Invisible Pain Part One.

A journey I never knew I was on. The set up.

Ok, I grant you. It’s not the sexiest title is it? “Invisible Pain” It doesn’t grab you by the lapels; shake you and insist you read without a moments hesitation! Doesn’t implore you to stop what you are doing and read. Doesn’t scream “Dive in” Hardly click bait. Not what you would call an adrenaline inducing, juice fizzing and flowing best seller tit bit to draw ones attention.

However, if you wish to have a better understanding of those within society who live with Invisible Disabilities. Please read on.

Eventually in 2023 I was diagnosed with Functional Neurological Disorder, or as it more commonly known FND I had, already after suspecting for many years been diagnosed a year earlier with CPTSD This alongside the all encompassing depression with it’s sidekick anxiety; well as you can no doubt fathom, is where a poem I later penned entitled “Letters After my Name” was born.

“A journey I never knew I was on”

I banged my head quite hard a few times over the years as a kid. I have no idea if this has any bearing on the here and now. Head traumas I can remember are going over the handlebars of my bike on occasions. One in particular as a result of applying the brakes a smidgeon too vigorously. Being only 7 or 8 years of age; it may not surprise you to learn, I hadn’t factored momentum and physics on the human body into the equation of coming to an abrupt halt! So over the handlebars I went, headfirst. This resulted in my skull meeting the asphalt at an adequately sufficient speed. As my young skull made contact with the road, which was considerably harder than the bone beneath my forehead, a rather large and jagged stone imbedded itself in my head! Blood and tears ensued! I still bear the tiny scar to this day!

For those of you who were kids in the 70’s and 80’s, the motorcycle stunt legends Eddie Kidd in the UK and Evel Knievel in the USA will mean something to you. To me, at the age of 7, I was Eddie Kidd and Evel Knievel rolled into one! On my bike, I was invincible! Even if said bike was a Budgie!

It was the baby version of the Chopper! Mine was this exact colour! I know, not exactly a stunt bike is it? But to me, in 1979/80 it was perfect! So perfect in fact, I fashioned a ramp out of an old red plastic Uni-gate milk bottle crate and a plank of wood. (What could possibly go wrong?)

My brother had the Chopper bike as he was my older sibling, I guess. These bikes are going for stupidly expensive crazy prices nowadays! However, I digress. Nothing new there!

So there I was. Sitting at the top of the road where I lived. In my 7 year old mind, the next big personality in bike stunts! In my naïve little mind, I was the natural successor to Mr Kidd!

The road on which I lived was an elongated gentle slope. At least it was in my mind. Others may call it an incline, even a small hill. The point being, there was enough of a drop in height to enable me to gather enough speed to hit the ramp at an adequate enough speed. I set off, pedalling as fast as my skinny drain pipe denim adorned legs could take me. Health and safety I’m not entirely sure had been thought of back in the 70’s and early 80’s. If it had, the memo detailing such important facts had somehow been lost at the time, by Her Majesties finest within the Royal Mail. The memo never landed on my door mat that’s for sure. So there I was. Hurtling down my street, no doubt wibbling and wobbling along, wind in my face and hair. The more observant of you will have noticed I make no mention of any safety gear. Hence the wind blowing in my hair! No helmet, no gloves, no protection whatsoever, other than my own bravery. Or, as experience later teaches you. My own stupidity!

I’d like to think I had a crowd cheering me on. Grand stands of adoring fans screaming my name as I hurtled towards the ramp. In reality on this quiet Saturday afternoon it was my childhood friend who lived opposite me. I shall call her L to protect her identity. Not that she would read this, and I haven’t seen her in 30 years, probably more. However, I do not have her consent to mention her name.

She was the same age or thereabouts as me, and a total tomboy. I was besotted with her. I’d never met anyone like her before. Yes I know I was 7 years old, and hardly had the social standings of a jet setting social commentator, but all the same, she had wild tightly curled blonde hair. She was funny and had (if my memory serves me correctly over 4 decades later) piercing blue eyes. We hit it off straight away when we moved to the street. We played out on the street regularly together, riding our bikes up and down the road. Every spare moment I had, I would ask my parents if I could go and call for L. We’d dare each other to go into the front garden of the old run down bungalow further down our road which we had convinced ourselves was haunted! Residing within lived an old lady who kidnapped children who you never saw again! And that’s what I learned when I moved to the street from L and the other kids, so to me of course, it was gospel! L let me ride her bike, I let her ride mine. We would have water fights in the summer and get up to all sorts of other innocent mischief.

So there I was, hurtling down the hill, slope, incline, with L watching on. I guess I hit the ramp, and then all went dark. It’s all a bit hazy after that. I think I remember waking up on the way to hospital. From what I was told later by L, my parents, and what I am amble to piece together now, I successfully hit the ramp. However, this is where it all went wrong. It may surprise you to learn, that at the age of 7 I lacked the necessary mathematical and engineering skills required to execute such a stunt with any success. The plank of wood I had managed to source as my ramp which was precariously resting atop the milk crate, was not, how should I put this?

Adequate for the task in hand? Yes, I think that covers it.

You see, not only was this plank of wood unsuitable for the task, it was quite a chunky plank of wood. It was not level with the road surface, nor was it fixed in any way to the to milk crate. So, as soon as the front tyre from my amazing “Budgie Bike Stunt Mean Machine” hit the plank, it did not continue as expected up the ramp in order for me to execute the jump. No landing gracefully arm held aloft, whipping my imaginary crowd of adoring fans into a frenzy.

No.

The front wheel hit, my bike tipped forward at an alarming angle. It travelled part way up the ramp, and may I add at this point in proceedings, at an impressive speed! Of course, as is the way with physics and forward momentum, the bike continued at it’s rather alarming front wheel only angle! At this point, I had, I would imagine have run out of strength or skill. No doubt both. I had seen grasshoppers with more meat on them than I had as a child! My bike by this point had taken its own path and was freewheeling off to freedom, and I was free falling through the air. I came to an abrupt halt.

I refer you your honour to my previous observations regarding the clear lack of health and safety concerns surrounding this event.

I had landed with my head stuck between the planks of a ranch style fence at the front of another property in the street. Rendering myself unconscious! Cuts, blood, and a cracked fence. I think the most disturbing part who this whole debacle for L was when she came running over to find me lifeless with my eyes blankly staring back at her. Who knew you could be knocked unconscious and your eyes remain open? L went and knocked at my house. My dad answered the door to be told by her “I think Dom’s asleep!” I can only imagine the people in her family slept with their eyes open!? I’m surprised she didn’t think I was dead!

That was quite a significant knock to my noggin. I seemed to be quite good at it. Like a skill I never really asked for! I fell out of a few trees and landed on my bonce. Came off my bike on numerous other occasions.

I got into a few fist fights in my teenage years at school, getting lumped around the loaf a few times by lads who were far better at fighting than I was. Probably because my mouth was writing cheques my fighting prowess (or lack of) couldn’t cash! In my late teens / early 20’s I got head butted by some guy who was a king and rook short of a full chess set. To this day I don’t know what his issue was. We passed each other in a bar, I was going to the loo, we caught each others eye. He held the look for a bit longer than is comfortable. I thought, “Strange bloke” He followed me into the toilets a few moments later, squared up to me and nutted me! I think what really annoyed him was when I smiled at him and said “Is that it?” and walked out. But, another knock to the head was had!

Again, at a pub, I was sitting outside with some friends. I noticed a bloke staring at me from another table. I held the stare. (Ok in hindsight, I should have just looked away) but, being a younger man and a bit lairy at the time, I didn’t. He came up behind me, and grabbed my hair. ( I had really long hair at the time) I stood up, and he started getting all agitated and going off like a Catherine wheel on fireworks night that hadn’t been nailed to the tree properly. He was telling me, no, shouting at me, how he was going to do me all sorts of harm. Such a charming chap. As we were walking across the pub car park, which had various picnic style benches dotted about, him backwards, me in front of him, attempting to calm him down, he picked up an empty beer glass. He attempted to break it on the table. I can only imagine to rearrange my face with. He obviously didn’t appreciate my looks already! Luckily for me, he had the dexterity and skillset of a one eyed lobotomised ape. He proceeded to drop the glass. I think this annoyed him somewhat, as he then told me he had a knife and was going to stab me. At least he was polite enough I suppose to inform me of the impending violence about to befall me. This however was a bluff. And quite a clever one, as he feigned to retrieve the fictional blade from his back pocket, it drew my eye. For just a split second, that’s all he needed. With his other arm, he threw, what I must say was a corker of a punch. It landed slap bang on the left side of my head. I remember to this day those few seconds of complete confusion as your world goes a wee bit wibbly! I tried to stay on my feet as the ringing and whooshing noises filled my ears. But to no avail. Down I went like the stock at B&M on a Black Friday sale. However, although I went down like the share prices at the end of a bad day on the stock market, I shot straight up again like a pensioner overdosed on Viagra!

Another significant whack to the bonce. I’m surprised I’ve not suffered more significant damage over the years. What do they say? No sense, no feeling.

I’m not saying that these knocks to the noggin have anything to do with my significant lack of short to mid term memory nowadays, or are a contributing factor to the diagnosis of FND, PTSD, Depression. But it makes you at least interrogate the reasoning a little more. At present there is no real understanding as to why FND rears its head. Significant trauma is one theory as to why FND presents. As an 11 year old child I encountered significant trauma. Not all patients however who are diagnosed with FND have any significant trauma in their lives, either in the past or in more recent years proceeding their diagnosis. There is though, a larger proportion who do.

Like Depression, Anxiety and CPTSD. FND, can be a lot of the time, an invisible disability. No plaster cast, no bandages to inform the world.

I’ll go into that in more detail in part 2.

For now though, thank you so much for reading my words, and if you have enjoyed my nonsense. Subscribe!

Peas ‘n’ Taters

Dom