Mummy, that lady has legs like Twiglets,’ a little girl whispered loudly, pointing over at me. The lady hushed her daughter and, giving me an apologetic smile, ushered her out of the shop.
Sitting in my wheelchair, I looked down at my legs. There was no denying it – they were incredibly frail. In fact, as I took a moment to examine myself, taking in the clothes that were hanging off me, I barely recognised myself.
I’d always been fit and healthy. Even in childhood, I’d avoided the usual outbreaks of chickenpox, mumps and measles. And as an adult, I got married and moved out of my home town of London to settle down in Essex. I was an artist and author and enjoyed a busy social life, meeting up…
