30 sprained ankles, seven car accidents, six broken arms and much more: The pain of dyspraxia
By IT Application Trainer for KCHFT, Cheryl Rousell who has dyspraxia a neurodivergence linked to coordination and movement.
As a kid, I always felt different. I was lumbering and often fell over, stood too closely to people and either stared, or couldn’t look people in the eye.
At school, holding a pen was difficult so I could barely write legibly. Teachers suggested I change to a special educational needs school. Mum wouldn’t hear of it. At home, she tried to help me by getting me to write lines of handwriting every night. My hands would seize up in pain.
I was eventually diagnosed with dyslexia, but that didn’t explain my clumsiness. I was constantly in A&E having a sprain treated or stitches done. In fact, in my last totting up of accidents I’ve had, there have been six broken arms, five head stitches, 30 sprains, seven car accidents and many, many more near misses.
One accident I had, attending a dance wearing heeled shoes (left) and breaking my arm (right)
Clumsiness is comical, so as I grew older I’d make fun of myself. Sometimes it was genuinely funny, other times it masked a deep shame.
And with age, it got harder. Even to this day, I do things that would be acceptable for a child, but as a grown woman? I frequently hurt myself, get lost when I am going somewhere I’ve been a thousand times, break things I love.
It was when I was 30 that I stumbled across a TV show about dyspraxia which described all of my symptoms as a neurodivergence linked to coordination and movement.
I gravitated towards the NHS for work, where I’ve stayed for 30 years. No matter the role I’ve taken, the people have always been so friendly and supportive, which helped to alleviate some of the shame I carry around with my condition.
There’s been many funny dyspraxia moments at work – like when I pulled a shelf full of things down in a store cupboard on some colleagues, which was mortifying. No one got hurt and we had a giggle about it.
Accepting dyspraxia and myself
Working now in NHS training, there really is nowhere to hide. It is the ultimate way of saying ‘this is who I am’. You are stood in front of people, with everyone’s eyes on you.
Throughout my career I’ve felt accepted enough to talk openly about dyspraxia, what it is, how it affects me. Reasonable adjustments were flagged up to me as part of my peer support group at KCHFT and I signed up immediately.
The first change my line manager put in place was in the reporting process of accidents. Unless I have injured myself seriously enough to warrant treatment, or put someone else at serious risk, I no longer have to carry out a full log.
When I am working in a venue, I do a more thorough risk assessment, as I need extra protection. Loose wires and leads are a nightmare for me and I struggle with things like heavy doors or any clutter that might be around.
I also have some allowances for being late, as my lack of perception means I always get lost, even with Google maps on. It’s a lifeline, as driving can leave me really panicking sometimes.
I’ve been happily married for 32 years and have two grown up daughters, thankfully none of whom have inherited my dyspraxia. Having watched my struggles, they have grown up with an understanding and respect of others and their nuances.
We are living in a much more accepting world, today. It is a great feeling to finally ‘own’ my condition.
