"Pretend I'm one of the kids. You're nice if they're sick"

IT IS seven days post-op, 10pm, and I’m in the upstairs bathroom trying to fix a raised toilet seat to our existing one.

I’ve followed instructions meticulously; pushed lightly on the brackets, and turned the knobs clockwise until the threads engaged. I’ve placed the new seat onto the toilet bowl and now I’m tightening both brackets until they are snug and secure.

It’s the moment of truth, which, judging by the sound of my husband’s crutches on the stairs, he’s come to witness.