Empty Wheelchairs...

I sit back down in the grey airport wheelchair and stuff my feet back into my converse. 

Sorry about that says the young man who is pushing me through into departures but no one escapes the shoe scan.

He helps me out onto a blue seat with a wheelchair picture printed onto the fabric. 

Thank you 

Mr H slips him a tip then wanders away to find the toilets. I pull my belt back through the loops of my jeans, push up my sleeves and wipe my forehead, it feels like its 29 degrees inside as well as out there in the Caribbean sunshine...

A few seconds later...

Bing Bong final call for passengers flying on TOM815 to Birmingham please make your way to Gate 4. 

That's us I call out as I frantically fasten my belt and grab my bag. Mr H returns and we ask where the wheelchairs are to take people with disabilities to the ambulift.

The lady responsible for getting the disabled onto the aeroplane tells us they haven't got any available...

But if you walk over there and out of the door the Ambulift is waiting she points. So a snake of crutches, sticks and mobility scooters weaves its way towards the pointed door. As we go out into the sunshine we spot thirty or more empty wheelchairs silently sitting. Waiting to be used...

One by one, like suntanned canaries in a cage, we are lifted on a yellow metal platform into the tin box ambulift. Mr H says to the Barbadian gents assisting us These people should be on the plane before the other passengers, little chance of that now. Again! 

I am fed up that the disabled are always last on the plane here in Barbados. There is a fifty dollar tip if you can get us all onto the aeroplane before the other passengers. A look of shock passes over the young mens faces, then they giggle as they whisper to each other. The process of loading us speeds up...

We trundle along the road by the side of the aircraft lined up, ready to fly. We watch anxiously as lines of buses fill with passengers about to head to our aircraft which is waiting on the tarmac. 

Get your foot down Mr H shouts as he waves the fifty dollar bill at the driver. 

We are all laughing and giggling as we clutch our sweaty fists. We must be doing the speed of light now Mr H laughs as the ambulift snails it's way towards the first aeroplane. 

We pass it. 

Not ours. 

We stop at the third. Reverse up to the side door. The ambulift mechanisms creak as like birds we are lifted into the air. The giggles of anticipation get louder. The gents knock on the cabin door. 

It is opened immediately. It's a miracle I shout!

Mr H calls to the air hostess is the plane empty, are we the first passengers.

Yes she grins.

We all cheer...

Mr H stands back to let the crutch and stick brigade clamber across the metal bridge to enter the aircraft. Then with a huge grin he hands over the fifty dollars...

That's a first I say to the blue hatted air hostess as she directs me to my seat. We have never made it onto the plane before the able bodied at this airport. Just proves that money talks...

Time to Relax...

The King of Makaton

On holiday after a day lying in the sun Mr H ties his bow tie and I choose a cocktail dress from our overfull wardrobe. When we sit down in the bar for our pre dinner sparkling water champagne, I spot a young man snapping photographs around us. It looks like you are having fun I say and after a chat we invite them to join us. In that moment of serendipity we meet two exceptional people...

Chris tells us he teaches Makaton: a language programme using signs and symbols to help people to communicate

Oh I would like to learn I tell him...

Can you teach me No Cake I ask

Of course...take your main hand and hold it up like this

then sweep it to the side, that's No Chris grins

Then cup your hand and place it on top of your other like this

That's Cake

I practice No Cake You've got it Chris smiles

I keep doing it as I stare at Mr H and he throws his head back and laughs. I explain that I eat too much cake so now Mr H can silently try and stop me!





Chris teaches Makaton at Hallam University, he also teaches some of the Police officers where we live Nicky tells us, Chris is too modest to tell everyone but I am so proud of him...

Some people confuse it with British Sign Language (BSL) Nicky tells us as we sip our ice cold drinks, but it is different. More accessible. Simplified. 

Chris chips in to tell us a tale:
About three years ago I was teaching a group of senior nurses when two nursing Professors who were sat in the front row, started talking to each other. I stopped teaching and said excuse me, please listen, I am teaching you...

Wow well done, people talking used to drive me mad when I was teaching...What did they say?

They stared at the floor. They went red. Embarrassed. 

How long have you been signing Chris we ask

Mummy started using it when I was a baby and couldn't talk. It helped me to visualise words. She told me stories, signed books for me.

I love my Mummy Chris says with a sideward glance at his Mum, She encourages me but she's strict. I tell everyone I am so lucky to have her as my Mummy. She fights so hard for me, she's a lioness. When people stare at me she has taught me to ignore it, so that's what I do. Ignore them. 

He has had articles written about him Nicky tells us beaming, her eyes twinkling with love and pride. if you tap Chris Sampson Makaton into Google and you will find lots more... famous then I smile. Mr H says Chris you are The King of Makaton!

We meet each evening after that, eager to hear more, learn more from Chris and Nicky. 

One evening, Chris takes his ipod out of his pocket and shows us a video of him signing a rap which he did for a drama group audition; he was immediately accepted they tell us. He shows us a recording of him teaching Occupational Therapy Students at a Conference to sign a song from Glee...

Please teach me Don't Stop Believing ...

Take your main hand like this..

Thats Don't

Then Stop is like No

Point to your head like this for Believe

Then this is for ...ing!

Thats our Mantra in life Nicky tells us Don't Stop Believing... Mine too or Never Ever Give Up I say

You are an inspiration Chris, you both are. 

The best teachers 

Teach from the heart 

Not from a book

Red

I want to buy you that heart Mr H says with a tinkle in his eye as he points to a crystal pendant in a shop window in the pretty streets of Stockholm Old Town. 

So with a giggling grin smeared across my face we step inside.

Mr H points it out to the Swedish lady. She fetches it from the window display and holds it out to me. But with only a glimpse I back away from the counter...shaking my head...unable to speak.

As waves of nausea crash inside my stomach I stutter I can't have it...

I swipe at the stream of unexpected tears as they drip onto my blouse. 

Concern is etched into Mr H eyes. 

Chemo is all I can say. 

Chemotherapy drug I gasp.

Red. 

Red in crystal. Looks like Red in plastic.

The lady immediately moves the pendant out of sight and gently puts her hand on my shoulder. I understand she kindly says, concern glowing in her eyes now too.

I never thought Mr H says as we leave the shop. 

Where did that come from I say, shaking my head. I thought I had locked that memory away forever.

In a Good Place

The sky is as blue as the mineral filled Norwegian fjords we have visited. The warm breeze swishes through the golden bamboo in the garden as washing swings on the line. I whistle unrecognisable tunes as I peg out the contents of another basket.

A chilli bubbles in the slow cooker, the ironing can wait another day.  At last I am learning to pace myself so that days full of tears are less frequent.

I recall the early days when searches for the old Dawn were in vain. The old Dawn had left without warning. She had sailed away to unknown shores. The clouds were dark as I wept for her, missed her and yearned for her return.

Antidepressants softened the loss and eventually lifted the clouds to allow the sun to peek through.

Almost three years have passed since I started the tablets. Our visit to the fjords made me think of the old Dawn; she would have climbed the mountains instead of looking up from below; she would have walked up the glacier instead of spying it from a boat; she would have danced the night away instead of wiggling her hips as she passed the disco on the ship, on her way to bed for an early night.

But my smiles never faltered. My squeals of delight resonated on the boat trips; early nights meant I stood on the balcony and watched the matrix of clouds hover over the lowering sun, which never set. I snapped away to capture the magical reflections on the fjords’ silent waters. Best of all Mr H was always by my side.

This year I had considered getting off the antidepressants but my GP and Neurologist persuaded me not to try until we sort out my epilepsy. Good Plan. Why change when I am at last in such a good place.

Insurance For My Holiday; How Hard Can it Be?

Like booking an appointment with the dentist I make the dreaded call

Hello blah blah insurance how can we help you?

I would like to get a quote for travel insurance to cover pre existing medical conditions.

I describe the holiday location and dates of my adventure but when we arrive at the medical questionnaire my heart tries to escape my chest. 

With a smug grin I answer no to the usual questions; diabetes, heart problems. But we stop at epilepsy:

How many seizures have you lost conciousness in the last 12 months - aha with a light heart I say none (the only time I lost conciousness was during my first in 2008)

How many seizure drugs do you take? 

Two; my heart sinks (I have no idea how many is too many)

Do you know the cause of your epilepsy; yes, I had a brain tumour (heart drops a few feet as it tries to escape through my navel, I wonder if that is the insurance breaking point)

Was your brain tumour malignant? ...No 

Was it all removed? ...No (faced with this quagmire of questions my heart which is now below my stomach flutters madly)

Are you having any treatment at present? ...Well annual scans

Bust size? (got you!)

Anything else: 

Voice reduced to a whisper I add: well I have a semi paralysed leg and walk with a stick... (oh stop asking and say you will cover me..pleeeease)

Thats fine we can cover those. Anything else?

My thudding heart sinks below the muds' surface; well... I am on antidepressants... do you need to know that?

Yes definitely. 

Unfortunately we don't cover depression. My voice wobbles as I tell the lady I am happy not to have my depression covered.

We are not be able to cover you for anything if you are on antidepressants

WHAT!! My angry fingers attempt to scribble down the numbers of other companies who may be able to help.

I slam the phone down. Head in hands I moan out loud. I can't go through this again...

I do of course..eventually...and as I carefully place the phone back into its holder I whoop. 

Thank you Freedom Insure

Flying away from it all

The holiday season will be upon us and people moaning about the weather will be history! As soon as I tick a destination off my list another ten appear....Travel is embedded in my genes....

Even with all my travel experience, I could never have prepared for the onslaught of flying disabled style... I assumed it would be easy..but you know what assume did..it made an Ass out of U and Me...

Getting to the airport is the easy bit...I am in control...Like a dried up meal I pre order Disabled Assistance. At check in I hand over my suitcase... my sense of control and sanity swiftly follow ...

The first hurdle is to get through the stares at the assistance desk, the mouth says Can I help you but the eyes say You need assistance??? ..my fatigue and medical history are not printed on my face...maybe I should forget the make up so I look pale, get a tattoo or wear a T.Shirt with Mines a Brain Tumour... What's your Excuse!

Settled in a wheelchair the second hurdle...the Xray machine... is in sight...I pre warn them about the plate in my head....and even have a letter from my Consultant.....but we play the same game every time...
Them: Can you walk through without your stick? 
Me: Yes but the scanner will go off I promise you...Beeepppp
Them Can you walk through again...Beeeeeppppppp
Them; Hold out your arms I will run the scanner over you..beep, beep, beep
Them: Can you take your shoes off
Me  If you find me a chair,  I need to sit...
Them: Oh don't worry we will swab them... (for what MRSA!!)
Them; Hold onto the glass screen here and lift your feet so we can see the soles of your shoes.
Me:  I can't lift my left foot
Them: Just try...!!!!
Me...Like a novice ballerina trying to do backward plies I fail to lift my foot ...Mr H watches patiently from the sidelines, we share a grimace
Them; OK thank you.....Our session of public humiliation is complete

Back in the wheelchair the third hurdle is waiting by the sign saying Assistance...anxious that a slow dash to the loo will mean I will miss my turn...manic panic surrounds us....our flight is called but we wait....and wait.... At the gate we discover that able passengers are being loaded first..mmmmm

When we land The Wheelchairs ...have to wait till last...I have never been called a Wheelchair before..........'The Wheelchairs' are offloaded like cattle...kept waiting mid air in a metal shed ...an occasional smiling groundsman snaps the tension which builds.

On Terra Firma as one of 'The wheelchairs' I am separated from Mr H...not enough room on the minibus...

I no longer worry, passport in hand, I know at some stage I will pop out like a missing horse by the carousels....and the holiday for me...will begin