Post 239: Lil Bruv and the Wheelchair
I had it all planned out in my head for my Lil Bruv’s visit today, and I was off to a flying start at 04:00 with a hug from my Darling at my bedside after she helped me with the bed.
I’m still taking extra doses of oramorph to keep the pain at bay, but I’m not taking six a day (twelve over two days). There’s a pattern emerging. Every two days there are nine doses — so 4.5 a day — which is fantastic. It means I’m not waking for them and I don’t need them all the time.
This is great news for my body and pretty good news for my OCD head, which is always looking for any sign of change so it can do a bit of maths and feel reassured. It works for me, so I won’t complain.
I’m happier, so I’m getting better.
Fact.
————
Let’s put this Christmas into perspective. My aim is to enjoy the day itself, but also to buy at least one nice pressy for my Darling — which isn’t easy. As I keep saying, she wants to know the ins and outs of a cat’s arsehole, as they say, so it hard to arrange anything. Anyway, I think I’ve finally broken her and a trip to the big local town centre is on tomorrow, if I’m lucky...
It’s a breakthrough of sorts. She’s not particularly happy about it, but I don’t care.
I’ve never liked receiving presents anyway. I’d rather have nothing and see smiles all day than open gifts myself.
It didn’t used to be like that. Me, Sis, and Lil Bruv were excited kids once upon a time, hovering around the beautifully wrapped pressies under the ’70s silver sparkling tree. The game began as soon as they appeared — first a gentle shaking, then more confident listening. We were cheeky but good kids. We never opened anything until told to. Never any trouble…
Anyway — where was I?
Ah yes.
My inquisitive Darling went to work and I back to bed around 04:15.
By wakey-time, with my myriad pills taken, I was wound up like a tin-plate toy train — on the tracks and ready for the next station. Full steam ahead — whoo-whoo!
After the usual chores were done (yes, chore done), and the furry angry thing was smiling — inside — my mind turned to preparations. I hobbled to the back door, unlocked it, took the shed keys from the hook, and hobbled back to the kitchen. It dawned on me that I hadn’t eaten, but that could wait. I’d eat with Bruv later.
I searched through “my kitchen drawer” for a wire tie to tie up the right key for the shed, and did exactly that. I placed the key on the spare chair by the patio doors — the top job of my pre-visit planning.
Worst case scenario: if I fell asleep upstairs or got stuck in my TV lounge chair, I could still guide my guest through his job. Hopefully, I wouldn’t suddenly be that unwell. Just my OCD creating a safety net, alright!
I hobbled back to the lounge and put on the fireplace show — five burning logs with crackling sounds.
You think I’m mad? Try it.
When a surprise guest arrives to a cold, lonely house and wants a cuppa and a sit-down, flick on the Netflix fireplace, et violà. The room glows, the sound fills the space, and suddenly their rosy cheeks forget the cold. Memory does the warming.
Right — back to the plot.
Bruv rang to say he was on his way, and soon enough the front door chimes announced his arrival. He stepped in, looked at me cautiously, then gave me a gentle hug. We headed to the kitchen.
Soon the table for two was alive with chatter and the kettle boiled. After a while I started winding him up about how many filthy jobs I’d lined up for him, which clearly meant another cuppa and those thin coffee biscuits were necessary before he started.
Out he went to the shed to battle spiders and uncover the wheelchair in the cold and dreary shed while I did nothing — briefly. After a few minutes I was bored with sitting still so I grabbed some tools from the garage, entirely unscheduled, and before long I was chisel and mallet in hand, shaving 2mm off the inside of the lounge door latch hole. You know, it’s the hole in the door frame that the plate covers which hold the door shut.
I’d already removed the plate and was enjoying that familiar DIY buzz when Bruv tapped me on the shoulder, grinning. Beside him stood a dusty wheelchair.
“You’ll never fit in there,” he said. “I can hardly get my fingers in!”
“You have to open it, you dope,” I replied — and we laughed. That’s what today was about. Bruv might not be a fantastic carer, but he’s a top-class spirit lifter.
I pulled the chair towards me and opened it up — cue more laughter — and climbed aboard. Two circuits of the house later, verdict delivered: perfect.
He couldn’t find the gel seat pad, so I suggested our next stop was CareCo. But first — sorry Bruv — I had to finish the wobbly handle. Before I’d finished speaking, his hand was already testing it.
“Right — grab this. Hold the screw still.”
Murmur. Nod.
“Now the second one.”
Teamwork. Plate back on, handle solid. And just like that, I felt alive again. Not just because the handle worked, but because I had worked.
Now for that we’ll deserved food. Off we went.
We spent longer than expected at the garden centre (CareCo warehouse) thanks to my debit card being frozen — by my own fair hand. Stupid or what. I was very glad that cash still worked, though I got the sense it’s not offered much these days. Plastic rules the world.
Seat — complete.
On the way home, my Darling rang.
“Where are you? How are you?”
“Fine — and with Bruv.”
“Make it three for lunch. Pick me up?”
So we did. The van was now fully loaded. My Darling jumped in smiling but soon lost it. She did not enjoy the smell of two-strokes in the working end of the van at all and asked,
“What the hell is that bloody horrible smell?”
Bruv and I laughed. Said nothing.
“Off we jolly well” said Lil Bruv. And off we went.
It was a great day. I lasted well, felt content, and now had a plan B — a wheelchair — which somehow didn’t feel like defeat.
After getting back home we had more coffee with the daylight fading. When Bruv left, it was with a proper hug and genuine thanks. I think he enjoyed his day off work.
He noticed how slow my pace was and how small my steps were by then but didn’t mention it. I deserved to be tired. I’ll bounce back.
Later, just the two of us, I felt restless but proud — especially about that door handle.
My Darling only sees a door — I see progress.
Horses for courses. I’m happy — that’s what matters.
It was early doors tonight. The eyes told the tale of the day. We shared a special hug — the kind that says you did well today. Far better than yesterday.
⸻
My appetite and taste are still dulled by the oramorph. The dose will reduce — I’m sure of it.
I didn’t think about self-advocacy today, and that alone feels amazing.
I love having the wheelchair as backup.
The aches are less.
The new normal is heavy, but the meds are starting to help.
My mental state today was normal.
I hope you sleep as well as I do.
Good night.
