HALFLING: A FAREWELL TO LEGS - Part 18

The latest in the series about my collapse, surgery and subsequent life in a wheelchair, and the attitude of society towards the disabled - not quite humans, but 'Halflings‘.

Last week’s Halfling found me in somewhat pensive mode as I contemplated my imminent carting off to the Urology department of the hospital where I was in rehab for the first four months of the year. I hadn’t been back since and though a number of Gloomy Glendas said ‘O, it’ll be upsetting to be there again!’ I found it just the opposite. It hasn’t been all plain sailing, but the pleasure I took from being an Out Patient rather than an inmate was extreme.

But imagine my surprise when - having been warned that the promised battalion of tests would take up to four hours - I was in and out of the medic’s office in fifteen minutes flat!

What transpired there was bittersweet, to say the least; I was shown on a screen a scan of my lower regions, of which ‘stool’, as the charming young woman called it, seemed to make up 95%.

‘You’re very constipated,’ she informed me.

‘Yes, I know. It’s like I’ve accidentally sat on a Calippo and it won’t melt.’

‘Do you drink lots of water?’

‘Does soda water count? In brandy? And whiskey?’