Commuting...

Coming back from physiotherapy today, my Para Transpo driver had an 'English is not my native language' accent and a colourful way of talking. He was telling me about an accident on the Queensway: "He must be dead, the driver. The car is like Pepsi." He had opinions on everything, and a philosophical bent. He pointed out the rainbow-stripe design on a car in front of us. "That is not a normal flag. That is the gay emblem."

"I think it's great," I said. And I did - the rainbow design looks good on a shiny black car.

My physiotherapist, Robyn, said the Foot is doing very well but that my balance is terrible, partly due to flat feet. She had questions about the effects of scleroderma on my left foot; I really wasn't sure what to say about the extent of the damage. The other Foot doesn't feel as if it's doing well - sore, limping at only a fraction of my former speed. But I ran into Hildegarde on the street at lunchtime and she said I was walking very well. I suppose it depends on your perspective; she probably expected me to still be on crutches.

So Robyn gave me some horrendous balance and foot-strengthening exercises, and another appointment for next week.