My special powers

But wait. I have miscalculated the distance to the next branch, and I tumble to the ground, instantly breaking my spine.

Despite having survived the fall, I am now nothing more than a deli counter for any passing sabre-toothed tiger. I’m sure there are fundamentalist evolutionists who would say “Quite right, too”, because I have failed. A more sensible homo-sapiens would have stuck to blackberries, blueberries and other ground-based foods, having come from the trees but with no great desire to return there. Probably an ancestor of Ray Mears, I shouldn’t wonder.

Now here’s the thing. I am not a hunter-gatherer, I am a tree surgeon. And the sabre-toothed tiger is in fact the London Air Ambulance. Modern emergency medicine and the fine people who practice it have enabled me to survive my accident. But what I am astonished by is my body’s capacity to adapt.

My digestive system, after a period of shock, manages to function through peristalsis. (That’s the process by which the contents of the bowel are moved along by a rhythmic tightening and relaxation of the intestinal wall muscles, in case you were wondering.)

My vascular system, after virtually passing out when I try to sit up, constricts and adapts to stop all the blood rushing to my feet.

The muscles above my waist learn to take over the circulatory functions previously carried out by the groups of large muscles in my legs and buttocks.

My trunk muscles take over the stability and learn to keep me balanced when I sit up.

Even my bladder eventually relinquishes initial resistance to me violating it with a plastic tube every four hours.

These are my ‘special powers’.

But all disabled people have special powers, right? You only need to watch a few movies to realise this.

Blind people have super sensitive hearing that enables them to hear the smallest noise, and dispatch dozens of would-be killers with a sword-stick. (Blind Fury)

Autistic people, of course, spend every weekend at the casino, earning wheelbarrows of cash with their remarkable mathematical abilities. (Rain Man)

Those with learning difficulties are busy running, playing table-tennis or saving their buddies in ‘Nam. (Forrest Gump)

And the speaking impaired citizens of New Zealand can’t resist playing piano on the beach. (The Piano)

The human body is a thing of wonder, and our ability to adapt to virtually any conceivable impairment is truly remarkable. But these abilities are seldom seen in the Hollywood model of disability, where the ‘afflicted’ all too often reach for the spandex body-stocking. Back in the real world, however, it’s more likely to mean being able to undertake a task without help, or developing the self-confidence and understanding to be verbally independent.

In my case these special powers don’t include the ability to overcome my pain, negotiate more than one step in close proximity or reach for the best eggs on the top shelf in supermarkets. Nor do they really include the raw materials for a Hollywood action movie, unless I could defeat evil villains by balancing on my back wheels or getting down and up from the floor unaided. “Curse you, Transfer Man. You have sat on my plans once again.”

Not all of the body’s responses are positive, as demonstrated by any of the many auto-immune diseases, or by Charlie Swinbourne’s recent article about his experiences of tinnitus. But there are times when we should give ourselves credit for the things we have achieved. In some ways, our adaptability represents the highest achievements of our species. Which, ironically, makes us the real evolutionary successes.