In January 2025, my arm became trapped between my desk and my wheelchair, caught up to the elbow. I was stuck for an hour and a half before I could get help.

I damaged nerves in my arm. Nearly twenty months later, I still haven’t regained the use of my left hand.

That was the hand I used to operate my computer mouse. Now I do both the typing and the mouse work with my right hand. It tires me out, and the more I use it, the worse my coordination becomes. Everyday tasks take more effort.

The impact extends to eating and personal care. I used my left hand to feed myself. Now I can’t eat independently in the way I used to, and I’ve had to find foods I can manage with my right hand. I also used to brush my teeth with my left hand. Now I have to use my right.

These are everyday activities, but losing the ability to do them in familiar ways has changed my independence. I already live with cerebral palsy, and my experience is that this injury has increased the impact of my existing impairment. There is a whole range of things I can no longer do as I did before.

I was told recovery from this kind of injury could take a year to eighteen months. That was the timeframe I was given. That time has now passed, and I still don’t know how this will end.

ACC was okay at first. And most of the professionals I’ve seen have understood my predicament. I’m grateful for that.

But there have been so many appointments: specialists, physiotherapy, more conversations about whether my hand will recover. There is a lot happening, yet I don’t feel any closer to understanding what comes next.

Alongside the injury, there is the work of dealing with ACC.

ACC asks my GP to complete forms he isn’t sure how to fill out. So I end up having to explain what is needed. I’m the person seeking support, but I’m also having to help navigate the process that is supposed to provide it.

It feels like appointment after appointment, form after form. I’m exhausted, and I’m at my wits’ end.

When I think about what support would make the biggest difference to me now, I laugh a little.

Not having to deal with ACC.

That’s how exhausting the process has become.

One specialist raised the possibility of compensation relating to my cerebral palsy, mentioning cover for birth injuries. But I was born in England, and I don’t know whether that suggestion applies to my circumstances. It has left me with another question to untangle, rather than a clear understanding of what support might be available.

My ACC rehabilitation coordinator is based in Hamilton, about two hours’ drive away from me. She has never met me in person or even seen me on camera. We have little rapport, and I don’t feel understood.

That matters. These conversations concern my body, my independence, and the effort it takes to get through an ordinary day. It is hard to convey that to someone with whom I have so little connection.

Meanwhile, the rest of my health hasn’t paused while I wait for my hand to recover. I’ve also been dealing with shingles and other ongoing health issues. The appointments and administration draw on the same limited energy I need for everyday life.

I don’t expect anyone to promise that my nerves will recover. I do want a clearer understanding of what happens next, help navigating the paperwork, and a relationship with the person coordinating my rehabilitation in which I feel heard.

Nearly twenty months on, I’m still living with the injury and the uncertainty. Getting support has become another thing I have to find the capacity to do.

When I say the biggest help would be not having to deal with ACC, that is the exhaustion talking. But it is also something I want ACC to understand.

I would like the process of getting support to leave me with some energy for living.