This is what a lady says when I tell her I don’t use a wheelchair. Life laughs.

Three days later we get the wheelchair down from the loft because of my bust ankle. I hate answering the door in it. I feel guilty for using it. As a child I was told off at an activity centre for using it because I had too much energy! I can’t get to school in my chair without help. Of course, for many people they don’t have a choice about using a chair. They might find easier than using crutches. I’m ashamed of my shame.

At the airport recently I experienced what is known as assistance. It doesn’t matter what you say you need. You get a package. I waited twenty minutes for the lift despite repeatedly asking to use the stairs. I then had to climb a step to get into the assistance vehicle. You couldn’t make this shit up. The thunderbirds theme blared. I just don’t want to stand in a queue I repeated lamely. Nobody was listening. The staff member pushed my chair that wouldn’t self-propel at speed from the bus to the terminal as if trying to break his own record. At least you had help I can hear people saying. At least they didn’t lose your wheelchair.

Back home my arthritis flares and I’m back to the wheelchair. Ofers of help cheer me up but I know the truth. I’d get better care from the NHS if my cancer flared up. I will do my best not to use my chair. I’ll feel embarrassed when I’m in it and exhausted when I’m not.

Good for you?!