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Every once in a while I have to realise the reason I don't think of myself as disabled is that I manage my life around my pain. When we bought our first 2nd hand Citroen, 20 years ago, I started being able to get to Melbourne without pain killers.
When it died, we found another 2nd hand Citroen. Its suspension broke on a long drive and it took me 9 months to get my neck back to my usual normal. The 3rd time it failed we didn't think it could be repaired and replaced the car.
We couldn't find a suitable Citroen but this one is supposed to be a good ride, so T took me to Melbourne yesterday. And I am wiped out with pain today. And fear, because I can't live out here without a car.
And then my freaky writer's mind wonders if this is the fates laughing because I've spent the last few years writing about a disabled protagonist. So my next one is going to be strong, bursting with miracles, and definitely have no crippling pain.
