two crucial milestones in the recovery from ADR surgery, 6 weeks and 12 weeks.

12 weeks is the daddy, because that's the point at which the bone has completely grafted to the artificial disc and in theory you should be able to use the disc as if it was one of your own. So roll on February 28th.

6 weeks though is important too because that's the point at which your rehab can step up a gear. I cannot wait for that point because I am being driven to distraction by being able to do, well sod all really.

So here we are at 3 weeks, which is halfway to 6 weeks, which is halfway to 12 weeks...or put another way I am a quarter of the way there. Bugger.

Before the operation I read about how frustrating the weeks immediately after the surgery could be and they weren't wrong.

One of the most annoying things is I can't put my own shoes on, unless they are slip on ones. I had to get my long suffering wife to tie my shoelaces this morning. I feel like I'm 4 years old again. As she was tying them I had a flashback to 1968, it wasn't exactly pleasant.

Even getting my socks on is like a military manoeuvre. I first get the socks. Check. Sports socks ideally as they are nice and slippy on the foot and not too tight (the beauty of one size fits all). Check. Roll the top of the sock down the length until it forms a kind of ring doughnut shape. Check. Drop socks to the floor. Check.

Ok now I have to get down on the floor. Check. Start by going down into a kneeling position...kind of like taking communion but without the bonus of free alcohol. Check. Then drop one hand to the side and slowly lower yourself to the floor. Check.  Then roll over onto your back. Check. At this point I feel like my dog, waiting to have his tummy tickled. What a life.

Now gingerly lift each leg and slip the sock over the foot being really careful not to stretch too far.  Check. Then grasp the top of the sock and slide slowly up leg. And then repeat on other leg. Check, check. About 10 minutes later I'm done. The satisfaction is limited and I'm knackered.

There must be a better way than this. What I need is some clever device to assist me...



Ah yes! Now that looks suitably ridiculous. It looks like something you used to have outside your front door for the milkman to put your milk bottles in. Perhaps the decreasing use of the 'chirpy milkman' has led to a surplus of bottle holders. I know!! Let's resell them as "Sock Assisters for ADR Sufferers". Alan Sugar would be proud.

Oh now hang on, what about this one?




Good lord that is sleek, stylish...it is positively glamourous! I want one....now! Gimmee, gimmee, gimmee. No you idiot I'm being ironic. It looks like its been knocked up out of a bent coat hanger and that's being kind.

Well then how about this?



Yes indeedy, its an ingenious two-handed number. You literally spoon yourself into your sock. How chic!! Could you ever imagine that there could be so many wonderful varieties of sock assister?!

Or of course there is always the perennial favourite...the can is a bit of a giveaway though! Something tells me he is rather enjoying the experience a bit too much. Whereas she is looking rather bemused and thinking..."is this really what I signed up for?!"


One option of course would be to go without socks altogether.

My daughters are very keen on One Pieces. Basically a grown up baby grow if you're not familiar with this  latest 'fashion'.

I'm not sure I would wear a traditional one piece, strangely I've always been rather sensitive about being laughed at. But on the other hand I've always been rather fond of fancy dress.

I think I have the answer...the "sick-as-a-dog" outfit would solve my shoes and socks dilemma and my obviously sick demeanour would still command sufficient sympathy from passers by. Sorted.


And if I play my cards right I may even get my tummy tickled. Woof!

Monday 12 December 2011

Day 14 - Tis the Season to be Jolly!

Well that's easy for you to say, but if you're recovering from ADR surgery then it's the season to be stiff and sore and swollen. And just a little bit constipated. Sorry probably a bit too much information. Hope you weren't munching on a mince pie.

It's 2 weeks since surgery and I'm feeling ok. Not jolly, just ok. How can you possibly be jolly when your recuperation is plagued with the constant regurgitation of 'classic' Christmas songs?

Now don't get me wrong, I'm not bah humbug or a grumpy old git when it comes to Xmas at all. I get teary eyed at the mere mention of Noel's Christmas Presents, and our hall has been decked with holly (well kind of..) for a week already. But the songs do wind me up.

I grew up in probably the 'golden age' of Christmas songs. Slade, Wizzard, Greg Lake, Mud, John and Yoko, BandAid, and Wham, to just name a few...but the problem with that is it means I've had over 30 Christmases to hear these crackers (sorry couldn't resist)...over and over and over and over. By which time you are ready to kill more than just the turkey.


"John you look a fucking twat..." said Yoko, looking for somewhere to hide.

For my daughters, still in their teens , they can probably only remember about 10 years of Christmases, so these songs are still relatively fresh to them.

But where are the new 'classics'? Where are the songs that they'll grow up with and then become acutely irritated to hear in a shopping centre in early October?

Now I know what you're going to say...the Pogues and Kirsty MacColl. No, that was released in 1987 for god's sake!! And Kirsty has been dead for 11 years, RIP.

Hang on do I hear a shout of Mariah Carey at the back? Well the sugary aural gymnastics of 'All I want for Christmas' by the Careymeister is already 17 years old. It's true! I swear!

So do we really think that 'Under the Mistletoe' by the Bieber will still be playing 10 years from now? In some illicit South American torture chamber perhaps, but in Westfield? I doubt it.

So is X Factor to blame for the demise of the Christmas single? Well of course in the last few years the coveted Christmas number one has sadly come to be synonymous with the ITV show.

So does this year's X Factor offering have a cheeky festive slant? Hmm, not sure that Damien Rice's Cannonball really ticks that box..even sung by those little muffins Pick and MIx (please shoot me if I hear them described as 'muffins'  one more time) . Still I'm not one to prejudge, so let's take a look...


Stones taught me to fly
Love, it taught me to lie
Life, it taught me to die
So it's not hard to fall
When you float like a cannonball


Oh dear! What a golden missed opportunity! All Damien had to do was switch the word Cannonball to Snowball then he might have been in with a half a chance. He might live to regret that error.

Even Coldplay gave it a go last year with their valiant (but crap) effort Christmas Lights. But they were clearly too embarrassed to play it live at the X Factor last night. Good work with the wristbands though guys.

But coming in as the underdog but fast moving into contention for the top spot this year, is 'Wherever You Are' by the Military Wives. It's got a lot going for it...a fine bunch of ladies led by a speccy young choir master mixed with a nice dash of sentimentality. Be honest though, whatever the outcome it'll be forgotten by February.

Ultimately there is a positive to all of this though. Being at home this year means that I get to do all of my Christmas shopping on line, and to be there when the delivery man arrives.

But all I want for Christmas is a new back. Could be a song in that.

Thursday 8 December 2011

Day 10 - I'll show you mine...

...if you show me yours?

No, no, no, put that away I'm not talking lady bits, I'm talking scars of course!


No, scars!! Not Scar.

So why the sudden interest in areas of fibrous tissue that replace normal skin after injury? Well today was the day I got to take off my wound dressing and see my soon to be scar for the first time, and if you play your cards right I might give you a flash later missus.

There's nothing more manly than a scar. Better even than a tattoo, everyone's got a tattoo these days, but only the brave have got a scar.



One of the best scenes in Jaws has got to be the drunken exchange between Quint and Hooper when they compare scars. Yes more memorable even than the first appearance of the rubber shark.

For those of you unfamiliar with it, or just too young to have seen it, here's a cheeky clip...

HOOPER
Look here. (extends a forearm)
Steve Kaplan bit me during recess.
Quint is amused. He presents his own formidable forearm.
QUINT
Wire burn. Trying to stop a backstay from taking my head off.
HOOPER
(rolling up a sleeve)
Moray Eel. Bit right through a wet suit. Brody is fascinated. Quint and Hooper take a long pull from the bottle.
QUINT
Face and head scars come from amateur amusements in the bar room This love line here... (he bends an ear forward) ...that's from some crazy Frenchie, came after me with a knife. I caught him with a good right hand right in the snot locker and laid him out amongst the sweetpeas.
HOOPER
Ever see one like this?
He hauls up his pants leg, revealing a wicked white scar.
HOOPER
Bull shark scraped me while I was taking samples...
QUINT
Nothing! A pleasure scar. Look here --
He starts rolling up his own dirty pants leg.
QUINT
Slammed with a thresher's tail. Look just like somebody caressed me with a nutmeg grater...
Brody is drawn into their boasting comparison. He secretly checks his own appendix scar, but decides not to enter the contest.
HOOPER
I'll drink to your leg.
QUINT
And I'll drink to yours.

Ha! That would be me, just like Brody wondering whether to pile into the contest with my very impressive ADR scar.

So are you ready for a peek at my scar? I must warn you, it's not a pretty sight, the swollen stomach that is, not the scar, which shows excellent sewing skills by Mr Harrison.



So what do you think? Is it likely to impress anyone? Probably not. 

My daughter told me that after the operation I could tell people I got attacked by a shark.  Yes indeed, a very neat and careful shark.

I don't know what it is about scars. For me they bring back vivid memories of fairground rides on Bonfire night. 

You'd be there with Susie your date, nervously wondering whether it is was ok to put your arm round her on the dodgems, when out of nowhere he appears...scar face. Your heart sinks. Bollocks, why did he have to pick my dodgem?! 

Yes there he is, standing on the back of your car one arm curled around the dodgem pole the other arm (muscly of course) draped casually across Susie. And what is the first thing she sees when she looks up at him? A damn big scar. Goddamn it! How the hell can I compete with that?! Answer...you can't. 

And don't even think about pulling up your jumper and pointing desperately at your belly and shouting "hey! think you're hard mate? Well take a look at this baby. Got this from a guy called Harrison in Windsor. Cut me up with a scalpel and then put his hand right inside and pulled out a bit of my spine!" Forget it. You've lost the fight before it even starts. And then in a blink of an eye he's gone again, leaving the faintest whiff of beer and grease lingering in the air, and stealing away Susie's heart forever. Sigh.  

At school I remember there was a phase when the 'lads' would spend their maths lessons carefully inscribing the name of their latest beau into their arm with a compass. It was terribly hard for me to suppress the urge to shout "Be careful Barry! I really don't think that compass is sterilised!" ...an early sign of my latter day obsession with hand steriliser.

I would watch in silent fascination as the blood oozed from their freshly scoured arms and then days later standing in the dinner queue I'd look in quiet admiration at those proudly displayed scabs, which would eventually turn into gloriously amateur scars.

I guess it was just lucky for the 'lads' (and their arms) that most of the girl's names back then seemed to be nice and short. Liz, Tina, Sam, Sue, Jane, Wendy, Pam, and so on. I did feel sorry, however, for one particular lad who had the misfortune to have a crush on Loretta, which is not only a longer name but easily misspelt. He made the school boy error (not too surprising really given that he was a school boy) and carved the name 'Lorretta' into his forearm. He proudly showed Loretta his dripping limb straight after maths, but she was so aggrieved at his lack of attention to detail that she immediately 'chucked him'.  A lesson to us all.

So maybe my new scar won't win any drunken contests deep in the bowels of shark catching boats, or impress the lads in the dinner queue, but it will always be a reminder of life post-ADR. Which will always be good enough for me.

Tuesday 6 December 2011

Day 8 - A week is a long time...

Well here we are, a week after surgery.

Now there's an old saying that a week is a long time in politics. First coined I believe by that good old boy Harold Wilson. Never seen without his pipe of course.


Now tell me, when was the last time you saw anyone smoking a pipe? I bet you can't, because people just don't do it anymore do they?

I think it's rather a shame.

Of course I know it's totally unhealthy, but it can be such a good look! And the smell of pipe tobacco is really rather good.

Hang on I can hear the rumblings of discontent...well check this out!!


Yes!!! Look at that baby!!!

You can always rely on Robert Downey Jr to push things to the absolute max and that is a corker!

Now I know what you're thinking, this is not one for the ladies...but maybe it's time to think again...

And a pipe can make you more intelligent. Fact.


Hmm I think I know what to put on my Christmas list!

Anyway I digress...so where were we. Oh yes, well if a week is a long time in politics I would argue that it's even longer in ADR.

It's hard to think that it was only this time last week that I was going down to the operating theatre, not really sure what the future held, not really daring to hope that things could get better (ah there's another pound in the kitty for Poundland).

But here I am a week later and my dodgy disc, beautifully referred to as wet cardboard by my surgeon, is gone forever and I have a sparkly new M6-L nestling deep inside me.

So is too early to dream, to dream that wonderful dream, of being able to jump, climb, run, row, dance or lift suitcases?

Yes it may sound trivial, but one of the things I look forward most of all to being able to do is lift suitcases. Ever since my problem started when we go on holiday I have to leave all the lifting to my long suffering wife and daughters. It's particularly embarrassing at check in at  the airport because there they are heaving these heavy cases onto the conveyor belt and all I can do is stand by nonchalantly and watch. I can feel the eyes of the check in assistant boring into me and I know she's thinking..."you complete bastard". I wish I could wear a sign round my neck which says, "I've got a bad back, I'm not allowed to carry them! Honestly!"

And then it doesn't end there. I can guarantee that when we get on the plane I'll be standing next to somebody who needs a hand getting their case into the over head locker. Ah there she is now...


So he or she will turn round and ask me if I can help and I'll have to say apologetically but firmly, no. I have a bad back you see. And they look me up and down and....uh oh, here comes that look again "you complete bastard!".

You see bad backs aren't obvious. In fact quite the opposite you look perfectly normal most of the time. So people assume you should be able to do the things that 'normal' people do. And god do we wish that we could. In fact we dream of being able to lift suitcases. Well I do.

And then when it comes to sitting down on the plane I open up my cabin bag (the lightest one I could possible find of course) and pull out....yes you've guessed it...my cushion! Yes my trusty cushion not only used to go everywhere with me at home but it was even an international traveller.  And the people in the row behind me see me getting my cushion out and I hope that they immediately think to themselves...of course, he must have a bad back? Hah! Do they hell as like! No, they think...hmm he must have piles.

But a week is a long time in ADR and I don't have a bad back anymore. Just you wait and see.

Sunday 4 December 2011

Day 6 - Easy like Sunday?

That easy listening classic 'Easy' by the Commodores plays on the radio....


Boy those dudes really knew how to dress! Nice.

Know it sounds funny
But I just can't stand the pain...


Yes all right Lionel, don't rub it in mate! Cheers, thanks for reminding me...

That's why I'm easy
I'm easy like sunday morning


I never really understood that lyric, was Lionel laid back? Indecisive? Slightly simple? Or sexually open to all offers?

Either way I think perhaps the hardest thing about ADR is going to be having to consume the mind numbing combination of daytime radio with the ubiquitous diet of cookery, gossip, house buying and antiques to be found on daytime TV.

I am proud to say that I am yet to succumb to Jeremy Kyle...but I'm sure it's only a matter of time.

Yes of course the operation itself and the pain is not pleasant, but once those initial days are over you've then got weeks of slow recovery ahead of you...and weeks of Homes under the Hammer, Flog It, Bargain Hunt, Dickinson's Real Deal, Loose Women, Cash in the Attic and let's not forget the daddy...Deal Or No Deal.

Thank god I have this blog to fall back on. Otherwise my mind would be at risk of becoming as degenerated as my disc.

I need a plan. I need a routine that doesn't involve me counting the minutes until Come Dine Wth Me begins.

I always wanted to write a screenplay, now would be a perfect time wouldn't it? And I have hundreds of old photos that need scanning in...I've got a ton of things to sell on eBay...I've got Christmas presents to buy (on line of course!)...

Hang on....dee doo, dee doo, dee doo, dee doo, dee doodle doo doodle doo....isn't that the theme tune to Antiques Roadshow?

Sorry I think its time for me to take my medication, and then take a little rest, in front of the TV perhaps with a nice cup of tea and a Jammie Dodger.

Saturday 3 December 2011

Day 5 - It's a bloody miracle

Well it is! There's no other way to describe it.

They slice your stomach open, peel you apart, move your giblets out of the way and hey presto there's your spine!! They scrape out your bad disc, jack up the vertebrae, cut a groove in the bone top and bottom and slide in the magic new M6-L disc. then they sew you up and in the blink of an eye you're good as new!!

Well ok that is a massive over simplification but it's not far off the mark.

And then less than 24 hours later you are out of bed and walking.

Like I said, a bloody miracle, and that in a nutshell is ADR.

Now the disc in your back is a bit like an inflatable Jammie Dodger biscuit that's been dunked very slightly in a nice cup of tea.  Ok not a particularly elegant analogy I'll grant you, but stay with me here. 

Most of the time these lovely biscuits get squished together but just bounce back to their original shape. But occasionally they squish out their jam (that would be a slipped disc or a prolapsed disc) and sometimes they get a bit old and crumbly and start to get thinner and thinner (that would be Degenerative Disc Disease or DDD). 

Now I'm lucky, yes lucky, because I only had one dodgy disc. After that fateful trip to Portugal when I got back home they did an MRI scan and found that I had Degenerative Disc Disease (DDD) in my L4-L5 disc (that's the disc just above the top of your bum) and it had a bit of a prolapse for good measure. Over the last 6 years my DDD has slowly got worse until after my most recent scan they told me that it was now reaching a critical point. If I wanted to have ADR I needed to get my ass in gear and get it done. If I didn't have it done then my next option would be a fusion, and that's a whole different flavour of biscuit.

So I made the decision. Bring on the ADR.

Now have you seen that Ridley Scott classic film Alien?

If you have then I can guarantee the scene that sticks most in your memory will be that moment when the alien bursts out of John Hurt's chest. That'll teach you for eating chinese straight after having an alien stuck to your face.

 But going into my operation I couldn't get that image out of my head, not the perfect mental preparation.

When the time finally arrived I took my camera into the operating theatre and asked if they would mind taking a few photos for me. The anaesthetist told me that in 25 years this was the first time anyone had asked this....does that make me really weird?!!

Looking at the photos afterwards you know, I wasn't so far away from Alien after all. See what you think...

So here is John Hurt, err no that would be me, ready for the big scene. As you can see the alien is still attached to my face.




This is the M6-L disc that they're going to put into my spine. Not as tasty as a Jammie Dodger but will last for 50 years in the biscuit tin and still be good as new.




And this is the M6 toolbox...or as I like to think of it a 21st Century Meccano set for Billionaires.


And here he is, yes it's the star of the show, Mister David Harrison!!!


 No they're not drilling for oil, this is all to make sure that the disc is inserted correctly...



Ok, these next ones aren't for the squeamish. This is my alien nightmare come alive...


Did somebody say they'd like a close up? Well it would be rude not to oblige...


All done? Alien removed? Then let's stitch him back up...


Almost there...


And there you have it.

An ADR operation John Hurt stylee.

And all done in less than two hours.

Like I said it's a bloody miracle. Particular emphasis on the bloody.

Friday 2 December 2011

Day 4 - Welcome home...

Home is love.

Home is my family.

Home is where there's no incontinence sheet on the bed.

Home is where there's no Gideon bible in the drawer by my bed.

Home is where the TV is wide and thin, not square and fat.

Home is where I'm finally able to have a poo. No, honestly.

Home is where my dog thinks he's a cat and my cat thinks he's a dog.

Home is where the food is made the way I love it.

Home is the beginning of my new life.

I'm so happy to be home.

Day 3 - Things can only get better...

Things can only get better, at least that's what D-Ream and New Labour tried to tell us back in the day.

Some things are also just best forgotten...and that outfit really was ill advised. To be fair though anyone who has Dr Brian Cox playing keyboards for you can't be all bad.



When you're first coming to terms with a back problem you tell yourself all the time that things can only get better. In fact if I had a pound for every time in the last 6 years I told myself that things can only get better, I could now get a full basket of very reasonably priced items at Poundland. Luckily I work in Hemel Hempstead, so I also have an excellent selection of said outlets to choose from.

After each episode as you slowly recover you begin to convince yourself that perhaps this time will be different and your back problem will not come back and that life really will get better again.

But then it happens again. And it always seems to be when you're doing things which involve virtually no strenuous activity at all. I remember one of the occasions my back went was whilst cleaning my daughter's gerbil cage. If only they'd died sooner everything could have been different.

It's a cliche but it's true. If you've never had a back problem you really can never understand how fundamentally it impacts everything you do. It's on your mind, or at least in the back of your mind literally all of the time. It effects your work life, home life, sex life...and it effects the lives of those around you too.

Then after a while you find yourself doing these ridiculous things because you live in fear of your demon, your back.

For example, I've got used to carrying round a cushion to sit on when I drive my car, and then when I leave the car I put it in a special bag and take it with me so that I can sit on it at the cinema or a restaurant, or even a gig. The last concert I saw just before my operation was The Cure at the Albert Hall...I took my cushion. Very bloody rock and roll. And it wasn't even a black cushion (just a little joke for any goths reading this).

At one stage it got so bad that I had even tied a piece of string to the cushion and then when I sat down I would tie the other end to my belt buckle, just to make sure that I didn't forget it and leave it behind. Even writing this I'm wondering why my family didn't consider sectioning me. Then one day at a restaurant I got up angrily to complain about the length of time we'd been waiting for our meal and completely forgot about the cushion. I stormed across the restaurant my cushion bouncing along behind me, leaving my family in acute embarrassment. God how they suffered.

I got quite attached to that cushion, literally as you can see. But these things act almost like a comforter, your security blanket, the thing that will keep you safe and stop your demon returning to make your life a misery.

It's served me well but I'm still looking forward to burning that damn cushion when I get home.

Thursday 1 December 2011

Day 2 - And you may ask yourself...well, how did I get here?

Someone once said, you never know what shit life is going to throw at you. Or in the case of poor Ann Hodge, what meteorite, but that's another story.

In my 'old life' (I like how that sounds!) I often felt like that, as if I was just waiting for the shit to happen. I often had that old Talking Heads track "Once in a Lifetime" going round in my head. You know the one....yes you do...


"You may find yourself living in a shotgun shack,

And you may find yourself in another part of the world,

And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile,

You may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife,

You may ask yourself, "Well, how did I get here?"


Life seemed accidentally good, a bit too good to be true. It was only a matter of time before the bad stuff came knocking.

Well it finally arrived at an Easyjet check in desk on the way to a family holiday to Portugal. Well you can't say that life doesn't have a sense of humour.

Up to that point I'd been in good shape, but ignorantly so. I didn't do the things then that I should have done, the stretching, the core strength, the posture, etc, etc. But how many people do? At least until they are forced to.

I wasn't a gym freak or anything, but I was fit and played tennis to a good standard. I could lift up my kids and make sandcastles with them on the beach in Portugal. Well ok it was just me making the sandcastles, but you get my point.

So there we were at check in and I've just bent over to lift the case onto the conveyor belt when it happened. Now there are some defining moments in life, the shooting of John Lennon, the day Diana died, 9/11, 7//7, the death of Michael Jackson and Amy Winehouse. So did you spot the happy memory in that list? Death and despair seem to make a much bigger impact on us than life and happiness. Note to self in new life...give the good memories more space than the bad ones.

Now i'm certainly not suggesting my back compares in any shape or form with global tragedies like those above, but in my personal world that moment at Luton airport was one of my defining moments that I'll never forget.

I can still feel the pain in my back like it was today. I can still remember how shit scared I was because I'd not felt anything like it before. I can remember walking in agony to Boots and swallowing a couple of Nurofen and hoping everything was going to be alright. What a delusional twat.

So I'm looking at my wife and saying that I don't think I can get on the plane, and my two daughters are looking at me with tears in their eyes because they think their holiday is about to get canned.

So I reluctantly get on the plane and whilst Easyjet may not be the most comfortable airline in the world I don't think I can really blame them for this horror of a flight. But when I get to Faro I can't even walk, the pain is unbelievable. So my wife has to call the medics to get me into a wheelchair and I'm off to hospital. Welcome to Portugal my ass.

So I get dosed up on a cocktail of painkillers, anti-inflammatories and sedatives and spend 2 weeks laid out before making the painful journey home. Now at this point I don't know what's wrong with me, as far as I'm concerned it's something that will hopefully clear up in a couple of weeks and life can get back to normal.

You see the problem with back problems is that you think they will go away...eventually. And for many people they do. But how long should you wait before you think, well is this going to go away? Ever? Is it a year? Two, maybe three? Well in my case it was another six years before I figured that actually this was never going to get better.

6 years....that's two more than Michael Jackson's doctor got for killing him. Not sure whether this is relevant but it sure is BAD. Maybe time to think about learning to Moonwalk.

Yesterday I gave thanks to my surgeon, but the biggest thanks must go to my long suffering wife. Life is hard for the person with the problem but it's easy to forget how hard it is for the people who care for you. My wonderful wife knows only too well that I have her to thank for everything. I wouldn't be here today if it wasn't for her strength and love through some very dark days.

The bonus is she cooks like a dream. The food here in hospital isn't bad, but it can't compare with the fried noodles she brought me last night! Love you.

Wednesday 30 November 2011

Day 1 - The first day of the rest of my life...

The first day of the rest of my life? Ok it's a cliche I know, but I'm guessing that most people who have had Artificial Disc Replacement or are considering it (now to be known simply as ADR...my new life is too short to be typing that out in full!) are hoping that it will change their life forever. I know I was.

Two days ago, the 28th November 2011, I finally had my ADR operation, so it's not quite the first day. But yesterday doesn't count as life was wonderful simply thanks to my ability to press a button and get morphine on demand, guilt free!

So today my morphine is gone and I have a clear head and fingers that can type, so today will officially be the first day of the rest of my life and it's comforting to know that it will be better than Ann Hodges.

57 years ago this very day in Sylacauga, Alabama, Ann Hodges was injured when a 4kg meteorite crashed through the roof of her house hitting her on the hip. What a bummer!

What I find somewhat ironic about the picture of her injury is that it bears some resemblance to my own, and her doctor is sporting a damn fine bow-tie.

Don't worry I have some very nice photos of my own to share with you later...

The path that leads people to having an ADR operation is different for everyone, but I suspect we all have the same dreams of a life where the first thing on your mind when you wake up isn't your pain.

Life slowly but surely begins to revolve around your back problem until finally you realise that you've reached a point where your life is your back problem.

That process for me took 6 years, but once I got to that point I knew I had to try and change things for the better, whatever the risks. That point was only 3 months ago, and here I am today with a new disc and at the start of getting back to life.

I should start by thanking my fantastic surgeon David Harrison, from the Princess Margaret hospital in Windsor. You know you've got the right guy when everyone at the hospital from the anaesthethist to the nurses to the lady who brings your cup of tea talks about him in such reverential terms. Unlike other surgeons I met David exudes confidence without it becoming arrogance or conceit. He seems to be in this for us and not for himself....a self publicist he is not.

He met my wife very briefly but then remembered her rather unusual name several days later. It might not seem important but its little things like this which show he genuinely seems to care about his patients.

So before I go through my experience of this week I guess I need to first go back to the beginning of my story....the dark days.

But let's leave that for tomorrow, today is the first day of the rest of my life and today is only going to be positive and about moving forward.