There was a time in my life when I’d quite literally run around Soho in five-inch heels, dance till 5am, then be on my feet all the next day on a shop floor. No problem, no physical restrictions.
I was 20, in my final year of university and living a very able, very mobile, very ‘normal’ life. The weeks were punctuated with fluctuating pain from my then-undiagnosed endometriosis, but alcohol became a very effective pain reliever – for a few hours at least.
My best friend Gary and I were out most nights of the week in London, laughing till we cried, and those memories are ones I really cherish now. Because ever since those hectic, carefree nights out, my mobility has steadily declined.
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