‘Being challenged is inevitable… being defeated is optional’
Eight years ago, a freak accident left Henry Fraser paralysed from the neck down. Henry and his mum, Francesca, explain how he turned his life around
Henry Fraser was left paralysed from his neck down after a freak accident. Now he’s inspiring others
FRANCESCA, 56, SAYS ‘As a little boy, Henry, my third son, was the quietest out of the four. He was just as happy with his own company as he was playing with his brothers – Tom, now
29, Will, 28, and Dom, 22. When he wasn’t running around the garden, Henry would be inside, drawing or creating things with his building blocks.
But then, in 2009, I got the phone call that every parent fears. Henry, then aged 17, was on holiday with friends in Portugal and he’d had an accident. While he was on the beach, he ran into the sea and dived in, like he’d done many times before. However, the unexpected undulations of the seabed meant that the water was too shallow, and he hit his head on the ground.
In one brief moment, everything changed. By moving his head slightly to raise his mouth above the water, call for help and save himself from drowning, Henry had caused irreparable damage to his spinal cord. He was airlifted to a hospital in Lisbon, and my husband Andrew and I got on the first flight from our home in Hertfordshire. At that point, we didn’t know the extent of his injuries – all we wanted was to be by his side. Seeing Henry in hospital was an unimaginable shock. There was machinery and tubes everywhere, and he was strapped to weights that were lodged in his head to try to free up his spinal cord. We listened in horror as the surgeon told us that our son was a quadriplegic, that he had severed his spinal cord and he would never be able to move his arms or legs again. Henry was paralysed from his neck downwards. Thinking about the fit, sporty and animated teenager we’d said goodbye to at the airport just a few days before, I couldn’t control my tears.
“I’m really sorry,” I remember Henry saying, “I’ve done the most stupid thing.”
“No, you haven’t,” I replied. “Whatever this is, we’ll get through it together.”
I wanted beyond anything else to show Henry that he wasn’t alone. Throughout his recovery, our family relied on optimism and love to help each other through the dark times. When Henry broke down, had panic attacks or said, “I can’t do this,” I would simply tell him, “there’s no such thing as can’t”. At first he got cross with me, but as time went on
he began to see the importance of setting goals, from getting off his ventilator and breathing independently to using a wheelchair without a head or back rest.
It’s been a long process but, at 25, Henry is finally regaining his independence. He went back to school to do his A-levels and he now lives a busy and fulfilled life. I’m thrilled that his love of art has led to a successful career as a mouth artist. He’s also become a motivational speaker and has written a book about his life and his mindset. I’m so proud of him.
I can’t wait to see what Henry will go on to achieve next. His positivity never ceases to amaze and inspire me.’
HENRY, 25, SAYS ‘Every morning when I wake up, I think about the incredible life I’ve been given – my family, my friends, my art and all the people around me who fill my world with happiness. When I look at my life that way, I have no reason to feel down. There are people far worse off than me. Being grateful for the little things has the power to change your whole outlook; that’s a message I’m determined to share. My approach to life wasn’t always like this. In fact, before my accident, I could be very negative, avoiding opportunities because I was worried about the outcome. I’d rather not do something than try it and fail. Now, I look back and wish I’d pushed myself harder. It’s the things you don’t do that you regret.
When I had my accident, I was consumed by fear and darkness. I couldn’t breathe by myself. I couldn’t even talk. I contracted MRSA and pneumonia, and my heart stopped several times. I was on so many drugs that my mind took me to unimaginable places. To begin with, there was a part of me that still thought everything would be fine – that I would get up and walk out of the hospital. When I was told I’d never be able to move my arms and legs again, I just thought “this is too much”.
My turning point came a few weeks after the accident, in Stoke Mandeville Hospital, when I was put in a wheelchair for the first time. I was very weak, and still had an oxygen tank and a tracheotomy in my neck, but I remember the elation of being wheeled around the hospital, the freedom of seeing the outside after staring at the ceiling for so long. As we came back inside, I caught sight of my reflection in the glass doors. It was the first time that I’d seen myself since the accident, and I barely recognised the person looking back. In two months, I’d gone from a fit, healthy 17-year-old
‘I didn’t want my accident to dominate my life and my future’
to a depleted shell; my clothes hanging off me, my face ghostly pale.
At the sight of myself, everything hit me. I broke down and sobbed all day. My mum hugged me, and all I wanted was to hug her back, but I couldn’t use my arms. I felt totally useless. That night, sleep was impossible. Yet lying there alone in the early hours of the morning, something shifted. I had done my crying, I had felt angry and hopeless, but I didn’t want my accident to dominate my life and my future. I decided then to change my focus, to take control and to appreciate all the little big things – the cards, the phone calls and the food parcels people left on my parents’ doorstep. Being challenged is inevitable, but being defeated is optional.
Ever since then, I’ve embraced every opportunity, knowing what I can achieve when I put my mind to it. I discovered mouth painting three years ago when I was using my mouth stick to trawl through apps on my ipad. I used to enjoy art, so I found a basic drawing app. Then I got an easel, and my interest grew. I’ve always liked having time on my own, and art gave me that seclusion; the time to be with my own thoughts, to relax and find complete focus as well as a challenge. It’s turned into a way of making money, too, as I get commissions for everything from sports stars to animals. I’ve hosted my own exhibition and recently designed some Christmas T-shirts to raise money for Shelter. I regularly tweet my art and thoughts, and using social media has opened up a whole new world for me. I feel so lucky to have a job I love.
After an accident like mine, the importance of normality can never be underestimated. I’ll be forever grateful to my family and friends for seeing beyond the wheelchair; for treating me simply as Henry. My mum and I have always had a close bond, but now it’s stronger than ever. This love and support gives me the confidence to look to the future – the past has happened and cannot be changed. Life is simpler and happier when you look at what you can do, not what you can’t. Every day is a good day.’