He sits where he once stood triumphant, a man whose body has steadily betrayed the power of his spirit. Five knee surgeries, nerve damage, drop-foot, and the lingering cost of old tours and hard years have left Phil Collins needing a live-in nurse around the clock. Walking now demands crutches or a cane; drumming, once effortless, became impossible without taping sticks to his fingers. The man who filled stadiums now measures victories in careful steps across a room.
Yet within the struggle, there is a quiet, stubborn light. Collins speaks openly of the alcohol that “messed up” his kidneys and the months spent in hospital, but also of sobriety, acceptance, and a strange peace. He calls these years “difficult, interesting, frustrating,” then adds, almost defiantly, “It’s all right now.” His body may be failing, but the resilience that carried him from child actor to global icon still refuses to fade.
