Last year I had got into a healthy habit of swimming very regularly: pretty much every morning when staying in a hotel and also on Saturday and Sunday mornings at a hotel local to home with my eldest daughter.

Then I got derailed earlier this year by, well, coughing – a bug that went around the office taking many of us out for a week or so at a time. I have continued to have protracted bouts of coughing ever since sometimes to the extent that colleagues have become very concerned about me. This does not go well with swimming – generally it is not a good idea to swim regularly if you have bad colds.

My GP referred me some months ago to see a chest specialist privately but despite being private, I could see him only on a Tuesday or a Thursday which is completely incompatible with work. I suppose I might regret this and I really should put my health first but I have that weird "man-cold"/"not until I am death’s door" imbalance with regard to making a fuss/seeing a Doctor. If the cough becomes worse again, I shall have to reconsider a visit.

Well, back to the headline topic: I went swimming again today. First time for months. Really no excuse when one is in a decent hotel with an excellent swimming pool and changing facilities – it really is not hard to wander down from one’s room when half-asleep to a swimming pool at the the other end of the building.

Admittedly, it was not the 6am visit I used to do (more like 7.30am) but I did enjoy it. The challenge now is to see if I can do it tomorrow and the day after and the day after …

Health concerns in the family give me some incentive at least.

Quote of the day:
To get something done, a committee should consist of no more than three men, two of whom are absent. – Robert Copeland

I have a somewhat odd role at the moment. Not unusual for me. This time I have gone from leading some slightly odd development projects as part of a larger programme of work to acting as the trouble-shooter on the more intractable problems that come up as defects during testing in the overall programme. At least, that is the advertised role. In fact I spend far more time nudging things here and there to try and avoid problems later.

The problem with both of these roles is that can be a bit soul-destroying. Dealing with defects is a lose-lose proposition, just like running just about any kind of support desk. No one wants defects in the first place and the longer it takes to solve them the more problems they cause. If you are not seen to be obsessively and obviously working on the defects, it is assumed that not enough is being done, you do not care enough, or you are not following the plot. On the nudging side, no one is interested in what might of happened. You do not get remembered for what you have avoided but what you failed to avoid.

Fortunately, there is a terrific team of people around me who are passionate about getting the job done and who generally trust each other.

I get an odd satisfaction from getting things sorted out and heading off problems here and there. I am also doing a little coaching at the same time. One of the hardest lessons in this game is remembering to focus on the result not on the journey. You do not have to win every argument, persuade people of your point-of-view, take the awards for fixing things. You just need to get the required result. Even if people do not realise you made it happen and you had to swallow a little pride on the way. (Career wise though, you had better make sure a few people realise and that you have some evidence rather than just achieving the required result – not everyone will play as fair in the long run!)

I think many of my colleagues think me a little mad. I try to always be upbeat, happy and positive (whilst maintaining a healthy degree of cynicism appropriate to the industry). I try to enjoy my work. What I do is fun. Despite the job being difficult, frustrating, and wearing it is a privilege. Most days I ask people if they are enjoying themselves. Them seem surprised. My point though is that they should be. They should remember what the alternatives are.

The events in this posting took place commencing around 23rd May 2007 – can’t remember exactly when.

We have had workmen around a lot over the last few months updating the kitchen and then building an en-suite in the master bedroom. One of the things that really irritates me is when workmen leave ladders lying around the place. I imagine an opportunistic burglar is just around the corner waiting for the first opportunity to use such a convenient slip to get into the house though and upstairs window.

I was especially annoyed to see some of the builders had borrowed my own ladders from the garage and left them out at the front of the house so just before we went out for the day, I ran downstairs and grabbed them. Or at least I tried to. It turned out that they were not our light-weight aluminium ladders but very similar looking very very heavy-duty builders steel ladders. I discovered the mistake when my hasty attempt to upright the ladder from a flat position to an upright on one side position ready to grab them properly to carry them to the garage instead resulted in me being jerked towards the floor. It is so rare for us humans to misjudge the amount of force required for every-day tasks that when we do get it wrong it is a big shock. In this case, I felt things happening in my back that should not have happened.

I stretched for a while and then we headed off as planned. Some hours later, sitting on a simple bench out-side of a pub awaiting delivery of my Sunday-dinner, I started to feel a lot more pain and have some difficulty moving. I also developed considerable pains in my right leg.

Getting home proved very painful and difficult. After lying down for a while at home, I found I had to go to the toilet. This proved to be extremely difficult and painful and I found I could not complete the task so to speak. I managed to get off the loo but my back locked with me at about 45 degrees and I was unable to pull my trousers up. Most embarrassing.

With help from my wife, I eventually got decently dressed and upstairs to bed. I was convinced that after some rest I would be fine. I understood that the advice was generally to take pain killers and, with due care and attention, to keep going.

I was due in York he following day. There was no way I could face it in the morning so I made arrangements to travel up later that day. One car journey, two train trips, and one taxi later I made it to my hotel and gratefully sank onto my kingsize bed.

The following day I was very stiff and still in a significant amount of pain. I made it to the office and got on with my work. The pain got worse and worse during the day and I chaired a critical meeting in near agony. I wrote up notes from the meeting afterwards and have since been told that I chaired the meeting well and that my notes were very good. I have no recollection of the meeting or what I wrote.

A colleague helped me to get back to my hotel. I tried to relax and do movements that I was sure helped relieve the pain. Night time became absolute hell. There was one point where I had taken over half-an-hour to get down onto the floor (I had been taught that lying face-down with arms by your side helped relieve pressures on the back) but then found myself stuck. The pain got worse but moving in any direction was excruciating. In fact, I fainted a couple of times.

After hours, I managed to get some control over the pain and began to move again. I had considered calling for an ambulance during the night but had not been able to reach a phone. Now I just wanted to get home. I checked out of the hotel about 4am in the morning. They could not get a taxi for me so I walked (yes, walked) to the station – only about 10 minutes away normally – towing by suitcase. In some ways it helped but it was difficult and took me over an hour.

I got the first train from York to Manchester and there found an open pharmacy in the station and the pharmacist, with due consideration for my general health, dosed me up with a range of pain killers and muscle reliefs that I could use in combination to allow me to get home. I took a train from Manchester to Stafford and then drove home (none of the drugs made be drowsy – on reflection though I was probably not safe to drive; I just wanted to get home).

I did see a doctor the following day. He was concerned. Ultimately though plenty of pain-killers, a really good physiotherapist and lots of very specific exercise as well as 6 weeks off work (longest ever break from work for me – the Doctor was very reluctant to sign me fit for work at the end but I was going stir crazy) sorted me out.

Unless I have an operation (which is risky) I shall probably always have some pain now and I have to be very careful.

The first week of my sick leave was rough. I could not do anything or stay in any one position for more than about 15 minutes (day or night).

It scared me.

My birthday arrived during the early part of my sick leave. Not a great event.

Several weeks later, we celebrated my wife’s 40th birthday in an exclusive castle-hotel but I was unable to take part in most of the celebration because I was still not properly mobile.

I returned to work gratefully and although I had to be extremely careful over the first month or so (and got tired very easily because of the discomfort) and managed to get my work done without further mishap.

Now, many months later, I find that I am pretty much back to normal although with a constant background pain that I have to live with and a degree of paranoia about anything that could hurt my back. For example, I recently switched from driving to the office of my current client (a 3 to 6 hours drive – depending on the traffic) to travelling by train. Train travel is worse because I have to take two bags with me: a suitcase I can tow and a backpack with my computer and key documents. Every now and then I get a reminder twinge to be careful. Gulp.