And finally (!) the long and drawn out divorce process has come to an end. The last bit was deciding on two relatively small matters, but the judge ruled in the most decent way…
It’s odd isn’t it that a former spouse can have any claim on any ( future hypothetical ) financial award from a lawsuit, where the ‘payout ‘ is for a disabling injury to me, that affects myself and my world, and not hers. That it’s even possible is morally wrong, and that someone could push for it is, to me, reprehensible. But the law allows it totally, or at least it allows for an attempt to benefit from it, by the able bodied spouse. Given any money would be to pay for assistance to carers, and disability equipment or property modifications, it’s surprising that an attempt to take it is allowed at all, but there you go.
If I’m ever back in Court as a follow on to this matter, I’ll be taking a few Welsh lads for protection. That would have been handy yesterday, I was surprised to discover. I’m a bit ( read a lot ) vulnerable in my wheelchair, not that able to physically defend myself. I wish Tasers were legal, as I’d definitely have one. Maybe I can start a campaign to allow their possession by the vulnerable. I could call it Tazers for Spazers.
After meeting up with my buddy Q ( no, not the one off James Bond ) I’ve now decided to keep bees. Not just the odd one I catch, but a whole hive full of my own ( not that you really ‘ own’ bees – they do their thing and you provide the premises ). I may have objections from busy body neighbours around my manor, but they will be strenuously resisted by moi. He explained that you join the local Bee Association and they mentor you in your early years of beekeeping. I’ll start next May, hopefully.
I do pull ups quite often. I obviously have to do them from my wheelchair, and have to secure my feet so that when I pull up and my legs spasm and want to straighten , my feet don’t shoot off the footrest and I end up on the floor as soon as I release my hold on the bar.
But it’s not just my feet and legs that are the trouble. When I pull up and I lift off the seat, my, er, nuts etc drop down between my legs so that when I sit down again they are clamped between my legs. It’s not like I can feel anything but any guy will tell you that if I did have sensation it would hurt.
So… what I have to do to stop it happening all the time is ‘hook’ the front top edge of my underpants underneath my nuts and that keeps them ‘up’ rather than drop into the SquashZone.
Anyway, all well and good. Except…
Today after my pull ups I headed out.. and as I can’t feel anything, I forgot that, well, I hadn’t rearranged myself.
I was at Kew bridge, only a good mile and a half away, before I looked down to see the first turkey of Christmas still free range in my lap.
I should have just remembered obviously (!) but all ideas to stop a repeat are welcome, before I get arrested.
So yes, she wasn’t being a baby. She’d had a molar pulled out on Friday, but rather than the pain diminish, it just got steadily and then rapidly worse.
It turns out the whole ( now empty ) socket was infected, full of pus, and all nerves were firing in every direction. Her eye was in pain, and her sinuses were inflamed. If she hadn’t gone to see them then she may have died ( probably ) Typically, Wendy was underplaying it and calling herself pathetic for whinging, but she’s about the toughest girl I’ve ever known ( and I’ve known a few, like my friend Anna McCormack ) – that’ll be why Wendy is a black belt in karate then… It gets worse – the dentist then said that because there was so much infection, anaesthetic wasn’t going to make any difference, so she scraped out her infected socket WITHOUT ANY ANAESTHESIA… mmm that couldn’t have been nice!
Just watched the first game of the RWC – the rugby World Cup.
It’s in Japan. All the sides were allowed a squad totalling 30 guys. Japan however were allowed 60 players, on the basis that there are 4 pool matches that they have to get through, and every time they lose a match the 15 are expected to do the ‘ Honourable thing ‘.
I really needed an electric hoist so that I could transfer from one chair to another ( to my standing chair or iBot ) Because I just don’t have room for all these bloody chairs in my flat, they have to be outside ( under cover ). I applied to get a hoist via the NHS system but 1/ they probably won’t give me one at all, and 2/ they absolutely will NOT give me one that’s going to be outside, and exposed to the elements at all.
Ebay to the rescue. People that need Hoists in the first place are obviously often not in good health. They die and the hoists are then not required. There are lots around, though I guess it’s a gamble as to how well it works when you get it. By design they have to be strong and last though, so usually I guess it’s a safe bet.
Today, Pete from Bristol came with his dad ( 89 ) and together they carried the ceiling track and hoist into my place. He had told me that it had been for his late wife. She’d had lung disease and then whilst in hospital, he said she’d been dropped ( tho it was denied ) and broken her neck. He’d applied for funding help but was refused any. Pete drives a recovery truck, and isn’t well off at all. His wife died, he said, followed shortly after by his mum.
We talked about the ‘injustice ‘ of the funding system for disabled people, and he then went on to talk about the money that the NHS wastes on other things. As he is the ‘ practical sort’ he mixes with practical people. A fella he knows supplies and services beds that go up and down in critical units of the NHS. This fella’s job is to go in once a year and replace the battery on the electronic bed and give it the once over. He asked Pete if he knew how much the batteries cost him. Pete replied that actually he did, and that they were £18 each. The fella then asked him to guess what he charges the NHS for a new battery once a year…..
God, is it any wonder the NHS is strapped for cash?