Friday, September 15, 2017

The little man had his first day back at school, a few weeks ago. My questions, 'Did you have a good day? Was it good to see your friends? What's your new teacher like?' were met with an exasperated 'UGH, I just told Daddy!' Fair enough. He kisses my arm, and he's my friend again, by that I mean I have to accept what I can get and when I can get it.

I was feeling a bit grumpy earlier, and this led me to making arrangements to see friends, a much needed source of amusement/happy chatter. Sometimes you just have to take care of your soul. Y'know?

In other news....I'm pleased to report that I took delivery of my new wheelchair. I am less happy to report that I put a scratch on the new fridge freezer. And put scratches on skirting boards. And I've taken divots out of plaster. I have someone coming out to remove a bar, that's shoulder height, and extends back, about three inches. And it's this that has created the odd divot and the scratch on the fridge freezer. It's not my driving, ok? When the lady that delivered it, said she'll be back in eight weeks to see how I'm getting on, I'll admit that I thought 'Seriously?' And she made me promise not to take it out on the street. I can see why. The thing is so bloody sensitive!! And wide! I can't rest both elbows on the arm rests at the same time. As long as my arse doesn't spill into the back corners of the seat, I'll be ok.

I feel sure that I'll get used to it. And the O.T today showed me a bit of kit called a stand aid and JESUS WEPT, whilst it goes without saying that I'm grateful for these services courtesy of the NHS, I am not grateful to have my home turned into an NHS storeroom.
First it was a walking stick, then one crutch, then two crutches, then a wheelchair, then grab rails (now removed. Mostly.) And now a divot making, skirting board scratching, widearsed electric wheelchair. You know that linear drawing depicting The Evolution of Man? Do that in reverse and what are you depicting? Moi. I merde you not.

And apparently I need to consider getting a profiling bed. I slept on one of these when we went to centre parcs, and it was so comfy, and the source of much amusement for teenaged daughter, although at 19 was an adult. Unbelievably. I think I've mentioned her complaining about adulting before? You know when teenagers take on more and more responsibilities (gradually)? BECAUSE THEY ARE NOW AN ADULT? And more understandably, for my then three year old. Up, down. Up, down, goes the mattress = endless amusement for The Little Man.

So anyway, taking delivery of my new wheelchair and I'm saying, Thank you, Thank you, Thank you, all whilst thinking, Please stop talking. Please. No? Oh. Well, just fuck off then. And take all this shyte with you. No. I didn't mean it. I'm sorry.
Talk about yo yoing emotions. Get a grip woman! This stuff helps to bring personal independence, and as I'm all for that, it just remains for me to say, THANK YOU.

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