It’s nearly two years since the embarrassingly stupid accident that turned me into the little old lady I’d hoped I would never become. How I hate that expression, ‘little old lady’!
You could say it was my own fault. What house-proud woman shares her bed with her little dogs? I had done it, to my shame, for years, without any unfortunate incidents. But then came little Minnie, the cuddliest little chihuahua I’ve ever had. She snuggled down under the duvet, tucked herself in close to me, moved a little closer. When I edged away, she moved closer again. I edged away again – and fell out of bed with a resounding thump.
The pain was excruciating and landed me in hospital for a month as the orthopaedic surgeons debated whether to operate on my broken vertebra or leave it to heal itself. I was quite relieved they decided against surgery as slicing into your back around the spinal cord must be a risky business.
I didn’t anticipate, though, how much the pain would continue to be utterly debilitating all these months on. And the impact that would have on my mobility, mood and self-confidence.
Unless you’ve been there, you have no idea how utterly miserable you feel when you realise you may never be able to walk properly again. All my freedom and prized independence just gone.
Now, fearful of leaving the house, I know what loneliness and depression mean.
In those early days after the accident, no matter how hard I tried to obey instructions from friends, family and the inevitable physiotherapists – ‘sit up straight’, ‘stop hunching your shoulders’, ‘walk properly, don’t shuffle’ – I just couldn’t do it. The pain was too great.
Immediately after I left hospital, my boys, bless them, insisted I spend a couple of months in a care home, first in Poole near my older son’s home, then in London where I could be near friends and my second son.
Jenni Murray, pictured attending the press night for Till The Stars Come Down in London last month, says she now avoids invitations because being seen as old has shaken whatever confidence she may have had in the past
Jenni’s dog Minnie, who she describes as the cuddliest little chihuahua I’ve ever had
The older one took me to a shop selling aids for the disabled and supervised the purchase of a rollator – essentially a wheeled walker with an inbuilt seat for when a rest is required. I was reluctant to be seen with such a thing, but he was convinced it would make walking safer than relying only on a stick. Every day I would walk around the home with the physios, feeling sick to my stomach that I couldn’t manage without it. And I admit it helped my balance and eased the pain.
I wasn’t too embarrassed at using it in the care home because pretty much everyone else had one – although they were in their 80s and 90s. At 74, once I was back home, I felt far too young to look so useless. So it sat, folded up, untouched, in my hallway.
I couldn’t bring myself to try it outdoors in my neighbourhood. Everybody knows me and pushing something so obvious feels even worse than walking with a stick – the pity people would have for this once fit, proud, energetic woman?
When I do go out with the stick, I wince at the thought people are whispering to each other: ‘Oh dear, look; poor Jenni Murray.’ They sidle over and say how much they miss me on Radio 4 and ask, tentatively, how I’m getting on? I feel old and finished long before I should.
My social life has suffered too. I often avoid invitations because being seen as old has shaken whatever confidence I may have had in the past. I’m wary of falling and having another injury. The pavements are lethal. Fear I know is trapping me inside my home.
It feels so much safer to just stay inside my house. There, I can walk around unaided because there’s always a bit of furniture to hold onto. I’m careful not to trip on a rug and can stagger upstairs to my bedroom by holding onto the banister with one hand while balancing myself by placing the other hand on the next step up.
When I began using the weight-loss medication, Mounjaro, in September last year, it seemed to help reduce the pain and inflammation but not for long. Now the pain reduction is not enough to make me the confident walker I used to be.
I have no doubt the lack of walking is exacerbating the pain around my back and my hip replacements; the muscles need exercise. Sitting in my comfy chair reading, writing or watching TV is of no help at all in that regard.
Nor is it helpful for my state of my mind. I was never a lonely or depressed person. I’ve always been confident and content with my own company, but that was when I often met friends for dinner, went with them to the cinema and bumped into neighbours walking around the park.
I know my disability is not nearly as severe as some people have to endure. I can drive, get myself to the hairdresser or the nail bar, I don’t need daily help to get up, showered, made up and dressed. But what’s the point of all that when you’re too nervous to take yourself outside?
I know my reluctance to be seen walking with my mobility aid is a form of vanity, but I suspect I’m not the only disabled person who suffers with an element of shame about it. It is, though, quite ridiculous, as pointed out by my elder son who came to spend the weekend with me.
He insisted on opening up the rollator, helping me push it out the front door and down the step. I was amazed at how easily I could walk with it. I didn’t shuffle, I took proper steps. I stood as upright as I could. When I began to tire, I sat down on the little seat attached to the walker.
We walked for an hour and a half, bumping into dog walkers I’d known for years. I sat down for a chat with Mandy and her little Jack Russell and, breathing in the fresh air, the scent of the beautiful trees and the little river, I felt almost my old self again.
Now I’ve promised to do it every other day. First in the company of one of my dog walkers and then just me, Minnie and Maggie. I shall no longer give in to the fear or the vanity – I will make myself well again. Well, better, at the very least!
Who wears 4in heels on a beach?
Amazon founder Jeff Bezos and his wife Lauren Sanchez head ashore for dinner on Ibiza earlier this week
I know those tiny little beige shoes with vertiginous heels are the height of fashion this summer, but, honestly, horses for courses! What silly billy sails around the world in a fabulous yacht and decides to go ashore for dinner in Ibiza dressed to the nines with 4in stilettos? Maybe Lauren Sanchez’s husband, multi-billionaire Jeff Bezos, should have hired a sedan chair to carry her to the restaurant.
Why I’d never work on a Friday 13th
We are, according to a study in the Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, far more superstitious than was previously thought. You don’t have to tell me that. I’ve a rational brain but I’ve never walked under a ladder, never opened an umbrella indoors, I knock on wood, throw spilled salt over my left shoulder and hope never to have to work on Friday 13th.
Cockpit? Not any longer!
A study led by the University of Waterloo in Canada has found female pilots perform better than men under pressure. I’ve only once been aware of being flown by a woman. It was a flight from Manchester to London and one of the cabin crew helped me load a heavy tape recorder into the overhead baggage space. She asked what it was for. I told her I presented Woman’s Hour.
‘You’ll be very interested in our flight then,’ she said. ‘All our cabin crew are women: the chief engineer is a woman, as is the co-pilot and the pilot is a woman.’ I saw all the businessmen sitting around me grasping the arms of their seats in terror.
‘Oh!’ said I. ‘That’s amazing. Will you take me to the cockpit?’ ‘Oh no,’ she smiled. ‘We don’t call it that any more.’
- Apparently, Gen Z is up in arms at news there’s a worldwide shortage of Matcha tea. Originating in Japan, the finely ground tea powder is evidently the ingredient of the moment. I tried it once. It’s bright green, often served as a latte with milk and is disgusting. It tastes as I imagine freshly cut grass would taste. I’ll stick with my café latte, thank you very much.
