My arms are strong – probably from propelling my chair and because I do ‘reps’, hitting my chest hundreds of times a day.
People are often surprised at my strength, and a tight lid on a jar has rarely defeated me. But now I’m having to re-assess how strong I am because the Botox that restored movement to my hands after they locked up on Boxing Day has also made them weaker.
Since I had the injections I’ve been aware of this in a vague sort of way. But just now when I attempted to open a jar of jam straight from the fridge I was forced to face the facts – I’m no longer a threat to stubborn lids: they remain unmoved by my efforts.
It’s a good thing I’m not afraid to delegate.