I'm back, I'm afraid. I need something to do to keep myself either in or out of trouble. As a two-year old I was careless enough to catch polio just because a good number of my little contemporaries were doing it. And I'm afraid that even after seventy years it can come back to bite you, as it has me. And it's no use telling me to exercise my leg muscles because infantile paralysis attacks (in my case) the nerves which operate my legs and feet - and not the muscles themselves. The body does it best to grow new nerves, but they are fairly pathetic compared to the originals, and in time they can just give up the struggle and collapse altogether.
Hence I am learning anew the meaning and value of things like crutches, and walkers on wheels with handy little trays on which to put food and drink in the hope of getting from one room to the next without falling flat on my face and throwing them all over the floor. Thank heaven for polished wooden floors, at least in terms of clean-ups - if not of bruises.
Getting about and doing things is a bit of a problem, so I have seized on blogging as something to keep my hand in.
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