Taking my wheelchair to untested heights. Pooping myself.

So I've got this fantastic new wheelchair, see. And it's red and funky and off-road and crowdfunded, see.

And even though the weather has been 'beige' and soggy at best, the mile-wide grin on my face each time we've ventured out, has kinda sizzled its way through the mist. Beamed out like a new lighthouse for the South Coast. Though lighthouses don't shout for joy much. Or travel at four miles per hour. Or take selfies. Or go home after a jolly good trip out. Bad analogy.

Even making tentative steps, so to speak, I've already managed ecstatic bundles of 'first time in years' moments. A snowball fight (see previous blog for a thrilling blow by blow account); a muddy promenade along the cliffs, with my twelve-year-old daredevil son begging me more than once to inch back from the edge; a crunchy wheel spin through soft sand; a whizz along the sand flats; and a rather embarrassing 'back wheel sink' into the wet sand at the water's edge. Briefly marooned. Oops. I make Mrs W so proud.

But now comes the real test. The one I'm pooping myself about. Not literally. That's for another blog.

Tomorrow we're off on holiday. On a plane. And at some point tomorrow - hopefully only at the foot of the plane - I have to surrender my expensive new lifeline to be loaded into the hold. I'll spend the next few airborne hours worrying about my 'Trekinetic' (which needs a name by the way. All suggestions welcome, though I have one in mind). Will it be damaged? Lost? Will they remember I need it delivered on the tarmac? Gah! And the entire flight I'll also be wondering just how they plan to get me to the loo in the very likely event I need a pee. Apparently it's all very awkward. Great.

I'll report back from the sun lounger. All will have gone swimmingly. I promise. I hope.

Joy snatched from the jaws of despair

A challenging few days in the Webb household. As if most of them are straightforward...

Eldest son on crutches with tendonitis. Borrowing an old pair of mine. Ah, those halcyon, dreamy days of still getting round on crutches!

Mrs W pain-killered up to the eyeballs with two slipped discs after a relatively innocuous-seeming tumble down four or five stairs.

Me ok (well, just the pesky Multiple Sclerosis). Younger son ok (well just the chocolate mess on his face and the traditional meltdown over English homework).

Sunday - yesterday as I write - started very very badly for me. 4am alarm to get a boy on crutches ready for a school trip setting off at 5.20am sharp. The sort of chore that Mrs W would routinely do to allow me my extended MS sleep, but there's no way she can drive for a good while. Still, eye-watering pain and all, she hauled herself up to supervise final checklist packing.

Hobbling on my walker to the car through thick snow on the ground and thicker stuff falling. Watching Mrs W carry a heavy bag to the car, because I never can, because a boy on crutches can't. Watching her grimaces and wanting to cry.

Setting off in the blizzard. I've never driven my hand-control car in the dark. Or through snow. Or with an excited son next to me chattering away as if he'd eaten a bowlful of sugar.

Arriving to the minute on time, yay! Cheery, considerate parents besieging the car to help Samuel and to carry his bags. Samuel joining the throng of pupils and adults in what looked like a mass hug against the elements. Like those bonkers penguins at the South Pole. The coach wasn't long and off they crunched.

And me, slumped in the car, helpless and exhausted. I have never felt quite so inadequate as a parent as that moment. Unable to help a (temporarily) disabled son with his luggage, unable even to get out of the car to do the mass bobble-hat and gloves wave-off... Driving home a little teary, though thankfully now in daylight and through lighter snowfall. Slumping back into bed and falling into a deep sleep, only to be woken by my own snoring. Charming.

Fast forward a couple of hours. Now there was lovely, sticky snow outside, a younger son to entertain, a wife to relieve, and my lovely new crowdfunded (thank you!) wheelchair to give a whirl. I haven't been out in the snow for years. Out I could trundle and trundle I did, yay! Threw some snowballs. Took far more hits than I landed. Joyous, hilarious, cold. It was only fifteen minutes, but it was just glorious! My son loved the novelty of me in action. I lapped up his squeals of delight.

OK, this is a bit of a tidal wave of bad health luck engulfing us for a short while. The tendonitis won't last, and slipped discs get sorted. (Ow though in the meantime). That'll just leave my MS and we can cope with that, mostly. I must remember to focus on the things I can do, and not grieve the ones I can't. Snowball fight anyone? My aim is appalling.