This week, I have realised how much my disability has prevented me from doing. I’ve been on steroids for the past five days, dropping to a half-dose for the next five. I hate the rapid-heart rate, the insomnia, my quick temper, but boy is the rest great. I never thought that I would ever choose a basket over a trolley at the supermarket again. Or that I wouldn’t be phased about not getting a parking space close to the school. Or carry in four cups of tea to my relations yesterday. I also found myself recalling the details I had learned that day about the WW1 Battle of Loos. Details that would have normally been a hazy mush of wonderings. I find myself doing more than usual for everybody, and not noticing it’s just too hard. It’s like I’ve been given a reminder of the way things were.
But I know it’s a slightly cruel, passing taste of a better life. Still, I intend to savour it. and to remember that all the people, all the places, all the assurances are still there when I come out the other side. And one day, maybe that blissful recovery will arrive and stay for good.