Weekend before last we went back to Reading for a very good friend’s birthday party and to see some family. We were due to stay with my mum (she has a ground floor maisonette) and I was looking forward to going “out-out” for the first time in forever!

The day started well, I got up early and washed and dressed without issue, fed the dog and put him out for toilet duties. I’d packed my bag the day before so I was ready to rock and roll! Hubby loaded up the motorhome, including the dog and my mobility scooter so I could get around and it was time to leave. So I shuffled down the hallway, my usual speed further impeded by the fact that I had fucking trainers on so my normal ability to slide my feet along was ruined. Eventually getting to the van door he removed my walker to load it up and I began the slow and painful process of clambering in. Unfortunately it didn’t go the usual way. Normally I can lean my arse against the door, lift my right leg onto the step and wrench myself up, only needing assistance with my left leg which now flatly refuses to function at all (Well, aside from the violent extensor spasms that it blesses me with each day. Thanks for that.) On this day however I’d managed to heave my leg up and had my foot on the step but my knee kept collapsing and I couldn’t use my leg to push up. Not being 6ft bloody tall I couldn’t reach the hand hold at the top of the door frame so I was stuck. AGAIN!! I seem to spend my life getting fucking stuck in various places and predicaments these days! Anyway, the husband was right behind me (so I didn’t fall backwards) so sadly I’d need his help to get in. I HATE asking for help, like really hate it, no matter how long I’ve been this way or how much worse I get I don’t think I’ll ever be any good at it, but needs must and I sure as shit wasn’t getting any further “in” the van by myself. Despite my husband being well into his 50’s luckily he’s been a contract floor layer his entire life so he’s strong and lifting a 75kg roll of vinyl flooring is something he’s used to. I probably weigh about the same so here goes… now being lifted into a van sounds rather heroic, even romantic maybe but no, let me tell you it wasn’t either of those things. It was clumsy and not in the least bit graceful, think more along the lines of grappling with a sack of fucking potatoes only the sack of spuds in question also has spastic legs that don’t want to comply and is gripped with the fear of falling into the ground…

So hands under my armpits like you’d lift a toddler the joint effort ensued only it turned into the sack of potatoes scenario where it was more of a bear hug, lift and shove! Quite funny thinking back but the whole thing was not at all funny at the time. The only saving grace is that it was a work day at 9am so there was no one around to witness the whole debacle. Afterward my husband said to me “you’re not heavy, it’s just awkward” which is possibly the nicest thing he’s said to me in a long time 😂

Thankfully, getting in to come back home was weirdly a lot easier. Whether that was because we were prepared for it to be a fanfuckingtastic fiasco or not we’ll never know but it was a Saturday lunchtime with markedly more people around so I was grateful either way!