I love my body. It does all that I want it to and little that I don't….well, there was that bout of dysentery in Africa…. but otherwise, it makes me very happy. There is nothing particularly special about my body. I was born with a full kit, have never had a disfiguring accident or injury and do not have any particularly outstanding attributes, but I like it, I really do.

My body is a reflection of all that I am and all that I have been….my personality, my genetics and heritage, my age, my likes and loves and the actions of, and events in, my life so far.

My body is also a reflection of my career. You see, a few years ago it guided me in a most definitive way away from what I was doing (and quite liking) and on to a career that I adore. I was a brand spanking new physiotherapist, freshly sprung from university, with hopes and dreams (and plans afoot) of becoming a sports physiotherapist. Then…things changed. My right (and dominant) wrist became painful. So painful, in fact, that I became left handed. This lead me to a hand surgeon and the diagnosis of an intraosseous cyst – a cyst in, and eroding, one of the bones of my wrist and making the ligaments unstable. An operation followed which involved a bone graft. A small piece of bone was taken from my left hip to replace the bone eaten by the cyst. With that came some advice…. “Leave physiotherapy now or you'll retire before you're thirty.” I was 24. After much soul searching and a one day stint at law school, I returned to university and have now entered the medical profession…head first.

This photograph was taken after a full night of work. I was exhausted. I was invigorated at the same time. Life is good. I'll sleep when I'm dead.

Until then…