First of all, to all the dear friends and supporters of our wonderful Callum, a mea culpa. This is an update written by Sue, Callum’s Mum. We are acutely conscious of the extremely long gap in communication, and how hungry you all are for news.

It has been a difficult year for Callum, and when things are challenging, I batten down the hatches and look inwards to preserve energy. I am in total awe of my son. He has had so many setbacks since he left Moseley in Birmingham last June, and each time he has picked himself up again and battled through. If you know the Maya Angelou poem ‘And still I rise’, the next time you watch her reading it on YouTube, think of Callum, as it sums him up. He is AT LAST, on a bit of a therapeutic role, which is so heartening, but first things first- a bit of a chronology.

After he left Moseley he was sent to Leominster Community Hospital as a ‘holding operation’ by the CCG, while the next medium-term therapeutic step was decided. He unravelled there, despite lovely nursing staff and two great physios. I won’t go into it except to say it was distressing in the extreme and we had to fight hard to get him out and into a more suitable rehab facility with a more comprehensive therapeutic offering. The Brain Injury Rehab Unit at Frenchay in Bristol was identified as that, and mercifully Callum was transferred there in September of last year. Hallelujah. He is still there.

He was just beginning to recover from Leominster both physically (he lost a frightening amount of weight while there) and psychologically, when he went for his planned cranioplasty at the QE in Birmingham in late October. This was to replace the large amount of bone removed from above his eyebrows immediately after the accident, with a titanium plate. The operation went like clockwork, but two days later, he had a massive haemorrhage within his skull. This was always a risk when completing an operation like this, happening in 5% of cases. The surgeon had to remove the newly installed metal plate, clear out the haemorrhage causing the cranial pressure, all the while receiving a blood transfusion to make up for the blood loss. So two massive surgical interventions, two great whacks of anaesthetic within 48hrs, and the possibility of further damage. It was a very frightening day and threw me right back to the trauma of the original accident. Two days after the second op, I said as I was going home ” No more dramas please, Cal, OK?” And he replied: “I will see what I can do”. Which was a big sentence for him, and it was immensely reassuring to know that his sense of humour and loving nature were still intact. Instead of four days, he ended up at the QE for two weeks, as he developed a chest infection there as well. The one good thing was reconnecting with his wonderful neurosurgeon and some of the amazing medical staff who cared for him the first time around.

It took him two months to come out of the fatigue and fog of those two interventions. That took us to Christmas.

In late January, he had a very severe tonic seizure that led to hospitalisation for nearly a week in South Meads Hospital, the acute hospital in Bristol. He then took a week at Frenchay to recover enough to engage in therapy once more, but at last, there was then ‘no drama’ until yet another planned intervention in March (and the last!): a tendon release procedure as he had contractures in both calves because of the brain injury, and had only been able to walk on the balls of his feet since he started walking at Moseley, despite gargantuan efforts by staff with physio and Botox injections.

No weight bearing for eight weeks after that (we are now mid-May). He had a series of splints made, the last of which he still wears at night, until the right angle at his ankle, which was the whole point of the procedure, can be relied upon to be maintained.
He gradually started to learn to walk again, this time with his heels down, and often in bare feet so Claire, his outstanding physio, can check his flexion- he so enjoys that.

And so he progressed from walking within a huge contraption which allowed him to gradually weight bear while keeping him safe from falling, to a four-wheeled walker, to sticks a month ago. And then, suddenly, a veil seemed to lift.
From standing unsupported for two minutes (one of their tests) he could, within a week, stand for twenty. And engage at the same time in neurological tasks like selecting specifically coloured pegs and attaching them to a rod, or copying shapes or completing a clock face.
A month ago he started, only in therapy, for now, to walk unsupported, with Claire on one side and another physio on the other, with a small harness which they could grab if he overreached himself. And readers, he can walk two or three hundred yards. Two weeks ago Claire took him into the garden for the first time and among the trees, me trailing behind with the wheelchair, so he could walk on grass for the very first time since the accident, grab branches, look at leaves, examine bark. You will all appreciate what a red-letter day that was.
Claire also introduced him to stairs: he climbed from the ground to the first floor of the building, a total of nineteen steps: we were exultant. An incredible feat from sticks just six weeks or so ago. I have not felt this heartened since he left Moseley a year ago.
Everyone at Frenchay is so excited and happy for him. He is their shining star.

His cognitive challenges remain huge, and I imagine that it will be harder for him to retain motivation for the learning challenges that lie ahead, as he can see immediate results for his efforts in physio, whereas cognitive gains are slower to reveal themselves, and more tiring for him.

He still speaks relatively little, at times struggling to give yes and no answers to questions, though thumbs up and down are reliable. He can read and write several words- sometimes some really surprising stuff!- and make choices in everyday activities; his short term memory is episodic and he struggles with retaining where he is and why. But since the recent step change in physio, there have been small daily celebrations that the medical staff report with excitement: God indeed is in the detail. And these, we have to believe, will add up to an improving big picture.

It is very likely that this recent burst of progress forward will plateau out- such is the nature of brain injury, I am learning. And anyway, the fall from grace would be too great if I were to believe this was ‘it’, so I endeavour to keep on my line, being positive but remaining open to setbacks. This whole journey thus far has felt circular: the progression is at last forward, but we revisit places that I thought we had ticked off and moved on from. It gives a whole new meaning to the quality of patience, for Callum and for those who love him.

He will remain for now at Frenchay, for how long is uncertain, but while the wonderful therapist and medical team there can support his movement forward, why would he move from an environment where he is so well known and loved, and where he is in such skilled hands. As his mum, I am every day appreciative of their care for Cal.

Finally: he is now much less fatigued by his formal therapy sessions, and usually has good energy for being sociable. We know how much he enjoys seeing loved ones. It is a very pleasant 1.5-hour journey door to door from Hay if you haven’t yet been to Frenchay, so please visit him as and when you can, as your support is fundamental to his well being and rehabilitation. As before, please where possible coordinate visits via Pete so we can avoid overlaps. Weekends are freer than Mon-Fridays as he has no therapy then, but come when you can. And if you want to visit for the first time but are in any way nervous at the prospect, do contact me or Pete beforehand for a chat. I am also more than happy to be there to support someone on their first visit.