As is somehow always inevitable when you’re bloody tired, lots seemed to go wrong with the start of the trip abroad.
No sleep at all in the Travelodge before the flight ( 4am check in – my fault for booking that early ), not being able to get on the shuttle bus ( inconsiderate driver ), a wait for another, getting off at the wrong terminal ( I just did as I was told ), having quite a lot of medical supplies ( which made the bags cumbersome too ), seeming to travel on the busiest day of the year, and only hours after a MASSIVE terrorist incident in London ( which had everyone on high alert ), not being assisted at all by the airport Assistance staff ( as they were supposed absolutely to have done ), as a consequence getting to the gate last rather than first ( resulting in there being a huge panic by the boarding staff that were there to be in control, rather than lose control ) being transferred in a very amateur way by the Assistance staff ( so that I felt very vulnerable to falling out of the narrow ‘ aisle chair ‘ that they perch me on and strap me to, to get me to my seat on the plane – tbh I feel like a right tw** being dragged along backwards and then lifted into my seat ). I spasmed all the way to Faro airport…
Having arrived in Portugal, it got briefly better for a bit, though there was much confusion as to how to get my chair from the hold to the luggage hall, as with thé Triride attachment, it was too long for me to use in the airport lifts. They stuck me in a different wheelchair for half an hour or so, before repatriation with my own, making me very uncomfortable in the process. Having got a taxi to the apartment, things seemed to be ok at last…. until we realised that the key code that we had been given was wrong, and we were locked out of the accommodation ( on a Sunday, when office staff that run this stuff aren’t at work, or answering their phones ). At that point, I felt that I was again cursed by misfortune.
An hour later we were, however, in, but had no food or drinks, having not had time for breakfast. Compared to the other stuff, that was nothing though, and within a couple of hours we had a coffee in a cafe 2 miles’ wheelchair away, and had bought some food too.
Pre injury, everything was so easy. Now everything is so much more challenging, and harder to resolve.
It’s 4 years to the day, in about 10 days. At this time last year, I was counting down to a suicide attempt ( that didn’t work out ) but this year it isn’t quite so depressing. Days like today make those thoughts feel easy to have. My very existence seems to hinge so often on things that do or don’t happen to me, either way without my ability to influence them.