Walking with hope

Moving on: Jason Ellery (left), Matthew Pierri and Josh Wood believe they can recover further. Photo: Luis Enrique Ascui

Patients with spinal cord injuries are challenging mainstream treatments in their bid to recover use of their paralysed limbs. Quadriplegic Matthew Pierri reports.

IN THE early morning of June 17, 2007, I had a nightmare. I was strapped to a bed in a dark room, paralysed below my chest. I struggled in silence until a lady appeared. She sighed and told me to relax, asking me if I knew where I was; if I knew what had happened. I didn't answer, I just tried to wake up.

You never forget the moment you realise you're already awake.

People in wheelchairs used to scare me. I would always keep clear, secretly afraid that I might catch their illness. I knew nothing about spinal cord injuries or the people who suffered them. Until I had one.

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A football accident left me stranded in a world I didn't understand, or even know existed. A world I want to get out of. Even if I'm told I never will.

As far as catastrophic injuries go, there are few worse than those affecting the spinal cord. You lose more than the ability to walk; there's also the loss of feeling, bladder and bowel control. Losing your independence is the most devastating thing. But perhaps the cruellest part of this injury is that many still consider it to be permanent. Even when it's not.

The spinal cord is about as thick as your little finger, and runs from the base of your brain to the top of your tailbone. It's protected by the bones of your spine - 33 vertebrae that form a protective cage around the web of nerves and tissue inside.

It is like a freeway. Your brain sends messages, in the form of electrical impulses, down the cord to the appropriate muscles. In a healthy spinal cord, there are never any traffic jams. Messages flow up and down like lightning; many occur unconsciously, such as breathing and sweating.

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Walking with hope