2. I know I have feet and toes. I just can’t see them. I can’t remember the last time I had a pedicure, because it’s been so long since I’ve been able to get up on the beautician’s couch.

3. You can no longer find my belly button: my tummy looks like a giant boob with a nipple. The scars from when I once had a belly-button piercing stand in a line with the aforesaid belly button. You could use them to practice playing the recorder on.

4. My sleep is controlled by someone else. I am often awakened by a  party in my body at 3am which means that when I actually need to get up and get the PD dressed, I just want to go to sleep.

5. I no longer choose when to eat. If I eat when I want, I get indigestion and heartburn. If I eat when ‘told’ I get the same. Just not with the same ferocity.

I used to do my nails every week and get my hair cut every couple of months. I used to love high heels and spend stupid money on them. I used to keep my clothes dry cleaned. I used to go out to dinner with my husband and be witty and amusing, then dance the night away. I used to be a blonde, thin-ish wife who had opinions. As I write, I sit on a special cushion, because the fabulous cream sofa is too low for me to manage. My zimmer frame stands next to me. I am wearing tracksuit bottoms and a tatty wrap cardigan I bought three years ago,not to mention the surgical support belt. My extraordinary husband will listen to my complaints about pain, my exciting day wedged on the sofa, what my daughter has done (usually visible on my clothing) help me to get in my pjs and put me in bed, then he’ll do the laundry and the washing up and walk the dog. I know one day I’ll be that wife again. I hope he knows that too. But for now, I’m a Mamma.