Mel and Darlene are members of The Transverse Myelitis Association and both have TM. Coincidentally, Mel and Darlene recently communicated their experiences to me. I was so moved by their spirit and courage, that I requested permission to share their experiences with all of you. Both Mel and Darlene have suffered from depression. What I found so inspiring about their experiences was that they found relief from their depression not from a recovery from TM, but in spite of it. I do not mean in any way to imply that there is an easy fix for depression or a simple formula that a person may apply to treat their depression. In fact, I believe that just the opposite is the case; that the treatment of depression is extremely complex. With tremendous tenacity, Mel and Darlene have created some wonderful and positive changes in their lives. If their stories inspire one person to seek that light at the end of the tunnel, they will be gratified for having shared their experiences.

Life After TM: An Olympic Effort
Melvyn Corley

In 1989, I was a fit and happy-go-lucky type of person. I was married to a smashing girl, Annie. We were living in a flat in a small town called Redbourn, which was in Herfordshire, England. I was working for a major clothing company called Next. I took this job after leaving the Armed Forces in 1989. I left the service because my new wife did not like me going back and forth to Northern Ireland.

On the subject of the 23rd March 1989, I was at work until the usual time. But I felt unwell. I had previously had a massive chest infection for which the doctors gave me some antibiotics. I had completed the course of antibiotics and then went back to work thinking that all was well again with my body. That week I was working nights. We had a rush job on and I volunteered to stay on and get the job done. We finished around 10:00 PM. I had started work at 6:00 PM on the previous evening. After I got home, I told the wife that I had a massive headache. I took some paracetamol thinking that the headache was punishment for having worked so late and so many hours without rest.

Anyway, during what I called my sleeping shift, a sudden sharp pain in my back woke me up. I got up or I tried to get up but I could not. My legs would not move and they felt weak and heavy. I remember trying to lift my arm to grab the phone in order to call the wife who was at work, but I found that the left arm was in the same state as the legs. By now I was completely frightened. I was completely paralysed down the left side of my body. I had a massive headache, and there was a pain just below the rib cage. I phoned my neighbour with the good arm, who contacted the wife. She came home from work, and immediately phoned for the doctor. The doctor said that he had never come across these symptoms. He decided that it would be in my interest and his to get me admitted to the hospital to get it checked out. He was the first visitor that I had, and he kept on visiting me until they established what was going on inside my body.

I was first taken to the local hospital A&E, but I was then transferred to a specialist hospital in London, where they had all the testing equipment. Here they carried out many tests, such as MRI, CAT scans and spinal taps. The last test that the neurologists asked for was a myelogramme; this was the worst of all the tests that they put me through. However, it did show elevated CSF levels. The medical maestros ruled out MS, because this was the only attack that I'd had so far.

After many days of uncertainty, the senior neurologists decided that I was suffering from a condition called Transverse Myelitis. This was a complete shock to my system; I did not want anyone to get involved with me. I went into the deepest black holes. The neurologists were going to call the clinical shrink, but this was deemed unnecessary by the rest of the medical staff. I felt like I was the only person that had this terrible virus. I could not even call the illness by its proper name.

My dearest wife, Anne, then went and found all that she could on TM. We were lucky that she found a medical student that was looking into TM. He was brought onto the ward and was questioned for hours on the disease. At the same time, the doctors were pumping me full of steroids. I believe that it was predisalone. All that they did was blow me up in the face. They also fitted a fulltime catheter, which was later to change to a superpubic catheter. However, I kept on getting urinary tract infections. So by the time I was discharged, I was on the intermittent self-catheter, along with a condom catheter and leg bag to catch the drips, so to speak.

My bowels were eventually brought back, but nowadays it is controlled by diet. There are some days that I have to take matters into my own hands, but I have been doing this for so long, I have now got it down to fine art. I was given loads of PT while I was on the wards, however, they were never able to get me up and walking again. I took my last walk on the 22 March 1989. The only thing that the TM now causes me problems with is pain, paralysis, and the bladder.

When the hospitals had completely finished with me, I went home. We were moved to a more suitable house in St. Albans Herts. After the diagnosis I became a sort of slough spud; I sat in the front room watching TV all day, yelled at the kids because the pain was so bad, and basically made everyone have a bad day along with me. In fact, I often told the wife to leave me and give me a divorce. Then one day, we had a massive argument and once again we went round the same track. Me moaning that I could not do anything for myself. We had no where to go, and my life was a complete bore, so to speak. I told the wife that I wanted to die. She then turned up and said, "fine, if you want to die then go ahead," and then gave me the morphine pills. Annie then went out and left the wheelchair outside. So, I got myself off the Loo (John) and went outside and dragged the chair in, with me lying on the floor. It took ages, but I did it. When the wife got in she was astounded that I had not taken the overdose. Annie said, "you did not finish what you planned to do; did you not have the bottle?" I responded to her that there was something worth living for. I have never been a religious-type person, but on that day, I'm sure that G-d had a purpose for me. Ever since that day, things have never got me down. I get depressed, but that is because of the pain and all of the other problems we have to put up with. That day I said, "I got this problem, and I can work round it." Also, from that day on, Annie has always let me ask her if I wanted help.

Much of my depression was rectified by a visit to a spinal hospital. My local occupational therapist showed me an article in a disability magazine; it was outlining the benefits of taking part in sport. Being an ex-service person, sport played a big part in my life. Therefore, I was able to channel all my energy and pain into rebuilding some sort of life for my family and myself.

Before my diagnosis I was a very sporty type person, who went for some running, and a little bit of swimming when I could find the time, but I was not the Olympic champion at anything. Perhaps I have started things rolling within my family now.
 
BEWSA stands for the British Ex-Service Wheelchair Sports Association. It is a national association and is part of the Royal British Legion that helps to fund the Association. It is quite similar to your PVA, with which BEWSA has grown great links. We quite often send a team to the PVA games each year.

I then went on to take part in the Leonard Cheshire Foundation Project that was called "Workability." The foundation was kind enough to give me a computer linked up to the internet, and I passed the course and graduated with a RSACLAIT which stands for the Royal Society of the Arts Computer Literacy and Information Technology. This is how I discovered the TMA. I also found out more about BEWSA and other wheelchair sports associations.

So, I went along to the spinal hospital, namely the famous Stoke Mandevale in Aylesbury. There I meet a chap named Wally Kelly. Now, this chap opened my eyes, and brought a little bit of light into my dullest days. He pointed out different types of sports that were available to disabled men and women. He also said that if I was to train regularly, there might be an opening to get me into national and international events. At the time I thought that he was full of hot air, but as the day progressed, I saw different disabled people all taking part in different sports. It was then that I realized there was something there to replace what I'd lost through my disability.

Then Wally showed me all types of equipment that are used by the disabled. There were throwing chairs, basketball chairs, and chairs for throwing the Javelin, which I thought in the hands of disabled chaps was a bit dangerous. I was then introduced to a chap named Geof. Now, I thought that I had problems. But Geof had more than anyone else did. He was away on exercise with the Royal Marines, and he was involved in a road accident. Because he had his legs on the dashboard of the landrover, he had both of his legs chopped off; one above the knee and one below. He also had massive internal injuries.

His sport was wheelchair racing. He had a chair that made my normal NHS wheelchair look like it was something out of the dark ages. He then went on about all of these major events in which he had taken part. He then mentioned how much BEWSA had helped him get over the bad days in his life. There was one thing that shocked me. Not once did he mention his disability. I thought I had problems, mine were nothing compared to Geof's.

Anyway, I signed up there, and paid my membership subs, which was only £10.00. I thought that this was a good value. I then started to go away on training weekends. Here I was taught not only sporty trades, but I was shown how to transfer from a wheelchair to say a car seat. I was never taught this in the hospital. I then met up with Geof, and we got talking about wheelchair racing. Then the Association was kind enough to lend me a Bob Hall Racing wheelchair, along with a Bromakin Roller. The purpose of the roller was if the weather was on the British type, wet and windy, I would be able to stay inside a wheel whilst watching my neighbours. Then the team manager informed me about this race that was held in Germany, in a town called Bruggen. He thought that this would be a good start for my racing career.

Training Weekends and Race Preparations

Training weekends were held on a RAF base in the UK. For security reasons I cannot tell you where; I hope you understand. Here we were put through our paces by an ex-PTI who had broken his neck in a game of Rugby. And they say the game is safe. We were placed in groups where we completed different disabled sports, such as discus, shot-putting and javelin. We then had periods of intensive physical torture; it was like being back in the Army. Then once that was all completed, we decided what sport we wanted to continue and specialise in; this is when I chose wheelchair racing. We also did campaigning for better services for war veterans, like war pensions, etc. Then, in 1993, we had the Challenge 93. This was where many countries, including the USA, came across to the UK and took part in the first-ever disabled ex-servicemen games. These were held at the famous Stoke Mandevale Spinal Unit in Aylesbury UK. Of course, the team from BEWSA came in second to the USA. Unfortunately, I did not take part in these games because of a shoulder injury that had occurred during training weekends.

Before I competed in the Bruggen, it took many months of hard work, both at the RAF base and at home. I had to be self-motivated to get outdoors and face the fact that I had to do at least 8-10 miles each day. Then I had to go to the local gym, and take part in a rigorous training schedule that had been set up for me by the team manager. The biggest problems that I had were pain and my bladder. The pain played up when the weather was really cold and wet, but I had to get out and do something. The other problem was with the "water works" in that it would continue to empty. The doctors said the only thing I could do was split the condom catheter into two so I ended up having a leg bag strapped to each leg. This was necessary because I had to take on a lot of fluids during the race. I was also lucky, because my son also came out with me during the training periods. This then meant I had someone to talk to, which helped pass the hours that I was out. I also had problems with my legs. They would keep on spasming as I was pushing along. The spasms never threw me out of the chair, but it was another problem that I had to deal with.

As each week passed, I began to feel different in some way. I cannot explain what it felt like, but I do know that it made me think how lucky I was that I did not take the dreaded pills that day. I now knew that I had passed my darkest days. I still get depressed, but this is only because I cannot get out and do my training.

My Sport Career

Now things started to progress. Like I said, I had been given the chair and roller, and it was now my turn to change my life like my old mate Geof. Geof was kind enough to be my training coach for the Bruggen. Every time that I had a problem, he was there. I first got started by getting the chair to a dealer, who checked to make sure the chair was in a roadworthy state. Basically, I did not want the wheels falling off as I was going along. I was lucky, all I needed was some new tires.

Then I joined a local gym where I was able to pump some iron, and work on the cardiovascular part of the body. I used weight training to increase my upper body strength; the cardiovascular exercise was designed to make my heart work faster. This part of my training played up with the TM, because of the fatigue. However, the more times that I did the workouts, the easier it became to handle. It was nice to be taken as a normal person and be treated like one by other members at the gym. They started by asking if I needed help opening doors and moving equipment, but as the time went on, they saw that I wanted to be treated like the rest of them and they started treating me like they treated each other. In their words, I had to ask them for help. It was nice knowing that all I had to do was ask. After a couple of months, there was a new instructor who joined the gym. He was ex-service so he was able to give me some more valuable assistance. He even worked out with me. Then I started to take the chair with me to a local running track where I learned how to handle the chair under a type of protective curtain. I did not want to start my endurance training by taking the chair on the road, and I did not know how to handle the chair and avoid going under the first car that I came up against. The way that Geof used to move in his chair, he made it look so easy. But when I got in mine, believe you me, it was not easy. You have to make sure that the chair is always running straight, and that you are pushing the wheels to get the best out of the chair. I had problems getting into mine, because my legs would not bend. This caused me some severe pain and discomfort. Even today, they play up. But like everything else, you learn to take the bad with the good.

After going on the running track, I ventured out onto the roads, and then I hit a snag in my preparations. Nobody told me that I needed public liability until a policeman stopped me. But this did not cause too much of a headache. I then carried on pushing with this new piece of paper in my pocket. I then increased the amount of miles that I did in each push. Some days it would be eight; some other days, it would be about 10 or 15 miles. This roadwork was incorporated with my gym work. After a couple of months, I was really keen to get outside and get the wheels moving. It was like it was taking over my life. The wife also mentioned that I was a different chap to live with and the kids backed her up.

I then started a new venture; I went flying. There is an association called the British Flying Club for the Disabled. Their aim is to get as many disabled people flying as they are able. I went one day in August 1999. Although I found it great fun, it did not give me the same buzz as the racing, though it was nice to see the wheelchair on the ground as we took off into the Oxfordshire skies. I was sent a form to apply to go to either South Africa or California to learn to fly solo. For now, the wheelchair racing is my priority.

After the flying, I had completed the Workability Project. I had taken the word-processing, spreadsheet, and online communications examinations. I was then awarded the RSA certificate. I then started a new course called the European Computer Driving License. This was a computer course run by the British Computer Society (BCS). I continue to plod my way through this course; it is longer than the Workability Project.

So, from then on, I was always busy either sitting behind a computer with my head stuck in a book, or I was stuck into pushing a wheelchair around the streets of St. Albans. It is nice because people often remark at the difference in me.

Anyway, the training for the Bruggen continued for many months. There was a combination of swimming, weight-training or pushing the chair. Then in March 2000, it was time for the last push. Geof had told me, that one month before the race, I should only train 3 days per week. Now, this was a big culture shock. My body had started to get used to going everyday. But I had to listen to Geof; he was more experienced than me.

So, on the 11 April, I took off for Germany. The race was planned for a Saturday morning, and it was being held on a RAF base in Germany. There were loads of able-bodied runners and there were just as many wheelies. The race started at 11:00 AM. Because I was a novice and I was not the only one, we were allowed to start at least 30 minutes before the rest of the pack. It helped a little, but not a lot. I was going fine. The legs were causing a few problems, but not as bad as I thought that they were going to be. I settled myself in behind another chap, who I had been drinking with in the mess the Friday night before the race. He had lost both of his legs in the Falklands War. I got to the centre of the town and was going to approach the last corner when I heard this sudden "hissing." I had four miles to go and I had picked up a puncture. What bad luck I heard the crowd say. I would not let this get the better of me. So I put all my weight on the bad wheel. This made the air in the good one inflate slightly; this would help me to get to the end. It did but in a longer time than I had hoped for. I went home on Monday, completely satisfied. I had completed something that the medical people thought that I would never accomplish. Even my own Doc did not think I would finish. I was not in the first group, but I was not in the last.

My next race is the New York City Marathon in November. But first me and the wife are going on Holiday for a week. On my return, it all starts again. Watch this space; I'll keep you posted on my progress.

Mel
mel[AT SIGN]mcorley.freeserve.co.uk
St. Albans Herts England UK