I have always been independently minded, determined to follow the path written for me in life. Sometimes we make mistakes and sometimes we fall over... especially if we have quadriplegic cerebral palsy. Even the language of disability is a political nightmare. Is a disability something you ‘have’, ‘suffer from’ or ‘were born with’? Are you ‘different’, ‘special’ or exactly the same as everyone else? In fact, being a disabled person puts a swift end to these seemingly unending dilemmas. You don’t have time to pontificate over how to put your level of mobility into a verbal expression when you are putting all of your effort into brushing your teeth on your own for the first time, or climbing to the top of Machu Picchu in Peru.
We can’t escape who we are. As a child, however, I wasn’t a ‘disabled person’. I was a goalkeeper playing football in the park with my cousins; I was a Manchester United fanatic. In my mind, there was no reason to believe that I couldn’t become the team’s next first-choice goalkeeper. Kneeling down on the grass and diving from side to side to stop the ball, it never occurred to me that the professional goals might be a bit too high.
