Take a minute … and relax.
It’s been a fraught few weeks of numerous solo hospital visits, as my wife was first dealing with a dying father and then helping to organize his funeral, estate, and her own turbulent emotions. Her mum had died only four months ago.
Then, last Monday, some good news: The electric wheelchair that I’d just passed the driving test for was to be delivered that Wednesday. Well, actually, a phone representative initially informed me that an engineer was coming round to change the hand control’s figuration. That would be something of a waste of time seeing as I don’t have the electric wheelchair yet.
“Oh, we must be delivering it then,” she said.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
I was to phone back on Tuesday to see if it would be a delivery in the morning or afternoon.
Obviously, I would reorganize things to make this possible. Was she really sure? I would have to reconfigure my week just to be able to open the front door.
I’d be alone in the house on Wednesday afternoon. I spend most of my time in our first-floor bedroom because I can get down the stairs, but it is my equivalent of rock climbing. I don’t dare to do it without anyone else in the house. To be able to open the front door, I’d need to wait in the hall — compared to me, an ancient shambling retainer is Usain Bolt.
I usually write this column on Wednesdays, so last Monday when I finished my other work, I had to get stuck in. Monday and Tuesday turned into two 12-hour working days. That’s something that I regularly did when I was able-bodied, but not something I’d recommend for those of us who should build in fatigue breaks.
The representative I talked to was able-bodied. I know this because I phoned the company again to see if they had any disabled office staff. As a company that exists to help disabled people, surely it would help to have some office staff who are also disabled. They’d understand that the “simple” opening of a front door can be like mounting a military operation!
The representative’s youth was blamed. I blame the company.
The engineer turned up Wednesday morning, rather than the as-promised afternoon slot. Still, I didn’t have to go downstairs. That was a relief, as even my “shatters” were shattered! Unsurprisingly, he’d turned up to change the controls on a machine he hadn’t delivered yet. I don’t think even wheelchair technicians have mastered tachyons. It’s probably just a matter of time.
Note: Multiple Sclerosis News Today is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of Multiple Sclerosis News Today or its parent company, BioNews Services, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to multiple sclerosis.
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