When I was in St Vincent's Hospital, they made a plan for me to stay for a week in-house at the Royal Talbot Rehabilitation centre. So a week before Christmas 2008, my mum and I were packed into an ambulance and taken there, with my dad and Paul following.
Until then, Paul and I had cycled everywhere, or used the trams if further afield. But our neighbour Mike lent us his red car to get around - thanks for that mate!
Talbot was a little outside Melbourne, in the countryside. My memory was quiet, sunny (of course), friendly and helpful. Everything was there - physiotherapy, speech therapy, occupational therapy, clinical psychology, psychiatry and art therapy.
For that week I stayed in a little room alongside others who were staying too. We shared a toilet down the corridor.
My mum still occasionally talks about the haunting noises that used to come from the other rooms - it upset her. Yet I myself can't really remember that.
My parents and Paul used to leave me when visiting hours ended at 9pm. I used to immediately open my book - Harry Potter's latest exploits - and read until I fell asleep. So maybe I have JK Rowling to thank for that?!