I gave up thoughts about getting a mortgage to buy a bungalow. A mortgage can free you from stairs, but it can't guarantee you great neighbours.
On Friday night I had beautiful dreams and woke up feeling very hopeful and with the conviction that God had made us a beautiful world to explore. Therefore, I soon drove the chair out of its downstairs home and plugged it in. At 10 AM, Benedict Ambrose wheeled himself to the door in preparation for what will become our routine:
1. DM takes out and puts down the ramp and leads the electric wheelchair out of the closet, down the ramp and into the pedestrian alley.
2. BA walks down the stairs, hanging onto both railings and watching his unruly feet. He hangs onto the railing at the bottom.
3. DM carries foldable push wheelchair down the stairs, and then goes back upstairs for the cushion.
4. BA sits in the push wheelchair and DM wheels him down the ramp to the alley.
5. BA transfers himself into the electric wheelchair.
6. DM picks up the ramp and carries it to the step from the alley to the street.
7. BA drives himself onto the pavement.
8. DM picks up the ramp, carries it back to the closet.
9. DM folds the push wheelchair and carries it to the closet.
10. DM locks the closet door.
This is very tiring. Thank you for asking. One of the emotional difficulties of being a carer is that some people skip asking you how you are. They go straight to "How is [sick/disabled person]?" It seems churlish just to say "My back is playing up, I twisted my left ankle on Thursday, my teeth hurt, and I'm dreading all the yard work I need to get done."
However, we had an exciting and mostly enjoyable Saturday morning and early afternoon of exploring our neighbourhood by electric wheelchair. We learned that we can get across the river easily, if we find the lowest part of the kerb, but that the privet hedge opposite makes the pavement too narrow. We learned that we can get to the cafe-bakery relatively easily (which may be a challenge to our budget) and the same goes for the supermarket and the medical centre. Driving into the butcher shop was no problem, but our hearts were in our mouths as the chair climbed over the cheesemonger's doorsill. Getting into the ice-cream parlour for lunch was no problem, but we had to ask the waiting queue to move over when we were leaving.
We were going to attempt to board a bus for our journey home but instead we just drove there, as it were, via the street where there is, in fact, a bungalow for sale. B.A. could drive right into its carport, but the front room's ceiling had a damp patch. It didn't look worth all the fuss it would take to sell our flat, get a mortgage, and say goodbye to our excellent neighbours. (We brought the one whose closet we are using a bottle of wine.)
Today's electric wheelchair adventure will be getting to the FSSP Traditional Latin Mass by bus. Happily both the church and the hall are wheelchair accessible, and B.A. is now the third member of our community with the device.
When I chaired the first ever priest-free meeting of our community to talk about our (thankfully cancelled) move to a site that was not wheelchair accessible (thanks, Traditionis Custodes), I had absolutely no idea that one day B.A. himself would not be able to access the venue being suggested for our use. At the time, I was absolutely furious on behalf of our disabled, the children, and the parents of the children. But God has blessed us with a kind and intelligent archbishop (and Scotland with laws protecting the disabled), so in the end we didn't have to move.
So there we go. Life is tough, but it has its consolations.
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