HALFLING: A FAREWELL TO LEGS - Part 10

The tenth 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‘.

When I could walk, I used to choose my friends for their mental attributes, and often what they lacked as much as they had; street-smart rather than formally educated, sassy rather than feisty, a good audience who didn’t mind me being the only diva at the table so long as I picked up the check. Now I’m in a wheelchair, for the first time I appreciate them for their physical attributes.

Luckily I’ve always been friends with people quite a bit younger than me; when I was in my mid-thirties my best friend was 15 - that was probably odd, looking back, but it was her idea. Now they’re generally in their 30s, 40s and 50s; I’m an ancient 66. This means they’re strong enough to handle the chair and the big metal ramp that needs putting out on the steps of my building to facilitate my glorious exit and entry. Though Mr Raven is far and away my favourite driver, I now appreciate Kari’s amazing gym-honed arms, Samantha’s height and air of calm competence, the fact that Alexis arrives in her gym clothes having run here. The phrase ‘a safe pair of hands’ has taken on a whole new meaning for me. (Though to be fair, Kari was once rebuked by a passer-by for wheeling me too fast and basically treating me as an interesting piece of outdoor gym equipment - for which I immediately forgave her, as she’d paid for an eye-wateringly expensive lunch.)