My last walk.

I just wanted to sit down. As he had been so pleasant, I explained to the immigration officer that I had just had a procedure done on my back and needed to sit down. With a “please have a seat over there,” he disappeared with my passport, throwing me one last glance filled with suspicion.

It fleetingly crosses my mind that he thinks I have either ingested a few kilogrammes of cocaine as a small-time mule or he was about to gain promotion and fame for stopping an Ebola virus index case from entering the country. Hours later, and after a thorough grilling, I finally leave the airport.

End of Mobility.

The main reason this episode remains in my memory is that it is one of the last few times that I walked unaided for any length of time. Less than a week after this, I had to be taken to A & E by ambulance and made my first acquaintance with my friends, Onyali and Ajunwa who you will become more familiar with by and by. It’s safe to say that their namesakes’ abilities didn’t necessarily translate to make me fleet of foot. From then on, mobility became ever more unattainable - a piece of silk always slipping through the fingers. Almost but never quite there.

What on earth was wrong with my body and could it be fixed? Would I be able to walk normally again and how was I going to carry on working in the meantime? Questions that flashed through my mind even as the cocktail of medicines forced my eyes shut.

How many times have we heard it said that we never truly appreciate what we have until we lose it? It took at least half an hour to get out of bed each morning, the pain in my leg so excruciating that I would be gasping for breath just to swing my leg over the side of the bed.

Bent almost double over the sink to brush my teeth, the first tears from the pain of my thigh muscles going into spasm starts around this point without fail. The simplest tasks became my personal mountain and it got worse with each day. Where was the person that only the month before danced with family while celebrating a life well-lived by my mother-in-law?

In the meantime, Onyali and Ajunwa, would be waiting patiently by the bed. Here’s what they don’t tell you about crutches – your palms will blister because of the increased pressure as you grip the handle; Ajunwa (left) would always fall to the floor during lavatory visits while Onyali (right) always got stuck in the car door; people will look at you with equal parts pity and gratitude.

There but for the grace of God, go I; you’re not only dealing with the physical but the emotional challenges; spontaneity flies out of the window. You must plan ahead. I wanted to know exactly where I was going, how long the journey would take, if there were any stairs, if there would be a crowd of people; I craved anonymity. I didn’t want my entrance announced by the perennial click-clack from Onyali and Ajunwa.

I didn't want to be helped into the car. I wanted the old me back! I wanted to average 15,000 steps on my Fitbit. There was hardly anything that I could enjoy anymore.  Does that mean I saw the cup as half empty? Hell, I just wanted to see a cup in the first place without my eyes being thin slits from pain, allowing only a sliver of light in. I mean, I had some fun moments too.

The look on people’s faces when I exhibited a tiny (alright, significant) bit of road rage was priceless. You’re not supposed to be a bitch on crutches.

I admit I got tetchy with people. I was trying to keep a handle on various aspects of my life, not least of which, the professional part. Work involves a fair bit of travelling and it was getting increasingly difficult to fly, to sit pain-free at my desk or even to endure the journey to and from work.

Under pressure not to appear unprofessional or lazy, I overstretched myself and probably didn’t do my body any favours. Health is wealth, I heard repeatedly. This did nothing to reduce the hard ball of tension that seemed to rest on my chest.

I carried on until I absolutely couldn’t do anymore. Until the joys of modern medicine led to a painless divorce, a glorious uncoupling from Ajunwa and Onyali.

And the things that I’ve learnt?

In no special order

Truisms become the order of the day – “This too shall pass.” Yes, yes I hope so too, but WHEN? “It is well.” It quite clearly ISN’T.

It’s alright to be angry sometimes, just not to become a permanently angry being.

There should be another word for pain that is even stronger than excruciating.

Feeling vulnerable is not a crime and happens to the best of us. You are not necessarily being a burden to your loved ones. Stop stressing.

The last time I was in hospital was thirteen years ago to have my youngest child. The room carried a heavy scent of fresh flowers, pink helium balloons caressed the ceiling and a brand-new baby bag had pride of place by my bedside. You don’t get any medals for being a hospital-sceptic. Doctors are there for a reason.

Having not made a life of being inconspicuous, shall we just say that I am vertically-enhanced, I accepted that ‘invisible’ was even more unachievable while being on crutches.

While in conversation with another wheelchair user as we waited for assistance to get us to baggage reclaim, he shared his stories of the lack of disability access in Nigeria. He works in Abuja and can only travel to Lagos by road, approximately a thirteen-hour drive because there is no provision for his motorised wheelchair at the airport or on the plane itself.

He compared this to the facilities in Leeds where he studied for his Master’s degree and we had the inevitable discussion about the state of the nation. I have a new appreciation of what they face in their daily lives. I can also unfortunately confirm that wheelchairs at Nigerian airports are in severe need of an upgrade. High sides and low middle seats do not make for a comfortable ride.

Acceptance of the new normal.

Embrace the support from family and friends. They love you and want to do everything they can to make you feel better. They can’t cure you, but they mean well. Their support is invaluable. Remember that once your condition improves, there’s no chance in hell of anyone getting you a coffee at 2am.

There are many kind-hearted people around you. The goodwill of strangers was overwhelming. I cannot count how many queues I was allowed to jump, doors opened for me and patience as I manoeuvred my friends Ajunwa and Onyali.

Take nothing for granted. It is a tenuous hold we have on ‘life as I know it.”.  So, appreciate the seemingly simple – getting out of bed in the morning, having a shower, tucking your legs underneath you to watch television, the daily work commute, having a drink with friends, loving your family. There is no greater joy.

Written by Lande Abudu.

Lande has nearly twenty years’ experience in diverse fields that run the gamut from commercial banking, newspaper columnist and correspondent to management in non-governmental organisations both in Nigeria and the UK. She sits on the board of the Cowbell Football Academy.  Instagram: @landeabudu