Some Early Lessons At Christmas

Christmas was spent at "home".  That is, at my mother's house.

Following a flip-flop series of discussions on how to get there, I opted for the train, and found out some realities the hard way.

Firstly, travel by minicab can be painful. MPVs tend to have suspension designed for 6-8 people, so when the  car has only two people the ride can be "firm". Given the state of London roads at present (snow damage and low council budgets...) it's a bumpy ride, and I felt every bump. I also discovered that acceleration and braking is just as bad as bumping. I resorted to holding the leg in the air by grabbing the frame and lifting. It's probably a good biceps workout.

[I have since come to the conclusion that about 80% of minicab drivers need driving lessons. But more of that later.]

Secondly, be ready for unexpected issue when you use "mobility assistance" at railway stations. On the face of it, the offer of an electric buggy to transport you to the train is wonderful, and so it is! The driver even managed to manoeuvre the buggy to with easy reach of the ticket machine.  However...

On arrival at Paddington you are advised to go to the yellow telephone on the wall at the cab rank, and press the button. I pressed the button and waited, and waited, and waited. The line eventually went dead. After several button-presses and several long waits, a lady answered and, since I had pre-booked, she knew who I was and what I needed. She told me that a buggy would come very soon.

Note that there are no seats / chairs / benches anywhere near the mobility assistance telephone.  I was standing on one leg, and, given the freezing cold weather of December 2010, I'm getting colder by the minute. I've still only got the torn shorts that Debbie gave me at the hospital. With the pain, the cold, and no sign of help, I was in a state of near-panic.

After a further 10 minutes a member of the station staff passed by. I called to him and pleaded for assistance. He radioed someone, and after about 2-3 more minutes the buggy turned up.  Now, try climbing into one of those buggies with a frame on your leg, and supporting most of your weight on crutches. (Rumour has it that when the British Army bought the Clansman radio system back in the Eighties, the Trial team received the first radio sets and backpacks for testing. They immediately invited the designers to help with the trials. They gave each of the designers a pair of army boots, a rifle, a tin hat, and a radio mounted in the back pack. They then took them on a relatively short walk around Blandford camp. It didn't take long before the designers received appropriate enlightenment, took the radios back, and completely redesigned  the back packs.)  Whoever buys these buggies should get some invalids to take part in the selection process.

Once you are on-board, the buggy is great. At least the mobility assistance service gets you onto the train as soon as it is available, in advance of other passenger being allowed on. Just one little problem... I pity the drivers! Are you one of those people who wander down the platform, dragging your wheelie bag and nattering to your fellow traveller, utterly oblivious to the sound of beep beep beep behind you? We must have been inches behind some of these people who just didn't know we were there despite the continuous use of the buggy's horn. ...To be fair, it's a pathetic little horn.  These buggies are surprisingly busy, and any delay means that someone is waiting, probably in the cold, and standing on on leg. So please make way!

They kindly put a ramp down form me to hobble onto the train. That's good. Very good.  Also very good was the similar treatment at the sleepy rural station where I disembarked.

And now to lesson three.  I shuffled into my reserved seat. I'd booked a table seat so that my leg would have plenty of room. A few minutes later an attractive blond lady sat down opposite me. I said "Excuse me. Would you mind sitting in that seat?" I indicated the seat diagonally opposite across the table.  She looked at me as if I had asked her for £50, or perhaps to take another train. I said "Look under the table." She did, and instantly turned powder white, said "Oh my god!" and quickly moved to the next seat. The majority of people are horrified by the site of a leg with spikes in it. Leave it exposed and people give you a wide berth, but if you cover it up, they are far less helpful and will even bump into to you despite your crutches.

Lesson 4. If you tell the reservations people that you have a broken leg, they kindly book you a seat at the end of the carriage so that you don't have to walk half way down it. Now, train carriages rotate around the centre of the carriage. The ends are effectly on the end of a long lever, they move the most, swinging and bumping at every opportunity. And rails are not a smooth as you think. If you have a broken leg, and the bits are rubbing together with every movement, and the swelling is painful every time the leg is bumped, sitting at the end of the carriage is not a good idea. By the time we arrived I was in extremis. For the return trip I booked a seat in the middle of the carriage, despite the protests of the kindly booking agent.

Finally, number 5. Travellers, and by extension, most of the people in London, fall into two widely separate groups with very little in between; the considerate people who offer to help and are apologetic towards invalids, and the totally inconsiderate people who just don't know you are there or who manage to blank out your existence. If I have ever been a member of the latter group then I apologise! I hope to always fall into the former group given my recent experiences.

And so to Christmas...

Unfortunately my father died of prostate cancer in September and my mother has had a hard time getting over it, but she's getting there slowly. As she puts it, forty years being totally dependent on someone leaves you unable to do very much yourself. Which meant that one invalid and one shell-shocked OAP needed quite a lot of help.

Thankfully my sister and her husband looked after us throughout the Christmas period. They bought and cooked all the food, and fetched and carried.

My most grateful thanks to them.