Kitchen fall brought me back down to earth as I deal with broken ribs
My paralysed leg slipped, and I landed full force on my side, smashing into a table before bouncing to the floor and hitting my head.
I knew instantly something was wrong. I couldn't move.
However, I could reach my phone, so I managed to message for help.
I lay there for 20 minutes on the floor until a friend with a spare key arrived. Then the ambulance came.
And just like that, I was back in hospital. CT scans, IV lines, heart monitors, painkillers. One minute I was planning a road trip; the next I was flat on a trolley in the resus department, blinking at the ceiling lights I've seen too many times before.
The diagnosis: two broken ribs. My first. And of course, they're on my paralysed side, where everything is more complicated.
When the doctors said it would take eight weeks to heal, I could barely process it. Eight weeks is an age in this body. In this life.
Falls are something I live with daily. They're an ever-present risk. Every step, every uneven pavement, every slippery floor there's a split-second possibility that my world could turn again.
At the spinal cord hospital, the wards were full of people whose lives had changed because of a fall. We don't talk about it much, but it's one of the most common reasons people with injuries like mine are caused.
What makes this harder is that it happened so fast. One second I was moving through my day, groggy from jet lag, sure, but functioning.
The next, I was in survival mode. It's not just the fall that hurts. It's the trauma it triggers.
The ambulance lights. The questions. The scans. The smell of hospital soap. The sound of the machines. It all takes me straight back to the worst days, to the mistake that caused my spinal cord injury in the first place. An injury I still believe 100 per cent should never have happened.
And so, I find myself back in limbo. I should be in Edinburgh. I was looking forward to taking part in The Capital Conversation, sitting on stage alongside Rhona and Archie.
Instead, I was patched in via Zoom from my sofa, propped up by cushions and codeine. I'm proud of the Edinburgh University team who made that happen, they didn't need to, but they did. That small kindness meant a lot, I also wanted to support Archie.
I should be visiting friends across Scotland. Playing golf. Breathing in the cool Highland air. But instead, I'm in my flat in London, bruised and broken (again), looking out the window and trying to come to terms with another detour I didn't choose. This is one of the hardest parts of living with a spinal cord injury. Not just the physical limits, but the unpredictability.
The fact that everything can change in a blink. You plan a week. A conversation. A game. A trip. And then suddenly, it's a hospital corridor and someone asking if you know what day it is.
I've had a few messages from friends who've broken ribs before, all of them say it's brutal.
No comfortable position. No quick fixes. No shortcuts. Just time, and patience, and learning to breathe through the pain.
Another bump in the road, then. Another test. Another chance to practise resilience whether I feel ready or not. I'm tired of the tests. But I haven't given up. I can't. Because somewhere beyond the frustration, there's still a belief in the life I'm trying to rebuild.
This fall has grounded me, literally and metaphorically. But I'll get up again, like I always do. Slowly, carefully, stubbornly. Not because I'm brave or special or built differently. Just because I have to. And because I've learned that even when you can't move forward in the way you hoped, you can still find a way to move in thought, in connection, in spirit.
Even when your body breaks again, you can still show up with those core values that guide you everyday.
As I laid in hospital opposite a 93-year-old lady who had also fallen I kept thinking maybe this was a sign to slow down, I had moved into human doing rather than human being recently and felt a wave of frustration come over me as I thought this should not have happened.
So, as the weekend comes I will try to be kind to myself around the fall and reframe this as a point of rest and recovery from my recent travels.
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The Herald Scotland
2 days ago
- The Herald Scotland
Kitchen fall brought me back down to earth as I deal with broken ribs
My paralysed leg slipped, and I landed full force on my side, smashing into a table before bouncing to the floor and hitting my head. I knew instantly something was wrong. I couldn't move. However, I could reach my phone, so I managed to message for help. I lay there for 20 minutes on the floor until a friend with a spare key arrived. Then the ambulance came. And just like that, I was back in hospital. CT scans, IV lines, heart monitors, painkillers. One minute I was planning a road trip; the next I was flat on a trolley in the resus department, blinking at the ceiling lights I've seen too many times before. The diagnosis: two broken ribs. My first. And of course, they're on my paralysed side, where everything is more complicated. When the doctors said it would take eight weeks to heal, I could barely process it. Eight weeks is an age in this body. In this life. Falls are something I live with daily. They're an ever-present risk. Every step, every uneven pavement, every slippery floor there's a split-second possibility that my world could turn again. At the spinal cord hospital, the wards were full of people whose lives had changed because of a fall. We don't talk about it much, but it's one of the most common reasons people with injuries like mine are caused. What makes this harder is that it happened so fast. One second I was moving through my day, groggy from jet lag, sure, but functioning. The next, I was in survival mode. It's not just the fall that hurts. It's the trauma it triggers. The ambulance lights. The questions. The scans. The smell of hospital soap. The sound of the machines. It all takes me straight back to the worst days, to the mistake that caused my spinal cord injury in the first place. An injury I still believe 100 per cent should never have happened. And so, I find myself back in limbo. I should be in Edinburgh. I was looking forward to taking part in The Capital Conversation, sitting on stage alongside Rhona and Archie. Instead, I was patched in via Zoom from my sofa, propped up by cushions and codeine. I'm proud of the Edinburgh University team who made that happen, they didn't need to, but they did. That small kindness meant a lot, I also wanted to support Archie. I should be visiting friends across Scotland. Playing golf. Breathing in the cool Highland air. But instead, I'm in my flat in London, bruised and broken (again), looking out the window and trying to come to terms with another detour I didn't choose. This is one of the hardest parts of living with a spinal cord injury. Not just the physical limits, but the unpredictability. The fact that everything can change in a blink. You plan a week. A conversation. A game. A trip. And then suddenly, it's a hospital corridor and someone asking if you know what day it is. I've had a few messages from friends who've broken ribs before, all of them say it's brutal. No comfortable position. No quick fixes. No shortcuts. Just time, and patience, and learning to breathe through the pain. Another bump in the road, then. Another test. Another chance to practise resilience whether I feel ready or not. I'm tired of the tests. But I haven't given up. I can't. Because somewhere beyond the frustration, there's still a belief in the life I'm trying to rebuild. This fall has grounded me, literally and metaphorically. But I'll get up again, like I always do. Slowly, carefully, stubbornly. Not because I'm brave or special or built differently. Just because I have to. And because I've learned that even when you can't move forward in the way you hoped, you can still find a way to move in thought, in connection, in spirit. Even when your body breaks again, you can still show up with those core values that guide you everyday. As I laid in hospital opposite a 93-year-old lady who had also fallen I kept thinking maybe this was a sign to slow down, I had moved into human doing rather than human being recently and felt a wave of frustration come over me as I thought this should not have happened. So, as the weekend comes I will try to be kind to myself around the fall and reframe this as a point of rest and recovery from my recent travels.
The Herald Scotland
2 days ago
- The Herald Scotland
Force behind the creation of Scotland's first children's hospice dies
Died: May 10, 2025 Nancy Blaik, who has died aged 88, was a prolific charity volunteer and a driving force behind the creation of Scotland's first children's hospice in the 1990s. Born in Wallyford in East Lothian to parents Agnes and Angus Geekie, Nancy had two siblings, Christina and James, both of whom predeceased her. Growing up near Canonmills, where she went to school, Nancy entered her first employment at 15 years old, working as an office assistant in the National Farmers Union. She later becoming a highly skilled audio typist in the medical microbiology department of Edinburgh University. Despite a difficult start in life due to deprivation and wartime family stress, Nancy, who was blind from childhood, achieved so much in working for others. In 1977 she welcomed her beloved son Daniel into the world. Unfortunately, at the age of just two Daniel was diagnosed with, and profoundly disabled by, the metabolic disease Leighs Encephalopathy, a severe, progressive, neurological disorder which meant he could only move his eyes and mouth. As a result, Nancy took on the role of Daniel's full-time carer throughout his childhood, as well as being his devoted mother. Shortly after Daniel's diagnosis Nancy became involved with, and actively raised funds for, a small charity called Children Living with Inherited Metabolic Diseases (CLIMB). It was through CLIMB that she became aware of Martin House children's hospice in Yorkshire, where she started visiting with Daniel and her husband Jack for respite. In 1988, Nancy and Jack, along with some other parents who all regularly travelled the hundreds of miles from Scotland to Martin House for precious care and respite for their seriously ill children, got together to discuss the logistics of opening such a facility closer to home. So passionate were Nancy and her group to achieve this that in September 1991 they held their first public meeting in Edinburgh University and less than six months later a group was formally incorporated, becoming the registered charity that is known today as Children's Hospices Across Scotland (CHAS). Nancy never let herself be held back by her vision loss and her dedication and commitment to the charitable causes close to her heart led to her being named Disabled Scot of the Year in 1991. In the years that followed Nancy played a key role in raising the £10million needed to build the first CHAS children's hospice. Thanks to a major appeal from The Daily Record which attracted many generous donations from the Scottish public and other sources, Nancy's, and that of many others, dream for a children's hospice in Scotland was eventually realised in 1996 when Rachel House opened its doors in Kinross. Read more Daniel enjoyed 13 wonderful years of visiting Rachel house with Nancy and Jack before he sadly died in 2009, aged 31, long outliving the prognosis of a few years given when he was two. Before and since his death, Nancy remained active in raising funds for CHAS and received an MBE for her work as a founding director of CHAS in 1997. Over the last three decades Nancy's legacy has helped CHAS to ensure that no family faces the death of their child alone and has provided unwavering care and support to thousands of families in its two hospices, Rachel House in Kinross and Robin House in Balloch (which opened in 2005), in hospitals or at home – giving children and families the gift of choice in their palliative care journeys. Alongside her work at CHAS, Nancy inspired the creation of Leith Home Start, a support service in Edinburgh, and was also an active and dedicated fundraiser for RNIB and Guide Dogs for the Blind. Other notable achievements of Nancy's included being a participant in the Lothian Birth Cohorts 1936 research group study run by Edinburgh University. She also featured in a BBC Scotland programme in the Focal Point series in 1988 entitled Nancy's Story which was about her life as a fundraising powerhouse and about the life of Daniel also. In her later years Nancy became profoundly disabled herself by Lewy Body Dementia and was cared for by her devoted husband Jack and a small team of personal assistants, who made her life as active and as independent as it could be, in her own home and community of 50 years. Jack followed in Nancy's footsteps 25 years after her good example by being awarded an OBE in the 2025 New Years Honours list for services in support of the Independent Living Fund Scotland. Jack said: "I was 25 years well behind but in eventually catching up with Nancy she was the proof that women are invariably a good influence on men. Nancy was much loved by many, not least by Daniel and I." Nancy Blaik was blind from childhood (Image: Contributed) CHAS CEO Rami Okasha also paid tribute to Nancy saying: "Nancy was a true inspiration for many staff and families at CHAS. She had a clear ambition for what CHAS should offer young people, children and their families. She showed true commitment and spoke with real passion, holding true to her values over many years. "Nancy along with the other founders had the vision of what palliative care for babies and children could look like, along with strong determination, resilience and courage to turn their vision into a reality. With love and compassion, their mission has led to CHAS to now offer unwavering care to children who may die young and to their families, at every step on this hardest of journeys, in hospices, hospitals and in their homes." Nancy's legacy will forever live on in all the valuable work of CHAS in supporting children with life-shortening conditions and their families right across Scotland. At The Herald, we carry obituaries of notable people from the worlds of business, politics, arts and sport but sometimes we miss people who have led extraordinary lives. That's where you come in. If you know someone who deserves an obituary, please consider telling us about their lives. Contact
BBC News
3 days ago
- BBC News
Family of Archie Squire 'keeping his memory alive'
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