How do you find love when you’re paralysed?
Before her accident, Geraldine Lavelle had a serious relationship. Now she wonders if she will ever meet a man who will see the woman and not her wheelchair...
IT WAS 4pm, October 31, 2013. I was doing my daily 25km cycle before my evening shift in work, when I collided with a truck. I’ve often been asked what it felt like, that hit, becoming paralysed. It’s been almost four years now, and I still can’t fully explain it. That moment of impact was like an electrical short-circuit in my body; as if someone hit a trip-switch and everything went instantly numb.
I remained fully conscious. There was no pain, no feeling anywhere, just a surreal calmness. I suppose you could describe it as a floating body experience — but in my case a total lack of sensory and motor function below my chest. The ability of the spinal cord to convey messages to or from my brain was completely lost.
Forty-eight hours later, I learnt that I would never walk again.
Then the fun really started — multiple operations, blood transfusions, tears, painkillers, sleepless nights in a 19-bed ward, extreme infections, a 15kg weight loss, tears, sleeping tablets, laxatives, wheelchairs, a ten-month hospital stint, and did I mention tears?
I had entered my own personal horror story, a living nightmare from which I would never wake up. I was a healthy female in the prime of my life. In a second, everything changed.
I thought my life was over. That was it. I
was going to be in a wheelchair and I was powerless to stop it.
On my darkest days, I remember pulling my hospital blanket over my head and sobbing and sobbing.
I wanted to cry louder than the noise of the ward I was in. I wanted to drown everything out. I remember my mother pulling down that same blanket to have a look at my broken body, her broken baby. She was floored, she just collapsed in tears. Everything in those days was just so heartbreaking.
Fast forward to the end of rehab, almost a year later, and I was a shadow of my former self. I was no longer with my partner of three years or in our Co. Mayo home.
Did the accident cause this split? It’s hard to tell. Maybe our relationship just grew apart, as relationships can. He was a good man. It was a lovely relationship. He was good to me, his family were good to me. But the love started to drift, and never came back.
Leaving the hospital was terrifying. Everything was just so difficult, the effort so huge. The loss of my job which I had earned after eight hard years of college and no longer possessing the ability to drive after ten years were particularly hard to deal with — on top of coming to terms with my newly-injured body and grieving the loss of my old life.
Certain aspects of recovery seemed excruciatingly slow, while others were flung my way at warp speed.
Learning how to function better physically whilst trying to reunderstand my place in the world was an emotional rollercoaster. Overwhelming feelings of fear started to show up soon after stabilisation. I was so fearful of what lay ahead.
THEN the physical trauma, the constant pain — there were days in rehab where my lungs felt as if they were collapsing and my body was shaking so badly, my knees would buckle and my vision was blurred.
I was a prisoner in those days. My confidence was completely gone. The endless days of being in hospital. What was the point in doing my hair, putting on make-up? Who was going to notice me now, the way I was?
It took a long time for me to accept my new normal and sometimes, even now, I see my reflection in a shop window — the girl in a wheelchair — and think “Oh! That’s me!”.
As time went on, I started to realise that it was possible to do the things I used to do — it just involved a lot more planning. My brain hadn’t changed. Neither had my personality. I realised I could still go to concerts, go on holidays, do sport or an art class.
I became inspired by other quadriplegic bloggers online who looked amazing, made a difference in their world and had social lives. One I follow has even got engaged. It gave me hope, and the drive to set up my own blog.
Now, I post online and make videos with tips for other people with spinal cord injuries to make their lives easier. I write about living with my acquired disability and how I think things could be improved. I want to reach others in a similar situation that and show them that there is light at the end of the tunnel.
One of my video uploads reached 11 million views. It’s like a form of therapy for me, and it’s given me an insight into how far I have come both mentally and physically since that tragic day. Why shouldn’t you put in rollers or do your make-up just because you’re in a wheelchair?
In my darkest days, I could never imagine dating again, but that has changed. I’m a young woman and I deserve to have love in my life.
However, let’s face it —dating is tricky at the best of times, but this on top of adapting to a newly-injured spinal cord and a society which still isn’t completely accepting or educated about disability makes it nigh-on impossible! Nevertheless, a couple of years ago I felt justified to meet someone with the view to building a life together. So I did what any self respecting single twenty something year old would do — I took to Tinder.
Biting the bullet, I decided to put up pictures of myself in my new wheels. But — I’m not going to lie — responses were few and far between. So as a social experiment (and embracing my inner scientist), I decided to reactivate my Tinder account, this time posting pictures of myself before the accident. Predictably, and disappointingly, there were a lot more messages this time around.
I remember thinking, ‘I knew nobody would want me like this.’ But I put up the pictures of me in my wheelchair again, and I actually ended up seeing a guy for a few months. I did like him, but I felt the chemistry wasn’t really there.
What really annoys me about the lads I go on dates with is that they seem to take on a caring role, as opposed to a potential boyfriend. They see me as physically weaker, which I am, but I have lots of friends, family and carers to help me. I don’t want that. I want someone to love me.
IT’S tough and frustrating, because they seem to tiptoe around me, helping me with my jacket, helping me get my chair over a lip in the ground, or through a door. I’m not on a level playing field with them, and I don’t think they see me a potential partner. They never say it, but I just feel like they feel like I’m work, or a burden.
It’s hard to show a sensual side when you’re in a clumsy contraption, needing help and always having to know if there are wheelchair accessible facilities such as toilets nearby. I hate asking for help at those times. I could spend a whole date worrying about that alone.
I do look at other girls — in a nightclub or whatever — on the dancefloor, wearing something gorgeous, dancing and carefree. It got to the stage where I was like, ‘Okay Geraldine, stop feeling sorry for yourself. What’s stopping you taking to
the floor?’ So I do — regularly. For a large part, I find being well educated with interesting life experiences doesn’t matter. Somehow, the conversation always comes back to my disability, as if it defines me. It makes me sad that we only see the outer shell of a person and not much else.
But I understand dating is initially about attraction — so unfortunately many people choose not to pursue the less easier option of a wheelchair user. Despite this I believe in love and want romance in my life. I see my friends moving on, getting married and having babies. I am happy for them. Who’s to say it won’t happen for me? I’m only 31. I have lots of time to meet someone and make our own family, whether it’s with children or not.
I am in a lot of pain, but instead of sitting and dwelling, I play sport, as I love it — I always have —and it loosens out tight muscles. People are always amazed when they hear that. I’m a qualified gym instructor and a keen fitness fanatic and I have not allowed my injury to get in the way of that. I probably play more sports than the average able-bodied person — wheelchair basketball, wheelchair rugby, handcycling, horseriding, stand-up paddle boarding, ice skating and table tennis.
Before my accident, I could never live in the here and now and simply be happy. I would worry about the silliest of things. And then it’s like all at once all my nightmares occurred. I had no choice but to cope, to deal as best I could. What else could I do?
That’s why now I don’t worry, I just take each day as it comes, I don’t fear the imaginary, I know that I will cope with whatever comes and I am a much stronger person as a result.
A person is more than just how he or she looks on any given day. We’re complex and constantly changing.
I’ve had to learn to focus on what’s unique and interesting about myself and tried not to visualise the disability but rather the person instead.
Even if you can’t walk, you can possess more heart, power and patience than someone with the full use of their body.
Am I happy? Yes, mostly. I would really love my own home one day. But I thank God for the things I have. I have a wonderful family, friends, a warm bed, a car that I’m learning to drive. My life could be a lot worse.
It’s like this — when life deals you a raw hand, you have to swim or you will sink. Today, I take nothing for granted. I see kindness from so many people and in the most unexpected places. I am so thankful for the small things — getting out (I go for a 3km to 5km push a day, no matter the weather), some nice food, a good chat with a friend.
I have learnt that bad things happen to good people all the time. It’s how you view your situation that can make or break your life. I’ve taken control of things. I have the power back.
Men I meet seem to take on a caring role but I don’t want that... I have family and carers to help me. I want someone to love me