If your life is in any way affected by HD you won’t be surprised to hear that the dramas continued yesterday, and coming from an entirely unexpected source. Apparently it’s planetary.
I have a long working day on a Monday so I’m out all day and pretty much helpless if anything goes wrong. Late morning I got a text from Nick.
“They have just taken my wheelchair away Sis”
Eh??? I texted him back.
“Nick. What do you mean? Who is “they”??”
Eventually another series of painfully spelled out texts tells me that “they” had rung the buzzer and he had let them in, despite specific instructions not to after Sunday’s incident with Vic.
Whoever it was had simply told him they had come to collect the wheelchair, and Nick let them take it away. He doesn’t question anything and it wouldn’t occur to him to put up any resistance. Like taking candy from a baby. It makes me wince.
I put on my Sherlock deerstalker and got on the phone to the most likely suspects: the hospital mobility service who had issued the electric wheelchair in the first place, the local distributor who provide and service the equipment, and the Red Cross.
They all had Nick on file but all confirmed that they had not made any collections from that address, there was no reason why they would try to get it back, and that anyway they would never do that without prior consent or arrangement. Everyone was very helpful but adamant that it was nothing to do with them.
Finally at home that evening, I discovered that the mystery collector had taken the chair but left behind the cushion and half of the power pack, so it would be a fat lot of good to anyone.
Did the person have a uniform? Or any I. D.? asked my son later. Nick wasn’t sure. He didn’t think so. Oh dear.
The only possible conclusion was that he had been scammed. He is so vulnerable. You never know who is watching, and we have already established that there are some nutters in the building. Horrible, unsettling thought.
Cut to today, and I suddenly had a wild but inspired guess. I called the big Red Cross warehouse in the back end of Rotherham. Just in case. What do you know, it turned out that they had it. Combination of a clerical error suggesting that the loan we’d had months ago and returned in August, was still outstanding, and an over-enthusiastic but dim volunteer who had taken it upon themselves to round it up. I was too grateful to make a fuss.
One of their lovely, kind regular drivers phoned me to say that he was dropping it off and had left it outside Nick’s front door and all was well.
So that was Monday’s drama. Meanwhile, the key safe is still on its last legs but a replacement will be fixed next week (naturally it turns out to be a discontinued model but some kind soul at the fitters has searched in their cellar and found a spare), the bedroom radiator is still hanging off the wall and the repairers have not got back to us yet, and Nick has found the hearing aid he lost on Sunday but lost the other one and it has not turned up yet. Which means that he hardly hear a thing and has been turning the TV up, and although he has finally understood to keep the volume low, I fear that it will just inflame Vic to the point of no return. He was at it again last night, threatening the carers and my husband and banging on the ceiling, and the housing officer has not even acknowledged my messages let alone respond. The police have been in touch but explained that they’ve had a really difficult weekend with bonfire and firework activity so we won’t see them til later this evening. All we can do right now is keep calm and carry on, as usual. Well, after a fashion.