The Group Programme | How can peer support help? | Inspirational stories

The Group Programme

Overview

Each LifeMoves programme runs for 8 weeks, meeting for a single weekly session of two and a half hours. Between 6 and 12 people affected by an acquired neurological condition make up each group, and are supported by a facilitator and a peer, who have participated in a previous LifeMoves programme themselves.

A wide range of topics can be discussed depending on the desires of group members, and guest speakers may be invited to provide more information about subjects of interest to the group.

Most important, however, is that people are supporting and listening to each other, and sharing strategies they are using to deal with the changes in their lives as a result of neurological injury.

Programmes are held in community venues with disability access, morning or afternoon tea is provided and there is no fee to participate.

More information is available in our brochure. Please click here to download (PDF format).

Please click to download a referral form in MSWord or PDF formats.

How can peer support help?

Previous participants have said that the most important feature of the LifeMoves programme is spending time with people who actually understand how they feel and what they are going through. In this environment, supported by an experienced facilitator who also has an acquired neurological condition, they feel comfortable to speak openly about the issues and barriers they are facing, and to share information about the things they have done in an effort to overcome them.

Please check the links below for the LifeMoves experience In the words of some past participants:

- Click here for Audrey's comments

- Click here for Christine's comments

- Click here for Barry's comments

Inspirational stories

We regularly receive contact from past participants with stories that may inspire those dealing with an acquired neurological condition. We will reproduce a selection of those stories below.

Christine Murphy, former LifeMoves participant

Last updated October 2010

By Christine

Christine’s memoirs on Judy Ridgway

The universe ever so often sends a person into your life that touches you or leaves their mark in some profound way. Some you hear coming, others like butterfly wings flutter over you, before you realise their effect. I have just had this privilege of experiencing the butterfly wings. Because of the effect this person had on my life, I feel compelled to share my experience.

I met Judy in a LifeMoves group. She was confined to a wheelchair because of having the condition MS. My aid is a walking stick because I have the condition Spino cerebellar ataxia.

LifeMoves is a group for peers to share with each other on all levels. If we want to have a moan we could. Judy never did. Now I don’t want anyone to get the wrong impression of my darling friend, her personality wasn’t meek and mild, far from it. But I have never met a person that was always so cheerful and so unconditionally kind and generous. She had such a positive outlook on life.

My description of her role in our group would have had to have been “the happy glue” that stuck us together. During the eight weeks that we all shared in the group, I received such a depth of compassion, acceptance and love from Judy as I am sure did the other members. Words fail to describe the invisible bond she created with people. Her gutsy positiveness and wicked sense of humour were an inspiration.

Her sudden parting has been such a great loss and grief for all of us. To finish on a lighter note, I will miss those gorgeous coloured nails.

- Christine Murphy

July 2010

By Barry

Barry’s Story continued...

A few weeks after being discharged from hospital, I woke up one morning, dressed myself and got from bed into my wheelchair. It was the first time since my brain haemorrhage that I had done that without help and the 'independence' felt great . What else could I do?

I manoeuvred myself through to the kitchen, made myself a cup of coffee and took my pills. Not exactly a walk on The Moon but for me, at that time, it was a 'Giant Leap' and I was very proud of myself!

It became my daily routine and remained unchanged until some months later when we were having some new floor tiles laid. That morning I started my routine as usual and then discovered that, in preparation for the tilers, the fridge had been moved to the hallway. I could not get past it in my wheelchair so I backed up to the hallstand, got my walking-stick and (for the first time outside of the physio gym) I stood up and walked to where I wanted to be.

Sometimes the impetus for progress comes from within. At other times external factors provide the push to do a bit more. Either way, any time that I rise to these challenges (no matter how small they may seem) I find some way to celebrate and to reflect on being a little bit further away from the premature death that so nearly claimed me.

May 2010

By Barry

Another Step In The Journey of Barry Goddard...

One of the moments along my recovery journey which I will never forget:

3 weeks after my brain haemorrhage an ambulance crew arrived to transfer me from the acute hospital to the rehabilitation Unit. They parked their trolley alongside my bed and one of them lifted the corner of the bedding to have a look at me. Looking over at his colleague he said:

'Okay...but I’m a bit worried about those legs, I don't know if they are gonna fit in our ambulance'.

Spotting his attempt at humour I decided to join in:

'Don’t worry about those legs mate. They were custom-made. They're a perfect fit between my backside and the ground!'

Everybody in the room laughed and for the first time in 3 weeks I felt really alive!

There were other times during my hospital stay that I was able to make people laugh; it always made me feel better. It wasn't until later that I realised, when I cracked jokes successfully I was showing my loved ones and the medical staff that, despite my brain injury, my mind and my spirit were intact.

April 2010

By Barry

Doing All That We Can...

Recovering after a near-fatal brain haemorrhage I had been struggling with the adjustment I needed to make in what I expected of myself. I knew that my wife was worried about me and when writing a Christmas card for her I included a promise, by writing it down on the inside cover of my new diary, I made the same promise to myself:

'I can't do all that I want to, I will do all that I can!'

The recent big storm in Melbourne presented me with yet another test:

Before my illness I was a very 'hands-on', practical person who spent time most days handling tools, making and mending things. I spent years renovating and extending our home and know pretty much where every nail and screw are. When hailstones smashed a window and punched several holes through skylights we had a lot of water entering where it wasn't wanted... Unable to physically do anything about it I followed my wife around as she: mopped up , placed buckets and pots under drips and wondered out loud about what else she should do. I hobbled around behind her trying to not get in the way with a loud voice inside my head screaming torrents of abuse and profanity at me for being so useless. I was hurting like hell and had to reach right down into my very core to keep pushing that nonsense aside and make sure that the only voice she heard from me was a calm and centred one that could encourage and support her, steadying ladders, passing tools, etc. and offering useful advice. As the rain subsided we were able to relax a little and congratulate each other on our efforts: WE had dealt with the situation well.

Neither of us could do all that we wanted to, but we had both done all that we could!
It wasn't perfect, but it was Enough!

March 2010

By Anon

An elderly Chinese woman had two large pots, each hung on the ends of a
pole which she carried across her neck.

One of the pots had a crack in it while the other pot was perfect and
always delivered a full portion of water.

At the end of the long walks from the stream to the house, the cracked
pot arrived only half full.

For a full two years this went on daily, with the woman bringing home
only one and a half pots of water..

Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments.

But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and
miserable that it could only do half of what it had been made to do.

After two years of what it perceived to be bitter failure, it spoke to
the woman one day by the stream.

'I am ashamed of myself, because this crack in my side causes water to
leak out all the way back to your house.'

The old woman smiled, 'Did you notice that there are flowers on your
side of the path, but not on the other pot's side?'

'That's because I have always known about your flaw, so I planted flower
seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back, you
water them.

For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to
decorate the table.

Without you being just the way you are, there would not be this beauty
to grace the house.'

Each of us has our own unique flaw. But it's the cracks and flaws we
each have that make our lives together so very interesting and
rewarding.

You've just got to take each person for what they are and look for the
good in them.

So, to all of my cracked pot friends, have a great day and remember to
smell the flowers on your side of the path!

February 2010

Barry

"I recently came across some writing that I did in the first few weeks after I was discharged from hospital. I was just starting to learn how to write with my right hand and it was barely legible. Five years on my handwriting is much improved but I have also learned to type. This is a transcript of some of those early musings:

Complete Recovery? “Complete”: now there’s an interesting word.

Was I, before my 'brain attack', everything that I was ever going to be? And, how good was my record in terms of seeing things through to completion?

I can’t answer these questions here and now , but I can leave this page where I will see it often and keep them in my thinking as I strive to re-build my physical capacity."