Tuesday, May 06, 2003

If there was a European hopping competition I'd win it. No question.

While I wait, my right leg dangling in mid-air, for Mr Stumpy to heal sufficiently for a prosthetic foot to be fitted my hopping abilities go from strength to strength. I'm becoming a human kangaroo, although my physio keeps insisting that hopping around the place is a Very Bad Thing and should be avoided at all costs.

I've developed a variety of hops for every occasion, ranging from the high-impact, long distance propulsion hop to the low-impact hop-shuffle, specially designed for use when carrying a cup of hot tea from the kitchen. I barely spill a drop.

So far I've managed to avoid the mistake made by many new amputees. Apparently it's very common to wake up in the middle of the night, forget the limb's gone, try to plant both feet on the ground and go crashing to the floor in a crumpled heap.

In my case my missing leg is the first thing I think about when I wake up. There's no chance of forgetting it.

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