Sensitivity and services can sometimes be very distant relatives. About two weeks ago I didn't make it to the loo on time and my wheelchair cushion took another unwanted drenching. Alas, despite washing and airing the cushion I couldn't shift the smell and the cushion material was beginning to disintegrate.
Knowing the prices of wheelchair cushions I contacted the wheelchair centre eleven days ago, explained my situation and was told they'd order me a new cushion. Today I got back in touch to check the progress of the cushion and was told that because it's been three years since my last consultation my case was being referred to a wheelchair OT.
"Ok, but I've been without a cushion for almost two weeks; any idea how long I'll have to wait for the referral?" I wondered.
"What happened to your cushion?" asked the wheelchair centre receptionist - I had explained this the first time and a record had been made.
"You have it on my file" I stated.
"Yes, but why can't you use your cushion until you see the OT?" persisted the receptionist.
By now I'm pissed off and beginning to get embarrassed. "Because I soiled the cushion!" I cried in desperation.
"You SOLD the cushion? Why did you sell the cushion?" asked the incredulous health worker.
"Not SOLD. I SOILED myself...peed myself. Satisfied now that I've managed to strip myself of any vestige of dignity I may have possessed up until five minutes ago..."
"Sorry, I thought it a bit odd that you'd sell your cushion!" replied this paragon of sensitivity.