STRIFE AND LIMB
Being different is the last thing you want when you’re a child.
‘Hey peg leg!’ a boy shouted as I hobbled across the playground.
My face flushed red with embarrassment as I tried to ignore the taunts.
It was true, I did have a funny walk, but that didn’t mean their comments hurt any less.
When I was born in 1980, my right leg was covered in what looked like bruises.
Dark black and purple splodges covered the entirety of my limb and were of huge concern to my poor parents, Rebecca, now 73, and John, 75.
Doctors told them not to worry, and that the markings would likely disappear by the time I was six – but there was nothing they could do to help.
Stumbling through my early years, it became clear that the problem was not just aesthetic.
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