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”??”
No answer.
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.
