The other direction

When you become "disabled" it means you can no longer be considered abled, that is you can't do stuff. You begin to appreciate those daily activities we always take for granted.

Like going to the toilet. Suddenly it's a major operation - no leaving it to the last minute. This is something that has to be planned.

First of all you have to actually get there - and in getting there you have to get out of your chair, and walk. The walking bit isn't so bad - but getting up to walk is a real struggle. There is no strength in your leg, and the knee is complaining bitterly at being disturbed. It's become stiff with inaction, and no amount of ankle pumps is going to help.

Then, when you are actually in the bathroom, you have to get undressed, and sit down. That isn't easy, but it's nowhere near as hard as actually getting up again.

You look round wildly, looking to see what you can grab a hold of to lever yourself up. Toilets are lower down to the ground than chairs. Think about it - well, actually you don't normally, you just spring up, pull up your knickers and get on with your life.

And that's another thing - reaching down to pull up your knickers. You try to do it single-handed, while using the other hand to steady yourself. Thee is nothing so ornery as a pair of knickers that are round your ankles, especially when they are tangled up with your shorts.

Oh look, this is my chair - taken from the other direction in the library. It's one of those huge TV chairs that has a foot rest built in, and it's so comfortable I can sleep in it.

On the left, there is my walking cane, and on the floor is a towel, and ice-pack. In front on the right is my lap top, and there's the phone, and my knitting. There's the cough medicine because my throat somehow got scratched during the anesthetic, and all my remote controls for the television.

What more do I need?

Mobility would be good.