After a While we fell into a sort of rhythm. My husband would take our son to school then go to work, leaving ,my black  coffee and counting out the days pills. A carer would come and help me to the shower, wash me – how I detested that – and get me back to bed.


Trying to look cool in my chair and support stockings

They also sent carers to clean. One sprayed my bathroom in Mr Muscle for kitchens, and didn’t rinse it off, leaving a strange sticky orange film over everything. Another decided to wash my mahogany piano! Yes,  I suggested that was not necessary. Once when I was downstairs another helper hoovered for me and proceeded to hoover the back of my sitting room rug…

At the weekend I could get outside and feel the sun on my face, mobile in my wheelchair. I tried to keep up appearances, making use of my collection of leather gloves to  wheel the dratted chair myself, and finding support stockings in black, rather than NHS white. Smiling on the outside.


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