The Times Magazine 7SPINAL COLUMN
MELANIE REID
s I progress through
the research trial, the
impact of the electrical
stimulation on my hands
is subtle but undeniable.
There are a couple of
clear-cut examples of
things I can do when it’s
switched on, but can’t do
when it’s switched off. That’s when everyone in
the room grins a lot and says, “It definitely
does something!”
The easiest illustration is the task requiring
both grip and span. The therapists have a big
plastic container with a huge lid – similar to
an old sweetie jar. My left hand is able, at full
stretch, to span the lid. But, although the jar
weighs next to nothing, my grip isn’t strong
enough to lift it clear of the table.
I can raise one corner, then it tumbles from
my fingertips. With the stimulation switched
on, however, and the signals pulsing through
the electrodes into my neck, I can span, grip
and lift it with ease. I can even waggle it
around triumphantly, showing off, saying,
“Easy!” like an irritating child instead of a
serious research participant.
It’s good to take delight in the positives,
though. Relish the tiny gains. It is also
wonderful, if rather peculiar, to feel the
increased strength in a hand useless for
so long.
In other tasks, my increased strength is
evident but unquantifiable. The ingenuity ofoccupational therapists is boundless, and I’m
never quite sure what random challenge
they’re going to put in front of me. One I’ve
done a few times is with a washing-up bowl
filled with water and a face cloth; my job is
to wet the cloth, then wring it out as tightly
as I can, using both hands, repeatedly for
ten minutes.
With the electrical boost, I can now get the
cloth dry enough not to drip. You can see the
knuckles and finger joints on both hands going
white with the extra power as I squeeze. That
wasn’t happening before.
Or there’s the hole punch test, devilish
because you can’t rest the punch on the table,
as normal people would, and push down. No,
I have to use it in the air, pinching it together
with one hand while the other hand supports
the paper. Then, to make it harder, a sheet of
card. When I started this, weeks ago, my left
hand could only make an impression of holes
upon the paper. Now, it’s making holes in both
paper and card. Punching card with the right
hand, previously a struggle, becomes a doddle.
I’m noticing something barely definable
in other exercises. I pick up a Rubik’s cube
in both hands, close my eyes, ignore the
electrodes hammering on the back of my neck
like hungry woodpeckers, and use both hands
to hold and twist and spin the thing upon itself
in every direction, as fast as I can. Like shaping
a snowball or preparing a cricket ball to bowl.
When I do that, shutting out the world, letting
muscle memory take over, both hands give mea brief but thrilling sensation of dexterity and
competence, of how healthy hands used to feel.
It’s like a prompt from the past. I remember
this, says the brain.
That same lightbulb, that fleeting flashback
of how my hands once worked, happened at
home without stimulation. I have been striving
to put my hair in a ponytail: it’s exhausting,
a) because it involves maintaining my arms
above and behind my head (hard when your
torso doesn’t support you), and b) because
my left hand can’t feel, grip or coordinate
the scrunchie.
You know what? This week I’ve managed
it. My hands gave me that same jolt of muscle
memory. And whisper this, but I’m beginning
to be convinced that my ability to regulate
heat is improving, and at night I swear
my insensate feet and legs can for the
first time feel a hint of warmth from my
electric overblanket.
The hair and heat incidents are anecdotal,
unscientific. But the improvements in the trial
sessions are real. And their significance is
huge. It means the electric pulses are bridging
the lesion in my spinal cord, shouting hello
and getting some kind of response from the
nerves below – the ones that, on the day you
read this, will have been lying dormant, cut off,
for exactly 12 years and seven days. n@Mel_ReidTimes
Melanie Reid is tetraplegic after breaking her
MURDO MACLEOD neck and back in a riding accident in April 2010
A
‘Whisper this,
but I can feel my
legs and feet for
the first time
since my accident’