Wheelchair antics

He's getting there!

Out of hours care

The phone rang on Saturday evening and I answered to find myself talking with someone with a strong foreign accent. Suspecting yet another of those calls from an Indian call centre, I was all set to give him a curt brush off when I finally realised that the caller was in fact one of Keith's doctors from the hospital ringing to see how he was. He was to have done the operation but, as he was ill that day, he had been replaced by a locum and now he was checking out progress.

Of course it would be unforgiveably cynical of me to entertain the thought that it could possibly be anything to do with the fact that he is hoping that Keith is going to repair his laptop and retrieve invaluable data for him.................wouldn't it?

Spring forward

It's amazing how disruptive the change between Greenwich Mean Time and Summer Time can be. This morning I arrived for my counselling course, as usual at 8.45 to find the car park empty. Not even the tutor's car was there. So I parked, spent a couple of moments changing the clock in the car and waited..........and waited. Maybe I had got the time wrong, but, no, a quick check on the radio told me that it was indeed a quarter to nine as I thought. Maybe I had got the day wrong. Our course is alternate Saturdays and Sundays. I tried to think back to the previous week - it was a blur now lost in the mists of time. At 8.55, I was about to ring Keith to ask him to check my diary for me when another student's car arrived and then another. We stood in the car park. Surely the tutor wouldn't have forgotten about the hour change? After all she is always so organised.
I rang her home number. She answered.
"We're here," I said, at ............................ House."
Why?"
"Well, it's nine o'clock."
There was an explosion at the other end. "Oh, s....! It's the hour! I'll be there as soon as I can!"
She arrived, breathless and full of apologies half an hour later.
But 5 of the 16 students in the class didn't. Wonder if they are still snoozing peacefully?

Back at work

After the District Nurse's visit yesterday, Keith geared himself up, mentally and physically, we stowed the wheelchair in my car, stowed Keith in the passenger seat (he hates being driven!) and set off. It's only when you are in or pushing a wheelchair that you realise how wheelchair unfriendly a lot of places are. Outside the shop there are 'disabled' parking bays and slopes up to the shop level, but you need the fitness of an Olympic champion to get yourself up them and once there, make sure your wheelchair has impeccable steering, otherwise you are in danger of careering off the side.
Still, he managed it and tested the wheelchair friendliness of the shop itself - fine except for a couple of things which needed moving out of the way. After four hours, he was tired, naturally and was tucked up in bed before nine o'clock.
We're getting there!

Light relief

How can you tell you're flying over Africa?

Worn out

It's been a tiring day!

Sad News

The phone rang last night with a text message bearing sad news of a previous colleague. It was one of those moments when you find yourself listening to something and not really believing that you are hearing it. A young teacher who came to work in my last school about 14 years ago had died. She was 39 and died from intestinal cancer. A keep fit fanatic, her only clue that something was wrong, apparently, was that her stomach was constantly bloated. When she went to have it checked out, it was thought that she could be treated but sadly, the disease had progressed too far.
Inevitably, the memories came back from those days at school when the staff had been 'a brilliant bunch' working well together and sharing a good sense of humour. S. had often been teased for being gullible. There was the time, soon after she started with us, that I told her solemnly that the following week it would be her turn to take assembly and it was to be a minimum of 40 minutes. She listened politely, looking as if this prospect would be no more than a blip in the day and then went off to freak out, before being reassured by another member of staff that it was a joke. Then there was the time when Tracey Island was in such demand as the top Christmas present of the year for small boys that the shops were bare and none were to be had, whereupon, she decided to make one herself for her son, following the current instructions on Blue Peter, and coerced us all into collecting the relevant junk materials.
An excellent, hardworking and committed teacher, she inevitably moved on after a few years to widen her teaching experience and other new life experiences came her way. We still heard news of her from time to time and met up at courses and were pleased that she was happy and settled. Such a tragic waste of a young life.