Last year, I had both my knees replaced with prosthetic joints – three months apart; one in February, the other in May.
The recovery was unbelievably painful, the rehab was gruelling, the night pain appalling, and for months and months, life was a grim old blur of painkillers, physio and post-operative brain fog.
By the end of the year, while the knees were working pretty well and I had finally ditched the crutches, I’d put on about 10lb, lost every ounce of muscle mass I’d ever had and was embarrassingly tentative and unsteady on my feet.
I tripped over with alarming regularity –
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