Well folks, I arrived ….. that was the easy bit!
Pre-move day two delightful chaps arrived with boxes, bubble wrap and paper, oh and a pint of milk so they could brew up. They set to and during our chats and anecdotes made two remarks, one that I was organised and had made things straightforward for them and two that I was a ‘character’ (what, who? Moi! Well I say). After a bustling three hours the twenty five boxes were taped up and marked and things were ready for the next morning.
Move day – while still in my pit I went to use the house phone but my provider had already disconnected the service (charming) thankfully my mobile was at hand and I booked a wheelchair taxi for 12:30 to take me to my new digs. After a tearful goodbye to my last carer I had a few minutes of quiet reflection in my hovel of thirty years, two months and ten days. It looked worn, dusty and unkempt which was a sad sight, both of us suffering from my deterioration. Before long the big red van pulled up and the two chaps cheerily arrived ready to start the lifting and shifting. After a few false starts I sort of otched on the slide board into the wheelchair and the movers kindly oiked me into a comfy position and parked me in a corner. It seemed to be endless the stream of boxes and chests of drawers that were carted out. Then the big sofa and the big desk.
At about noon my mobile rant, taxi had to cancel because his airport run had been delayed and he wouldn’t be back in time to take me. Bugger, oh well, something had to go wrong. I had saved another company in my phone and called them and they said they would be there is about 30/40 minutes. That was that sorted. Time for me to vacate and wait in the hot sun. After a final brew up and a walk through check, the door was locked and keys put into my bag. We waited and waited. I called the company back to their profuse apologies they’d forgotten me (is that even possible!) and a car would be there in five. Hmm, yeah, a car arrived not a wheelchair car so taxi driver called and a wheelchair car was dispatched. I told the movers to head off as the assisted living complex were expecting them and had keys, they reluctantly set off but within a minute the wheelchair cab arrived, I was loaded and off we went. My throat choked but I kept it together, just.
Somehow it only took half the time to unload. Furniture was put in place, boxes were organised and BroInLaw started unboxing the kitchen ones putting stuff anywhere so it was somewhere. A couple of carers arrived and made up the bed. I said thank you and goodbye to the movers and made arrangements for how the boxes and packing to be collected. The front window doesn’t stay open so a tin of tomatoes has been deployed as window stopper, it’s a South East facing window so the strongest afternoon sun doesn’t bake like my previous West facing window.
I was in ….. rather smoothly if somewhat stickily.
A couple of the carers came Wednesday and unpacked a number of boxes with me directing where I wanted things for now. They chuckled at the stories, marvelled at my antics and adventures and were pleased my instructions were clear and followable. I tried bribing them with a chocolate biscuit but they declined. It really helped make the place look less like box city. There are still boxes in the bedroom and bathroom and it’s curious the things that haven’t come to light. I have a tiger mother and cubs ornament and a tigger drinking beaker yet to be unearthed but they were the lad things packed in a box.
There is a handyman who is available for small jobs I’ve pre-warned him that I have a lot of pictures to go up. That was all the easy bits.
OT had ordered a different style of shower/commode chair to be delivered last week, it was not there. Trying to shuffle from my old chair onto the loo with very few hand holds was sweat inducing and exhausting, shuffling back was even harder. On day two, just as I expected (and had remarked back in May) the loo seat broke. The new shower chair arrived sounding like the tinniest hostess trolley and as hard too, as well as about an inch and a half higher, after sheer brute force and belligerence on my part I got onto it. During that time I crunched bones, pinched skin, stamped circles on my thigh courtesy of the hole where the removed arm slots into, bruised my butt because the boney bit of my butt is against the hard uncushioned plastic. I still cannot defy gravity and slide up hill (how very rude of me). The concerned carers are all remarking how intolerable it is for me, how undignified (please, I lost that many years ago) that something else has to be done and urgently, also amazed at my ingenuity, fortitude and strength. The manager initiated an ‘urgent’ OT visit, but that’s days. I left messages on my OT’s phone but the whole system is not geared up to create solutions, just to provide the cheapest, standardised kit to sort of solve a solution. We’ve botched a new method, using my old cushioned shower chair, standing commode bowl on the floor beneath and hope it catches everything. Sorry TMI??
Anyway, I survived the packing, the move, the heat and the hottest day of the year. But I might not survive OT, they bring out the very worst of me and I don’t like it.
On a much lighter note, I’ve had some very sweet cards from my carers wishing me well and saying they will miss me, I will miss them. They all helped me transition into this world where I need personal care.