A strange thing has happened over the last 48 hours.

Me and Mr Stumpy (or is it Mr Stumpy and I?) have started getting on with one another. I won't claim I'm delighted that he's a part of my life. I'd be much happier if I'd never clapped eyes of him. But, slowly, very slowly, I'm coming to accept him.

A few weeks ago the mere sight of my residual limb had me recoiling. Now, my response is a resigned shrug of the shoulders.

I'm still trying not to think too far ahead. The thought of waking up every morning -- in 5 years, 10 years, 20 years time -- without a foot is still too much to contemplate. But on a day to day basis I'm coping. At first, the simple things were the hardest -- looking at the injury, touching it, pulling on a pair of trousers and seeing just one foot poke through the bottom. With time, all these things are becoming more natural. Not quite second nature yet, but getting there.

Here's a record of our latest encounter, which comes with the usual "not for the squeamish" health warning.

Discuss Northern Iraq -- and Beyond