20th September: Skippy and Simon reunited

This was a remarkable day for so many reasons. After painting the front fence, I set off to collect Simon from rehab. We had decided to eat lunch at home where he tucked into steak and salad (more veggies, hooray!). After lunch I asked Simon what he would like to do. "Go to bed" he said, "Ok" said I, foolishly. I had seen Si get in and out of bed at the hospital with only one person helping, and he really convinced me that he could do this. You can tell that in this we succeeded. The next few paragraphs are missing because they don't belong in the public domain. We have a TV in our bedroom, and later, would you believe it, the Australian women's netball team were on. Simon was on cloud nine. Then even better, Skippy, finding Dad in his natural environment (bed) was reunited with Simon at last. Here they are in the picture. Once again, I am appalled by the state of my house, we have never got around to fitting wardrobe doors!
At 3pm, with an hour to go before our taxi ride back to the hospital, I persuaded Simon to try to get out of bed and back into the wheelchair. I got him sitting up, both feet on the floor, wheelchair ready to slide into, but two problems: i) wheelchair higher than the bed and, ii) first the mattress and then the bed began to slide away from us. He was lying with most of his torso on the bed, feet on the floor, gradually slipping towards the floor. I called the paramedics, and spent a very anxious twenty minutes using all my strength to stop him from falling completely. Shirley arrived after about 15 minutes and helped me by standing the other side of the bed to stop it from moving. Then after 20 minutes the paramedics got here and were brilliant. They slung a couple of belts round him, lifted him to a stand while I shoved from behind, then turned him into the chair. They kind of guessed what had been going on.... If I hadn't been so stressed and exhausted, I might have died from embarassment. Simon's taxi arrived just as the paramedics were leaving, an excellent driver called Abbas, over 40 with his own disabled wife travelling in the back. That's how I like them, mature drivers with a sense of passenger-preservation.
On arriving at the hospital, the staff were asking us "how was your home visit". We will never tell them.... Of course, they may very well have found this blog, in which case, I declare it as a work of fiction and that all similarities to persons living or dead are entirely coincidental!
Love Marian xx