As August comes to an end, I sit looking out of the window at the rain and mourning the loss of yet another televised cricket game. It is, though, in sharp contrast to the very hot weather (by UK standards) earlier this month. I find such hot conditions difficult to cope with, particularly sleeping.
Being originally from Aberdeen, in northeast Scotland, famed for its inclement weather, I am not genetically conditioned to tolerate heat. It is said that the people of Aberdeen were the first ever religious heretics: Thousands of years ago, when Man was first beginning to worship the sun, the Aberdonians were still doubting its existence! My brother-in-law, Dave, sent me a wonderful video clip posted by a Scottish farmer bemoaning the intense heat (“It must be 14½ or 15 degrees!”): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y3e0_hwUvt8. Typical Scottish humour but for an extra laugh, scroll down to the bottom and read the comments by people who thought he was being serious.
This month we had our first home visit by Lesley, our NHS OT, since Covid-19 lockdown started in March. She wasn’t too impressed by the furniture raisers under the legs of the elevated toilet seat, but it was really helpful to talk through our use of the home hoist. It is now in daily use to lift me out of the shower wheelchair after my morning ablutions. We experienced one setback when, after overnight charging, the hoist just wouldn’t work at all. Later, consulting the manual, we discovered that the emergency stop button had been pushed, and had to be twisted to release it. Still learning!
Doreen and I are very different people in many ways (the attraction of opposites?). We both accuse each other of being unobservant, but with just cause. Doreen notices things about people that pass me by completely, but her lack of perception of things physical and mechanical still amazes me. Despite being our chief wine bottle opener for many months, she still can’t tell, just by looking, whether it’s a screw top or a cork. Another example of this was a pair of elastic-waisted shorts I’d bought, mail order, in anticipation of some hot weather. With Doreen’s help, I’d tried them on, and given them back to her to put away. Deciding to wear them for the first time this month, Doreen helped me dress, as usual. Later, having visited the toilet, I was pulling up the shorts and noticed something sticking into my hand. It was a large cardboard price tag which Doreen hadn’t noticed when putting them on me that morning!
It appears, looking back at previous blogs, that I write quite a lot about toilets. Am I obsessed with lavatorial humour? I don’t think so. It’s just that using the toilet has to be done regularly, and nobody can do it for me. My obstinate desire for independence prevents me from asking for help unnecessarily but that does present some conundrums. Even with my elevated toilet seat, getting up is very difficult. I need to use both arms to push upwards so my trousers have a tendency to fall down to my ankles, where I can’t reach them. I try to trap them against the seat with the back of my legs, but don’t always succeed. Do I sit down again and try once more, taking the risk that I won’t be able to get up again without aid? Or do I plaintively call for help and experience the indignity of having my trousers pulled up for me? Being a pragmatist, I usually choose the latter. Hey ho!
Through my recent contact with Erica, our NHS MND Co-ordinator, the local MNDA has become aware of my blogs and wants to make them available to branch members. They suggested posting them on the Internet and making the link available through their newsletter. Our son, Adam, has been urging me to do this for quite some time, and offered to help. The new website is set up, and the blogs added, but it needs a bit of tidying up before it is made public. Watch this space!!