WHY IS EVERYTHING SO DIFFICULT??!!!

There's never been a more curtain twitching scenario amongst my neighbours than when my ambulance pulled up and I was dramatically stretchered out of it. It was a quiet, frosty night in this sleepy Cheshire suburb and here we were, setting off all the security lights, doing a 15 point turn in front of the residents parking bays, and me waving my arms in the air going- “I'm BACK! I'm still alive!” As I emerged down the ramp. It was probably way more entertaining than watching Coronation Street to be fair. It even smelt different up North. In a nice way! Fresher: as we were on the edge of fields and a golf course, and not a single whiff of poo from a commode.

My dad was in full Sergeant Major mode, watching with a careful eye as they wheeled me along the path to the first big step at the entrance.

“This is the first step of many I'm afraid” he stated, nervously. “There's two flights to carry her up after this.”

“Carry her?!” Kingsley and Kerry both shrieked. “No one said anything about carrying her to us back at our end! We don't even have the necessary equipment to do that packed in the ambulance!”

“And I've got a bad back so I can't carry anyone.” Said Kingsley.

“She is only light if that helps?” Added dad.

“Not really- we've got no way of carrying her safely.”

I'd come this far: snapped thigh bone, had major surgery, absorbed a blood transfusion, survived Jan and Lesley, conquered constipation, learned to use crutches, weaned myself off Morphine, cut up my new pyjamas, injected myself in the stomach, caused chaos in a care home, endured the bumpiest 8 hour journey of my life… I was NOT about to be beaten by two flights of stairs!!! I WILL LEVITATE if I have to! I was already sensing everyone else's "can’t-do" attitude and I wasn't having it.

“It's fine- I'll hop upstairs. Give me my crutches!” I demanded. I felt like such a diva. One who’d just demanded only blue M&M’s in her dressing room. (I've never done this by the way. I only ever ask for bottled water, sugar free Red Bull and maybe some bananas.)

One step at a time, that's all I had to do. I could stop as often as I needed to and most of all, keep looking up! Believe me when I say it was the most exhausting thing I've ever had to do. As my weak, pinned and plated back together little body preceded to do a weird sort of stag jump up each step, keeping my enormous braced up leg safely out of the way behind me. Dad went backwards up the stairs in front of me, Kingsley behind and Kerry beside me, trying her best to lift me up from my armpit. Neighbours started poking their heads out of their doors as I got to each floor to see what was going on in the hallway. Quite frankly, none of them knew what to say. I was normally the girl who sprinted up the stairs unaided, fresh from a 15,000 step walk and my favourite coffee! So a massive “WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!” Seemed to be painted across their faces.

When I finally hopped through my doorway, Kingsley and Kerry wouldn't go until they'd safely got me onto my sofa with my leg resting on my pink velvet footstool and salt lamp on. Could these guys be any more heroic? Don't forget they've now got to drive all the way BACK to Kent! My heart broke for them and I could only hope they had a banging playlist and many pit stops scheduled.

I was determined to send them away with some kind of thank you/appreciation gift, like a nice bottle of wine etc. But then remembered I'd been away for weeks, had nothing in and don't drink anyway, so there was never going to be a 'nice bottle' of anything in the cupboard. Unless it was from my dad's provisions which he'd brought with him in his Survival kit, for his sudden move into Sophie-Land. Sorry dad. He was soon to learn my cupboards were full of spirulina powder, gluten free bread and plant milk.

After high-fiving Kerry and Kingsley as I realised getting up to hug them would be hard, they showed themselves out as... well, I couldn't show them to the door either. I felt like the worst Hostess ever. I rarely let anyone in my apartment and here were two lovely people who'd done so much for me and I couldn't even turn around to wave them goodbye out of my living room. I heard the door close and I breathed a massive sigh of relief to be home. I looked around at the pictures of LA on my walls that I'd taken myself, my cute little Buddha statue on the window ledge, my prized white fluffy rug that I'd kill anyone who walked on it in their shoes…The biggest sense of bliss ensued.

Then naturally my mind flicked to food. Right then! Time for my homecoming meal! And what did my weary heart desire? My famous super green smoothie of course! I eventually got up off the sofa and hopped to the kitchen, then realised I was going to have to do the whole thing balancing on one leg. I'd have to chop the ingredients, I'd have to get the ingredients from the freezer or the cupboard. But I couldn't bend down! Then I realised I couldn't even carry anything to the chopping board or to anywhere because my hands were holding my crutches! Everything I needed or wanted was going to have to already be there where I needed it, when I got there. Just think about that for a minute... far from ideal isn't it?

Dad started having a meltdown before I did. While I was already thinking of quirky ways to make things work, like using my crutches a hockey stick to kick things across the floor, or backpacking from room to room with a bag of whatever I needed strapped to my chest- Dad was already shaking his head saying “I don't see how this is going to work. You can't do ANYTHING!”

Cheers for reminding me Dad. By the time I'd made the smoothie it was nearly 9:00 PM and dad had set up all my mobility kit around the place. I cried a little inside as my once stylish apartment was now looking more like Elsie's care home.

“This is all just temporary!” I kept telling myself. In a few weeks all this stuff will be gone right? It was just here to help me for now. But sometimes the inner voice of despair was too loud to overcome and I had my first meltdown... Dad sat in the living room eating a massive chunk of stale olive ciabatta, with no plate, just hacking away at it, Henry the eighth style, like it was a chicken wing. Bits of crumbs, dried olive and crust- spraying everywhere and showering my beautiful rug. When he refused to get a plate I tried to leap up and stomp into the kitchen for him, but I soon realised I couldn't do any jumping up or stomping away when someone annoyed me. I could crutch away, painfully slowly, in a plume of rage, fuming about my now crumb covered sofa and rug, but it didn't really have the same effect as a swift exit.

“Just get to bed Sophie!” I thought to myself. But wait- I needed Dad to unpack all my stuff and also help set up the bed with various pillows and cushions to accommodate my fat leg brace, keeping it elevated. There goes another hour of my life; describing where the contents of my suitcase go and simply trying to get ready for bed!

WHY IS EVERYTHING SO DIFFICULT??!!!

I woke up pretty early the next morning after one of the most uncomfortable nights ever, as sleeping like a plank of wood on my back and unable to move isn't my usual sleeping style.

I decided because I couldn't work-out my body and my daily yoga practise wasn't going to happen; I might as well try and work out my mind instead and meditate daily. I'd also set myself the small tasks of doing my tax return and completing my second book. Alongside becoming the next Joe Dispenza, obviously.

It was definitely easier to an extent, being in hospital, between the awesome nurse squad, having everything to hand by the push of a button and a bed that moved every way possible, but hopefully once I established my ‘at home’ daily routine, things would get easier. And me and Dad wouldn't kill each other…