Right leg down a bit!

I have tried to master a new skill.

Crutches.

My physiotherapist, a lovely person but firmly of the no pain, no gain school of medicine,

taught me to walk Nordic ski style - so I rolled along like some alien creature. In fact, I

resembled one of the Martians illustrated in the classic HG Wells sci-fi tale, War of the

Worlds.

Long legs and crutches, when mixed with frustration and ill-temper, is a destructive

combination. In the wrong hands - and mine are the wrong hands – it’s lethal. Armed with

metal extensions I develop the coordination and reach of a demented octopus.

I cannot, for the life of me, work out which crutch or which leg goes forward first. So, life

becomes haphazard and more circular than direct.

I am sure of one thing though. It can’t be my right leg that goes first. That has a seven-inch scar and hurts like hell. And I mean hurts. If you’ve ever heard anyone suggest that a partial or full knee replacement is extremely painful, please believe them. It is.

In fact, everyone at the hospital warned me it was going to hurt. I complained to Mrs B it was going to hurt. ‘Yes, it will,’ she agreed.

Well, there’s no need to agree with everyone else, I pointed out crossly.

‘Yes, but it won’t hurt for ever, will it?’ suggested an irritatingly logical Mrs B.

In my case the pain is made worse because – for unrelated medical reasons – there’s a

restriction on the pain killers I can take. Frankly, there have been moments when I’d like to try every tablet on the market, along with a wee nip of something from the old country.

Either through unconditional love or the frustration of being married to a wimp, Mrs B seems to have formed an alliance and is firmly in league with the medical experts.

I sulk. She should be on my side. I’m the hero (and the wimp) in all this.

And then there are the exercises. All 12 of them - and twice a day.

I was quick to point out immediately after the surgery, that if we waited until my leg was

completely healed the exercises would be much easier and less painful. The physio and Mrs B looked at me thoughtfully and then exchange glances, perhaps thinking I was well named.

Simon… Simple Simon.

They quickly point out the exercises will ensure I do heal. The message is simple.

Understand it, Simple Simon.

There’s only one way through this. Smile, Grit teeth. Bend new knee to at least 90 degrees.

Hold to the count of 10. Repeat. Smile (at both the physio and Mrs B). grit again, and repeat.

‘That’s good, Simon. Here’s a tissue – wipe your eyes.’