I really have no intention of turning this into a medical- related blog, but I have been concerned with medical matters over the past couple of weeks.
Now that I am getting active treatment for my condition, it's all systems go on the medical front. There's physiotherapy, exercise, minor weight training, regular visits to the Consultant, and of course the Special Compression Stockings made to measure somewhere in Germany. Added to all of this, may I introduce, Occupational Therapy.
It's a strange thing. I have struggled, and Katy has struggled with me (with mini accompanying struggles from Little Brother), virtually unaided by any official medical agency, apart of course, for my heroic GP, who has indeed been a brick, and almost as demented as the rest of us, for 3 years. Now that there is an extremely small glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel, all this help has miraculously appeared.
This week brought a visit from the Occupational Therapist.
I had already had a telephone interview with the Duty OT last week, where I had supplied all my personal and medical details, so that there would be no forms to fill in when she arrived, she would just make an assessment as to what the Local Authority could do to help me around the house. So basically, I will now be getting help as I become more mobile, but when I was getting less mobile every day, there was no help.
But as usual, I digress. I had asked The Tezter and his LSW to be here at the same time as the OT, as I am not keen on turning my house into 'Holby City', and wanted someone else to hear her suggestions, and to discuss them after she'd left. Anyway, true to form, they arrived about 2 minutes before the OT, and I shunted them off with Little Brother into the dining rooom, so that I could initially have a brief private conversation with her. Little Brother, who has a mild Autistic Spectrum Disorder, really communicates with The Tezter despite the 35 years age difference, but their friendship is somewhat bizarre, and much of their communication consists of The Tezter lecturing Little Brother on the exploits of various SS Panzer Divisions in WW2, or them calling each other lewd names amongst much raucous giggling.
Well, I, and the extremely proper young lady from The Local Authority discussed my 'condition', while from the dining room, I could hear whispers of 'You're a ----', 'No, you're a ----', followed by muffled male laughter, and exasperated sighs from the LSW. Then I called The Tezter in while we discussed what could be done for me, a chairlift and a leglift (means tested) so that I could go to bed again, but not before April as the Local Authority has no money until then, or I could have them fitted now, at my own expense, and be re-imbursed in the next financial year, if I was entitled to a grant. And that was that.
Or rather, it wasn't. Having been with me for the best part of an hour, she said that there were a couple of things she needed to know, and then she proceeded to ask me all the questions I'd answered previously over the phone, And then some. I put my hands above my head, I wiggled my toes, I answered questions about my previous illnesses (none), stays in hospital (childbirth), incontinence (no), and washing ability (Look at me. I'm clean!). Then she asked me if I knew my date of birth, the same one I'd given her 5 minutes previously, and who the Prime Minister is.
I turned my head extremely slowly, and fixed her with what best may be described as an icy stare. She stood up 'Well, that'll be all thank you Mrs. Newton.'