The pain in my leg must have been feeling a little lonesome after three weeks so it bought in a friend; a head ache.  Not literally, you understand.  A mere headache couldn’t make itself known above the barricade of all the (prescription) drugs I’ve been taking; this is more of an exhaustion of the brain.

A lot of my usual brain capacity is taken up with raw agony but until it happened I had no idea of how mentally exhausting being disabled would be.  Immobility requires almost constant thinking, something I have generally tried to avoid. For example in the absence, so far, of a Stannah Stair Lift, trips between floors have to be given a great deal of thought.  What will I need to take with me that might conceivably be needed in the next two or three hours, because there can be no question of unnecessary extra journeys.  I have taken to keeping a set of house keys upstairs so that I don’t have to run down (In my dreams) and open the front door.  And spoons by the coffee maker.  And both land-line and mobile phones permanently to hand. And a pen.  And my diary. (Cont in Page 94). All of which wouldn’t be a problem if I had a spare hand to carry everything and if the weight of the stuff didn’t make the pain worse.

I can still drive but only to places where I can be sure of a parking space and a short walk.  Ironically I have an appointment with a consultant specialising in Skeletomuscular issues – only another eight weeks to wait for that – and was warned in the letter that parking was not readily available near the hospital.  Just what the patient on crutches wants to hear, as it happens.  I am also curious as to why they need to know my preferred gender status and religious beliefs but if that helps to find a diagnosis ….  a three page form of those doubtless vital questions needs to be filled in and taken with me.  Of course it does.

I am planning to fly to Ireland shortly and it suddenly occurred to me that there was no way I could make the usual five or six mile walk between check-in and the departure gate, my current walking limit being about 50 yards.  Several dozen emails and phone calls (The average waiting time is now 48 minutes) later and I have been promised a wheelchair at both ends of the journey.  Sluice Nurse did have a bit of a moan about it, she being the pusher rather than the patient, but I pointed out the up side.  We can buy industrial quantities of stuff in duty free without having to worry about carrying it and we get to board first to stash it all in the overhead lockers.  There is always an upside and optimists apparently live longer.  Let’s hope her negativity doesn’t strike her dead before the return journey.

Let me leave you on another up note.  The following text from Useless the Younger, now permanently morphed into Jacob Rees Mogg, on hearing of my continuing ill health.

”I am sorry that your leg is still causing you such distress. Eat some sweets. I often find that helps”