HALFLING: A FAREWELL TO LEGS - Part Five

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’.

It’s been a rotten week for me - probably the worst one since I got *sprung* on the last day of April. On Thursday afternoon, as is our habit, my husband came by with the groceries, helped me into my bath chair, waited while I titivated myself and then wheeled me out for a visit to the hotspots of Hove. Two pubs, one bar and a lovely local restaurant; it doesn’t sound an awful lot, but six double vodkas and a Filthy Gibson certainly add up.

We got home, cross words were exchanged, I asked Mr Raven to leave and ten minutes after he had done so I promptly fell out of my wheelchair. I sat there like a lemon thinking ‘Well, this is interesting, to say the least.’ As I dragged myself along the hallway in search of my portable telephone, I realised I was leaving a trail of blood behind me.