Over the Christmas holiday, my hubby and I visit his parents in Florida who are in their mid-nineties. During that time we managed to get away to the Florida Keys for a little luxury and pampering for three days.

On our second day, my hubby headed off to the gym at the resort, and I had my eye on the Jacuzzi tub in our bathroom suite. I immersed myself in bubbles, and the essence of aromatherapy oils. I was in seventh heaven!

Eventually my fingers started to wrinkle, and it was time to get out of the tub. But . . . I couldn’t do it! I could not manage to get out of the tub! My arms are too weak to lift myself up enough to get my legs underneath me, and the tub was too short and narrow for me to turn over on to my hands and knees.

I was stuck there for almost three hours! Eventually, I let the water out of the tub, and I rinsed myself and the tub well enough to get rid of all the suds and oils. Then I had to sit there for an hour (Florida humidity, ya know) waiting for myself and the tub to dry. Only then did I have enough traction to wriggle my way onto my hands and knees, so I was able to get up. My arms and knees were decorated with nasty black-and-blue marks from the experience.

I have never felt so vulnerable in my entire life. What if I had been alone? I would have had to wait for the housekeeping staff to find me the next day. I’d have to deal with the indignity of being extracted, naked, from the tub by goodness-only-knows how many burley men (I’m kinda heavy).

As for my hubby, he had gotten deeply involved in a round of volleyball games, and was shocked when he got back to the room to find me in tears over my experience.

I hate this disease!