Keith Hill looks every bit the keen gardener sitting on his lawnmower cutting away at overgrown hedges. But Keith is a paraplegic and his lawnmower is just one of the many modes of transport he uses– along with his car and wheelchair.

Speaking about the car accident that left Keith paralysed from the waist down, there is little acrimony. Instead, he remains remarkably upbeat and resilient. “You either lie under it or you get up and deal with it,” says Keith bravely talking about how he has had to learn to cope with his disability.

Of course, coming to terms with paraplegia was tough in the beginning. Not only a keen sportsman and traveller, Keith worked as a civil servant and youth worker. Comprehending life with almost certain physical limitations wasn’t going to prove easy, especially for someone whose life was always an active one.

There were many dark days to endure before Keith eventually accepted that life would never be what he once knew. The dark days would never fully disappear but with sheer determination and unwavering support from his many friends, Keith has managed to build a very fulfilling life.

The first night I called over to Keith for a chat was on Good Friday. The pubs were shut so I presumed that he, like the rest of the country, was bracing himself for a quiet night in. But my mother, a nurse who tends to Keith, had pre-warned me that it wouldn’t be unlike Keith to be hosting one of his many dinner parties on this particular night.

Sure enough, when we pulled up into his yard, there was a row of cars parked up outside. I popped in to arrange a more convenient time to visit, but Keith wouldn’t let me and my mother leave without tasting his mushroom starters, which was an accompaniment to the glass of red we suddenly found ourselves holding.

To many, Good Friday symbolises penance and the absence of a good steak. Sitting around Keith’s big wooden table, there wasn’t a sniff of scourging guilt or dead fish in the giddy air. And it’s obvious from Keith’s company that losing the power in one’s legs does not mean having to lose one’s sense of humour.

When people ask Keith about his accident, he prefers to give them a tongue-in-cheek version of the story which usually includes the words, Karma and Sutra. “Who wants to hear a story involving black ice? It’s boring,” laughs Keith stroking his Gandolf-like beard.

But behind the razor-sharp wit is a much deeper side. Keith likes nothing better than to discuss the state of the world and all who preside in it. During the second pre-arranged visit, we talked more about political correctness.

I was telling him about a meeting we had in work recently where I discovered that it’s permissible to use the word ‘disability’ but not ‘disabled’– even though they were of the same literal variation, and that not so long ago, the word ‘handicap’was more than acceptable.

Keith sighs at the mere notion of political correctness. For him, the world has become ridiculous in its attempts to box and label people. If he were to take himself so seriously, he doubts he’d ever get out of bed in the morning.

As for labelling, he refers to himself as a ‘cripple’. He sees no malignancy in the word. It’s just a word. Those who have not yet accepted themselves, disability or no disability, fail to see the lighter side of life and therefore take issue with everything.

The same positive approach applies to the subject of disabled parking and other such facilities. Although, Keith advocates for all areas to be accessible for people with limited physical ability, he remains pragmatic. “There are always going to be a few places where ramps are just not practical and I am quite happy to get past that whatever way I can,” says Keith speaking about his local pub being unavoidably ill-equipped to fully accommodate his needs.

But far be it for a ramp to stop Keith in joining in with the revelling. Socialising outside does have its advantages. It means not having to queue up at the bar and unlimited personal service.
One loud beep of the horn outside the supermarket and Keith gets the ingredients for a pending dinner party delivered promptly to his car. But Keith divulges an altogether cheekier advantage to having to use a wheelchair. “You get plenty of women wanting to sit on your lap,” he smiles with devilment.

Keith’s reckoning is that, because of his disability, women perceive him to be non-threatening. Far from feeling patronised, Keith’s more than happy with the arrangement.

Being numb from the waist down does not dispel all sense of pleasure, sexual or otherwise. On the contrary, certain limitations have long proved to activate and heighten other dormant areas of the body, especially those in the brain.

On reflection, Keith is happy to be alive. “My life may have been different before, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it was better.” Of course, being able to walk again would be a dream come true.

This recurring dream is pinned on the hope that one day doctors will be able to repair Keith’s severed spinal cord. And according to friends who keep Keith constantly updated on the developments of medical science, his dream may well soon become a reality.