Sofa surfing

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Well the voodoo doll didn’t work, as the physio-terrorpist turned up in fine fettle to prod me physically and mentally into a new python-esque silly walk with the crutches. Instead of a painful shuffle I now have to alternate crutches and steps…I resemble a drunken chicken attempting a charleston dance, but that’s progress I’m told…

Our ultra sleek and low Italian sofa also got raised up so I can actually safely get in and out of it without requiring a winch and a shot of morphine. A small step back to normality but a giant leap away from life stuck in a wheelchair.

Access to a shower also appeared. This, dear readers has such magnitude it will have its own post soon.

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