Christmas shopping

This is the Christmas present that I’d like to buy my physiotherapist. Surely the art of euphemism is something that is learnt at medical school? It is an art, however, that has passed him by. He is a good man, and a good physio. But when he saw me last, I’d rather he hadn’t said that it did look as if I would be left a little ‘deformed’. How he could have put it less bluntly? ‘Skewed’? ‘Off centre’? ‘A little less than parallel’?

Permanent deformity aside though, everything is going well on the leg front. I left one stick at home on a trip to the local shops yesterday, and walked there the day before, albeit with both crutches held two inches above the ground to act as rudimentary stabilisers. This pleases passers-by, who must feel that they are witnessing some miraculous event, as I cast aside my sticks and walk. I am also pleased to say that my gradual ability to use one hand and walk at the same time makes Christmas shopping a lot easier, as I can effectively carry my copy of Roget’s Thesaurus to the cash desk without having to pocket it and risk an awkward conversation with shop security. At least, I suppose, it would be an awkward conversation rich with synonyms.

However, my normal Christmas shopping habits have been rather wrecked by the whole leg situation. The frantic last minute Christmas Eve dash around Selfridges is not something I’d like to tackle at the moment, even though it is the best way to pick up such must-have items as the jelly bean pooing reindeer that I bought everybody a few years ago (I notice they’re everywhere these days). I did flirt with the idea of an internet shopping Crimbles, but this does require rather more forethought than I possess. If nobody is going to get their Christmas present until January anyway, you may as well do the shopping in the sales. So it’s going to be a few days hobbling around the delights of Croydon with a shoulder bag. So nobody is getting anything physically larger than a hardback book. Unless they are buying it themselves and passing me the bill, which is what Mum has resorted to.

Would it be corny to say that my best Christmas present could be geting back the use of my right leg? I have a consultant’s appointment on Tuesday, and am holding out a secret(ish) hope that he will give th go-ahead to the plaster room to get busy with the circular saw. It’s technically due to stay on for another week, but that would mean it coming off on Boxing Day, which is unlikely. It’s all down to the x-rays I suppose. I’ve had so many now that I could probably perch at one end of Oxford Street and make a fairly effective glowing Christmas decoration myself.

In the meantime, I must be getting better, as I have been busying myself with a little DIY. In sorting out William’s room, I have even got creative, and drawn a tree next to his giraffe for measuring his height. Which would be fine, apart from the fact that I had chosen that very afternoon to tell Wiliam off for scribbling on the walls. ‘Dwawing, wall!’ he gleefully commented as he viewed my efforts. We can expect toddler masterpieces on the walls for weeks.