In the early hours of this morning the strength that had kept me going for the past week evaporated.

Until now, the sheer fact of being home, alive, kept my morale high and my spirit strong. Now, for the first time, I’m faltering.

Last night as I slept I dreamed everyday dreams – I can’t even remember now what they were. But in all of them I was walking around with my full complement of limbs. When I woke up it was the reality of my situation – in hospital, drips in each arm, with a plaster cast around the stump that used to be my right foot, that seemed more dream like.

As dawn broke, so did the realisation that the road to full recovery will be long and tough, starting with two months in a wheelchair. I won’t be going back to work on crutches in a week and I’ll be reliant on those around me for a long time to come. And, as far as I’m aware, feet aren’t like tree branches. They don’t grow back.

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