Lord Leggy Mountbatten.

I'm now (finally) checked into the Wiltshaw Ward at the Royal Marsden.
I've just been out for a quick pint and a snack by South Kensington station and I'm lying in my bed wondering what tomorrows surgery will bring.
To say I'm nervous would be a lie.
I'm f**king terrified!
I just washed and changed into my pyjamas and looking down I realised how much my legs mean to me.
They've carried me up mountains, swam me with penguins (no cliche dolphins for me), taken me windsurfing on beautiful seas, cycled me from London to Brighton several times, helped me drive fast cars and bikes and of course skateboard and rollerblade and I don't know how loosing one will affect me.
I know that Prof Thomas will do his best to let me keep it and that if it goes it will save my life, but it's a strong, healthy part of me and I keep getting the same nightmare of it stuck in a bin with the rest of the medical waste this place must produce.

I've asked the nurse to give me some sleeping pills. Hopefully I'll be out cold soon.
When I wake up in the morning I'll have a shower then a chat with my surgeon about what he's going to do.
Then I've got to sign the consent form for surgery to go ahead.
Karen and Tara will be here all day tomorrow, so they're going to find out what he did a day before I do, they're keeping me unconscious for 24 hours after the operation.
Good night folks, think of me.... all prayers happily accepted.