I was frightened of the prospect of home, after so long. All was in order, however. A very obliging nurse came back with me to see me over the first hurdle. The wheelchair in my sitting-room was not at all comfortable or easy to manoeuvre with one arm, but...
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I was frightened of the prospect of home, after so long. All was in order, however. A very obliging nurse came back with me to see me over the first hurdle. The wheelchair in my sitting-room was not at all comfortable or easy to manoeuvre with one arm, but Martin and Kim had fitted the flat with all kinds of devices: rails for my bed, so I didn’t fall out; hand- grabs all over the place; a commode; and just about every other reminder of indignity you can imagine, plus a mobile phone, which, although detestable, has proved useful. A year or so later, here I still am, unable to do anything for myself. I am nursed day and night and have to be turned. But there is the television and unlimited reading matter. As of this moment, however, a vague sense of feeling might be returning to my lower limb. We persevere with exercises. Writing is impossible: I can work only through dictation. But at least I can speak. Before I had my stroke and my speech was impaired, I used to read aloud most of my
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