Sep 19, 2014

Freedom of Movement

It was with joy in my heart that I left hospital the other day, after a brief examination by a doctor which followed what he expressed to be a completely pointless X-ray, which was preceded by a not actually ridiculously long wait.

My mood was so good because I had been proclaimed as fit for anything other than lifting heavy weights. My freedom of movement, as demonstrated by lifting my arm high into the air with only the slightest of stoic grimaces, by scratching my back and by generally being loose in my (arm) movements, was rewarded with freedom of movement, to whit: driving.

When I asked him if I was fit to be behind the wheel he just looked at me and said - yeah, of course, there's no reason why not, you've made a very good recovery, blah blah blah.

And so, after five weeks, my life of dependency is, shall we say, over.

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