Another year older, another year wiser

I had the advantage of having been a disabled person for more than forty years, so when I gradually lost the use of my legs over a 72 hour period, it was a shock but not a world turned upside down. Classically, spinal cord injury often strikes down young men in their prime, and I cannot imagine what impact that would have on a fit independent individual. I adapted more easily to the change of being.

People with restricted growth like me, however, are often not perceived as "genuine" disabled people, and certainly having become a wheelchair user, doors have opened: DLA, blue badge, direct payments, discounts at the theatre. There's no doubting my status now.

But with these perks came endless bureaucracy. I do not know how others cope, but over the last twelve months I have often longed for a secretary or business manager to deal with applications, assessments, book keeping and endless correspondence with social services, hospitals, physiotherapy, occupational therapy, wheelchair services, mobility centre, DVLA, DWP. The folders bulge with letters, contracts, appointments, invoices, notifications andcatalogues.

My first three months as a paraplegic were spent in hospitals, the endless tedium and depression of which has thankfully been largely forgotten. I do remember discovering that nurses and care assistants are as marvellous as all the clichés suggest, and that hospital food is unimaginably bad. I also had to go through the trauma of bowel and bladder management, and facing up to just how limited I was in terms of movement. The result was weeks of pain, frustration and sometimes misery, mitigated only by the warmth and loyalty of my friends.

A year on, it's all second nature. The astounding pessimism of the hospital consultants was proved wrong, and most bodily functions operate smoothly. I have adapted to my limitations. Moreover, I have managed to regain some strength and control in my legs. Not walking yet, no, that was a rather ambitious goal, but I transfer from bed to chair to car and back again with comparative ease. Last week, I stood up for the first time.

I wish I'd known more about wheelchairs at the outset. With short arms, I need a differently proportioned chair, but only recently have I managed to identify the lightweight rigid frame model which will give me most independence: I can't wait to be able to stow it into the car myself, and get back to driving again.

Much of the time, I love being in a wheelchair. I was never the world's best walker: my legs would go numb, and I would need to rest, or else fall over. Standing or strolling around were a real trial. Now, I sit in the comfort of my chair, and make idle conversation, or slowly trail round an art gallery or bookshop, taking my time. Even if I ever got back to walking, I'd never give up my wheels.

That's all assuming I would be able to avoid hills. That's mainly where my support needs come in. I have roped in a succession of friends, children of friends and under-employed artists and dancers to push me around the cities of Europe. So far, and contrary to the advice of seasoned personal assistance users, I've always preferred to employ people I know and can make conversation with, and who might share my interests.

Every disabled person is their own individual, a fact that the disability rights movement has difficulty embracing. We make our own choices and react in our own ways. People have asked me whether my experience of becoming paralysed has changed my views on disability: no, I don't think it has ... except that it highlighted the whole world of rehabilitation, of which I was previously largely ignorant.

I still think that impairment is difficult and unwelcome: I would gladly be cured of my paraplegia tomorrow, even though I've never been bothered about having restricted growth.

Even more than before, I think that healthcare professionals do a fantastic job, and while they might sometimes need to rethink some of their attitudes, I've really benefitted from their skills.

And I've been amazed and gratified by how helpful total strangers are, almost every day. I'm not too proud to accept offers of assistance, and positive reactions have so far thankfully outweighed harassment or discrimination.

I know I am privileged: I am educated, employed, well connected and a good communicator. I realise that for most people in the world, to be disabled is to be impoverished and excluded. I feel lucky to live in Britain, with a good range of services, an increasingly accessible environment and an improving public transport system. Like everyone, I have criticisms to make. In particular, I fear that current moves that threaten DLA and Attendance Allowance might make my life, and that of many thousands of other disabled people much more difficult. Dismantling a system which has empowered so many, even while endorsing the Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities, seems a cruel blow. All Ouch readers should read the different views on the matter:

benefitsandwork.co.uk - read the Latest News section

Moving forward | Care and support reform (The Guardian)



and then participate in the Big Care Debate. Come back in a year's time, and I'll tell you how cheerful I am then.

• The Big Care Debate: Email careandsupport@dh.gsi.gov.uk with your views on the future of care.