We all put our trousers on one leg at a time.

Dressing practice was just that: practicing getting dressed. How humiliating. At 9am someone was going to come through that door to teach me how to put my clothes on. I’m 24 years old, this is not how my day should start.

Stoke Mandeville Hospital for me meant rehabilitation, it was not about getting better. I received my operation and intensive care in Germany and then, once back in England, my health was monitored and other nursing needs were met on St Patrick Ward. Now I was on St Joseph Ward. This is where the chicks that are almost ready to fledge go; it’s a spinal patient’s final stop before the discharge home. St Joseph Ward was where I was sent to learn the skills I’d need to be as independent as possible for life back in the big, wide world. Working up through the wards and getting to St Joseph was like a promotion at work or entering the Premier League, or finally becoming one of the cool kids in school. St Joseph Ward was the last stint, where other patients would look up to you because you had experience, you were trusted to use the kitchen yourself… Who am I kidding? In 5 minutes’ time I was going to get a lesson in putting my socks on!

On the stroke of nine a woman came to my door. She was gently spoken with strawberry blonde hair cut into a bob. She introduced herself as Angela, my Occupational Therapist. She explained that she works closely alongside the nurses and consultants to assess patients’ progress and set their weekly or monthly goals.

The hour we spent together, between 9 and 10am, must have been one of the most frustrating hours of my life. Sitting on the bed in your pants, trying to cross your dead weight of a leg up over the other so you can slide on a trouser leg is such hard work. When you’ve recently lost your core balance and your fingers don’t work properly, everything is hard work. It was a proper workout. It took me a full 45 minutes to get both legs in, and the Adidas tracksuit bottoms pulled up to my knees, before Angela realised they were on back to front. I can’t wait for Thursday - we’re doing socks and shoes as well!

I was soon over the last hurdles of the morning routine. After transferring down off the bed into my chair, I’d get washed, brush my teeth, comb my hair and make the bed. Yes, as soon as I was once again capable, I made my own bed in hospital every morning. I wheeled my chair over to the window. I wasn’t quite ready to venture out of my room and begin socialising today. I hadn’t realised at this point how much my injury had affected my mental health and not just my physical ability.

It was a dark, grey and miserable day outside, not at all in keeping with this time of year. The weather reflected my mood, just as the long window reflected the strip lights in the ceiling behind me. From my new, lower eye line, the glow of the bright fluorescent lights was bouncing back into my eyes, interrupting my view of the sky.

I was peckish, so I made my way over to get an apple from the fruit bowl. I’m not too fussed about the variety, really, but a sweet Pink Lady or crisp Granny Smith is always good. I much prefer them to a soft, watery Golden Delicious. OK, maybe the variety does matter? Apples reminded me of my childhood, of running around the garden with my brother, and getting half an apple each as a mid-afternoon snack . I can remember the anticipation as my mum cut and cored it. I’d wait with my eye line at the same height as the kitchen worktop. I must have been five or six years old.

But they also reminded me of a much calmer part of my childhood, watching wildlife shows with Mum and Dad. Settling down on the settee ready for David Attenborough and ‘The Trials of Life’ while my Dad carefully cut an apple with a knife, quietly passing me the pieces whilst I watched enthralled as a killer whale beached itself to catch a seal. Cutting an apple somehow makes the apple taste so much nicer than just biting into it. I hoped I’d be able to hold a knife and cut an apple again in the future.

I picked an apple from the bowl on my table and put it on my lap. As I turned to make my way across the room the apple fell from my lap and rolled under the bed. My emotions got the better of me and I burst into tears. It was total, uncontrollable, sobbing. This was the second time I’d cried since my injury. The first was when I was being measured up for a wheelchair. There, at the top of the form, in black and white, it said “Steve Brown: Non-Walker.” That moment the magnitude of my situation became apparent to me. I cried that time because it finally clicked; my disability meant I was never going to walk again.

This time, this time I cried because I was starting to realise the limitations of my disability. It’s not just putting one foot in front of the other, it’s much, much more than that. It’s not being able to get your phone in the night. It’s not being able to get yourself dressed. It’s not being able to get an apple out from under the bed. In that moment it felt like no one understood my frustrations. It was sinking in now…being paralysed has cost me my job, my lifestyle, my friendships, my sense of self-worth and now, it’s cost me an apple. In that moment, looking at the apple under the bed, I felt so alone.

I felt the presence of someone in the door. I don’t know how I knew they were there, I was crying into the bedsheets so uncontrollably I couldn’t hear or see anything. I wiped my tears away to see Lou, the cleaner, standing there with her mop. She was a happy soul and brightened up the place, and I don’t just mean with glass cleaner. She had a look on her face that was so well balanced…empathetic but not patronising; caring but not belittling; sad for me but not with pity. Gently she asked me what was wrong, without making any attempt to invade my personal space. She stayed right at the door, leaning on the frame. Sobbing, red faced and full of embarrassment I pulled myself together just long enough to sit up straight and explain I’d dropped an apple. Now I was saying it out loud, it sounded so silly.

I gathered myself together with a few deep breaths as Lou leant the mop on the wall. Slowly, she walked in and straight past me without even a glance. I could tell I wasn’t her focus anymore - it was all a bit confusing. Still, without a word, and with her back to me, she was looking at the table. She turned to me, now with a smile on her face and simply said, “But you have three other apples here, what’s the problem? Why not get another apple?”

That was the Eureka moment for me. That moment has stayed with me as a life lesson. Why not get another apple? Yes, at the time Lou meant it entirely literally but now, now, I use that as a metaphor for how I make and shape my decisions. That moment taught me how to pick my battles and helped me realise there are always other ways. If I’m willing to explore options and work hard to make opportunities for myself there is always something. Now this is not about giving up. Looking at situations purposefully, objectively and most of all with honesty, you can see when something is worth pursuing or out of reach. Thinking critically will give you a chance to see what is available to you. If an apple is out of your reach, go back to the table and choose another from the bowl. Lou taught me that.