1 year on from a complete life reset

1 year on from a complete life reset

Before I reach the first anniversary of my second chance, I wanted to start documenting the latest chapter of my new life since I put it on pause. This is how I’m getting through the biggest challenge of my life.

I’m lucky.

Really f**king lucky.

I’m lucky for many reasons: Not just because I’m surrounded by people who put their own lives on hold to limit the impact of my near-fatal fall, but also how things turned out for me since my life almost came to an abrupt end some 12 months ago.

I don’t think for second that I’m special, different or have had a harder time than anyone else. On the contrary, I know people having a much, much harder time than I: From those with complex PTSD, those living with armed conflict around them (such as young athletes in Afghanistan) or those with young onset Parkinson’s disease.

Over the course of my life, I will have a lot of people to thank.

Friends like Duncan dropped everything to come and make sure I was okay. Some friends like Bags and Dave slept on a hospital floor for days to make sure I was okay

Many ensured I had food, water, money to live (thanks to my mates who kindly donated, and my friend Dawn who started looking at ways to help fund my recovery before I had even come out of the coma) and movement back to the UK once my situation had stabilised.

Some gave up their time to help untangle my complicated personal administration. My house mate Rob and brother Ben phoned around surgeries for hours to find my GP because I had never documented it or shared it. Truth be told, I wasn’t expecting to ever have to fall in such circumstances. I had a few near misses in a 12-year military career but had never broken a bone in my life. The lessons from the aftermath of this accident are numerous and would fill a notebook.

A life ‘stock take’

This injury and the pandemic forced me to look at my life choices in the cold light of day.

No running away from it, but to just see how I’d come to that point and where the same decisions would take me in 5-, 10- and 15-years’ time. Suffice to say, I realised that there were some changes to be made. And I couldn’t go on like a rudderless ship with a clear sense of direction.

A different profession

When I was just about strong enough and my mobility had returned, my vocation - security consulting - stopped overnight.

The pandemic pressed stop on overseas travel for the media and humanitarian sectors and so there was no need to have consultants like me working with organisations who were dealing with much bigger issues such as funding their operations and productions. Panic was manageable for a little while, but it would need quick and decisive action.

At the time, my morale had dwindled from 3 months in hospital and the 6 operations to get some mobility back, and now I would add financial concerns into the mix. I felt like Rocky on the ropes after 10 rounds with Apollo Creed only to watch a fresh-looking Ivan Drago enter the ring!

A new me

Some days, I was short-tempered, grumpy and no fun to be around.

Not being able to vent my frustrations in a useful direction, meant that I’d sometimes get needlessly argumentative with close friends and loved ones. Later reflection would make me feel frustrated with myself over the situation and resolve to make amends. When you can’t see friends in person for months, those frustrations don’t disappear very quickly.

I moved back into London to be with my girlfriend Anna-Liisa. She had been my rock.

She’d organised my repatriation, represented me to medical professionals when I was in a coma, came to see me every day and bought treats everyday to keep my morale up. She had already endured a lot – more than anyone should have to, and so I was determined to get back to being the person she had fallen in love with. And start adding something good and unique to the world, instead of just turning oxygen into carbon dioxide.

Life reminders and lessons from this part of the journey.

1.     Some days, you have to swallow your pride and say sorry for being an ass

Perhaps the most important one in my honest opinion. It is a skill being able to back yourself in difficult conversations, however you do also have to know when you’re being an ass – when to give in and admit I was wrong.

2.     My life right now is the sum total of all my previous decisions added to my privilege

For some people, privilege will be a lot more or less than others. Over the last few months, I’ve been looking closely at what decisions got me to this point and what I need to do in future to prevent putting myself back in a similar place.

3.     Trying to change everything at once is overwhelming and may lead to failure.

By focusing on one thing, I could apply more attention to making it long-term. Trying to simultaneously recover from this injury, change careers and improve my relationships was too much to achieve against a backdrop of a global pandemic. Simply recovering would be a fine indicator of success.

4.     Deeds are better than words

Telling someone you care about them and are thankful is easy, try writing them a letter and see what other things from your to-do list suddenly become more important. ‘Acta non verba’ (actions, not words) is a good motto to live by.

5.     Some people will give you advice whether you asked them to or not.

Some people are better at listening than others. This injury taught me who to approach when you need a different perspective of your habits and decisions.

6.     People are more complex than just being ‘drains’ or ‘radiators’, but sometimes – it helps to decide which category they best fit into.

I found it helped to figure out if someone would energise me or drain some morale when I was managing my mood closer than normal. Knowing that people can jump between categories was also helpful to remember.

7.     Your morale is a measurable value once you’ve figured out what it looks like at both ends of the spectrum.

Some days, I needed to sit, eat junk food and watch rubbish TV - whilst others I wanted to throw heavy weights around in the gym. Holding myself to high standards was good from time to time, but you also have to give yourself a break when recovering from a big mental and physical injury at the same time that a global pandemic is changing the world.

8.     Relying on emails and texts as your primary communication method is flawed as it lacks non-verbal communication (such as tone and body language).

A lesson I learned a few years ago however I’m reminded of it in the current lockdown. I believe we fill in the gaps of non-verbal communication with our own biases when talking to people via email and messages too frequently.

Some days, it’s best to pick up the phone and call them (if you can’t see them in person of course!)

Where I go from here?

In the short term, I have a lot of social capital to rebuild.

I owe a beer, coffee, cheer and morale to many people who dug into their reserves to make sure I was looked after. I figure this will take a long time, be expensive and not happen very quickly with the current situation in the background – but I can deal with that.

I also feel a responsibility to offset the cost of my treatment back to the hospitals that have and are still looking after me (Homerton and Barts’ trusts). I would like this be done through a big physical challenge but not one that will cause undue concern from all those that supported me (my good friend Duncan Roy inspired me to consider rowing around the UK for example – it’ll be testing but adequate risk mitigation can be designed into the challenge)

In the longer term, I have realised that medicine is the next big life challenge I want to undertake.

Coming from an art and design background – and having seen 2 decades pass since I sat my GCSE exams, this could be a long lead-in and require adoption of a new bunch of daily habits to build myself into a viable candidate.

Outside of my recent experiences of intubation and osteogenesis, I think most medical schools would be bemused if my UCAS application landed on their desk.

Onwards…