Park & Ride

Hello, dear readers!

Today is a tired-y day.

This is the name I give to the days when I wake up feeling exhausted and go gradually downhill from there. It’s something I’m sure many people with a chronic illness will be familiar with and I’m mentioning it not because that’s the subject of today’s post, but in case you find my normal, somewhat questionable, standards have taken a free-diving-pot holing-limbo dance of a descent into the hellish depths of uninspired gibberish.

Of course you’d be able to tell the difference!

As for the actual subject of today’s offering, well, that’s all to do with a single hour in the fresh air and the drama which preceded it.
The Fourth Wheel
To set the scene, there are a couple of things you should know. Any long-term sufferers, um, readers of this blog will probably know last week saw the number of wheels on my wheelchair reduced from the customary four to a less than ideal three. If you missed it, you can read all about it here .

Now I’m not sure if Kirklees Wheelchair Services (or at least an employee of the same) reads my blog, but by a bizarre coincidence, the very next day saw me woken early to open the door to the repairman, my modesty preserved by a pair of my wife, Tina’s trousers. As I’m a full foot taller than her these fit me like a pair of Culottes and if it wasn’t for the garish pattern might have led him to think I’d just finished school in the 1940s.

Part Time
Getting back to the point; the repairman lived up to his name and, although he didn’t have the proper parts (queue sucking in of breath), he got me back on four wheels. The repair is only a temporary one while they await the delivery of the new bits. This probably explains why the wheel in question has sunk a half inch and is wobbling.

Now, the man said, I could go about my business as usual. As I’m self-isolating to a decent degree, I’d already restricted this to dog walking. With the replacement wheel’s erratic approach to forward motion, I made the decision that this too should be curtailed and Tina could take advantage in my stead. As I type, the repairman is yet to make a second appearance. If he hasn’t by Friday, I’ll be back on the phone.

So that’s drama one taken care of. What next? Well, next is the Mother-in-Law.

Lost In Translation

Gwen (the in-law in question) is a lovely lady, but eight months ago got a diagnosis of Vascular Dementia. This has made the year a difficult one for her as lockdown, loneliness, and the unfamiliarity of life, coupled with an aggressive and fast moving illness, has led to something of an emotional rollercoaster for her.

In more normal times ourselves, Tina’s sister Jen, and/or her brother Nigel would visit on a regular basis. Church, friends, volunteering at a local charity shop formed a weekly routine. Her enthusiastic, broad grinned, and relentless friendliness would have initiated conversations with a variety of people (whether wanted or not). COVID-19 has taken most of these things away from her and curtailed what remains. It has led to her flat in a sheltered housing complex becoming a prison.

Thus it was that just yesterday, Gwen rang Jen, feeling particularly fed up and threatening to ‘go out and not come back’. This of course led to much panic among the family. It seemed like an eternity, but in reality about fifteen minutes passed before she picked up the phone to one of our many calls and apologised. It reminded me of the time a much younger me once pulled the same trick after being told to ‘go get lost’ (I’d undoubtedly destruction-tested parental limits successfully) and did. Not my finest hour,

Time Out
Anyway, as I say we got hold of a very apologetic Gwen and after a few tears and remonstrations we set off to meet Gwen in a small park situated just over the road from her flat. 

And this is where we came in. A well won hour in the late September sun (the last of it judging by today’s more autumnal conditions) began, All three of us were be-masked and suitable distanced but it was nice to be out in the fresh air again (the last time might have been around the meet-up mentioned here). As with that previous time we took Bonnie our Labrador/Springer Spaniel cross (Every bit as energetic, clever, and naughty as you might think) threw a toy around for her which she occasionally gave back and talked through some of the frustrations of life as we’re getting to know it.

It wasn’t a long time, but it was a good time, and I think all three of us got a welcome boost to our respective mental wellbeing. It was great for Tina to see her mum again, fantastic for Gwen to get out and blow some steam off, and good for me to spend time away from these four walls. As a bonus, my wheel didn’t even fall off either! Win-win-win-win!

Talk The Talk
A temporary respite such as the park isn’t a cure-all. It can’t be. Especially not for Gwen. It helped though, even if only in the short term. Any repeat will have to be appraised at the time as lockdown bites down increasingly hard, We still have our phone though, our laptops, and Gwen still has the Portal device Jen procured for her. We can still all see each other, even if only remotely, and we can do so on more of regular basis too. Gwen might need some persuading, having a natural aversion to fuss, but we can do it, and we will. It’s something this introverted, antisocial blogger needs to work on with his own family and friends too.

Like the advert said. It’s good to talk.

Until next time...