A STRANGER GAVE ME THEIR HANDS
Unscrewing the lid of the milk with my teeth, I remembered, not for the first time, how many things I took for granted when I had hands.
The once effortless act of brushing my teeth, the joy of holding my son Rory’s hand or ruffling his hair.
Looking at the stumps where my hands used to be, I still counted my lucky stars though.
‘I’m alive and that’s what matters,’ I told Rory – and myself, when it got tough.
I’d become
