It has taken me nearly two weeks to be able to write this post in a clear manner, without littering it with expletives, such is my frustration with damned policy and short sightedness !!
In a nutshell, the wonderful MrH has worn his big toe joints out, with pushing me around in Maggie, for the last 6 years. That chair (and MrH) has an awful lot of mileage behind her and it’s been a lot of fun !! But fun, it is, no more !!
MrH has to go into hospital in August, to have the first of two metatarsal phalangeal joint fusions, which will effectively leave him immobile for a minimum 8 week period. With no family to help and friends of working age, we find ourselves a wee bit up the proverbial creek. Now internet-shopping is a wonderful thing but occasionally it is nice to escape the confinement and see real people.
So clever old me thinks, aha, our time has come to ask for help from those what help in times of crisis. Ok crisis is maybe a bit amdram but certainly a bit of help wouldn’t go amiss.
So I pick up the bat phone and Hotwire it through to wheelchair services at our local council. Having explained the issue, a rather curt lady explained that she could visit with us, in late August to assess our needs. Perhaps I was having a cogfog moment but I thought I had explained that MrH’s surgery is scheduled for early August. So I tried again. Apparently, wheelchair services aren’t there for my convenience. Who knew ?
After I politely explained that I’d like to speak with one of the long term care social workers, an appointment was thoughtfully provided that week.
I fear that it was the same personality devoid lady, that visited us shortly thereafter because she seemed less than impressed that we may have actually done some research into what would best suit our needs whilst trying not to be too big of a burden or financial drain upon the service.
You see, we would just appreciate some assistance whilst MrH is recuperating and unable to push me. I can’t self propel on flat surfaces, let alone up the incredibly steep hill that we live halfway down. Apparently, we should’ve thought of these practicalities before we moved here. In 2008. 4 years prior to diagnosis. If I was that good, I wouldn’t need their damn help because a winning lottery ticket would’ve been in my sweaty little hand flipping years ago. Oops am I showing a teensy bit of frustration there?
So nice wheelchair lady, please could we just move on from our obvious idiotic lifestyle choice and please, thank you very much, could we grovel for permission to have one of those little motor thingies that power assists existing wheelchairs ? Well apparently no. Because they want to spend several thousands of pounds on supplying me with an electric power chair and building me ramps at the front and back of the house. At which point, I zoned out, assuming that I’d popped one too many gabapentins and slipped into a parallel universe.
MrH says that he tried to explain that the difference in costings equates to several thousand pounds but was met with an attitude that would make the stroppiest teenage girl proud. So he saw fit to invite her to conclude the assessment. On her way out she had a good look at the downstairs conversion that we are having done to turn our forever home into our definitely forever home and commented that as we are obviously ‘doing alright’ we should be able to purchase the device ourselves.
Before I was medically retired, I worked in law and MrH still does. I will leave it to your imagination, as to the comment that slipped from hubbys mouth about the kind of criminals he comes into contact with …
And now that’s off my chest, it’s back to my usual zen like state. There are only so many new profanities to be learnt…