Disablility · Writing

Me and my disability: Power cut in Pyle

On Monday night just as the final player on The Chase was doing the cash builder round, our whole street had a power cut. This meant my stairlift and hoists weren’t working as well as the heating and the cooker so the carers couldn’t put me to bed and we couldn’t cook any food.

The carers, bless them, were insistent that the hoists would work whilst my mum was busy lighting her Yankee candles and dog tired had to stand at the door and explain in simple terms how electricity works and how we weren’t exempt from power cuts just because I was disabled and needed equipment.

The task fell to my mum and dad to get my 22 year old arse (and all 14 stone of me) up a flight of stairs and into bed. Team work isn’t exactly my mum and dads strong suit so I we joked around anticipating a divorce by the fifth step.

My mum had my legs and my dad had my upper body and for those of you who don’t know I cannot carry my body weight and my mum who is the daughter of a funeral director said it was like carrying a corpse and of course people with CP will know that when we get excited or scared we hyperextend and go rigid, which I was trying my hardest not to do since it would send my mum careering down the stairs with the possibility of breaking her neck. Of course I was nervous which ends up making me laugh and result in more hyperextending. Luckily I managed to smother m6 laughter and was reminded of the chuckle brothers with the whole ‘to me to you’ business. (As well as imagining I was a heavy Welsh dresser and my parents were the burly removal men.)

Anyway, my dad who is 53 and makes out like he’s the Phil Mitchell of the Welsh drilling industry ‘needed a break’ 6 steps in. (My mum and I just rolled our eyes because back in the day in this was nothing compared to when my my mum used to be able to lift me without hoists and slings with the ease and gracefulness of a butch ballet dancer) So me and mam bided our time whilst my dad got his breath back as the night drew in and once we realised that it was going to be dark soon we told my dad to get a grip and shuffle up three steps at a time as I sat on one and they began passing me between them like I was a game of pass the parcel. This system worked. But just after we’d reached the top step 10 minutes later the bloody lights came back on and even though we were exhausted and sore we were weak with laughter. When we reached the landing I laid down beside my dad whilst my mum got the sling, lowered the hoist and got me on the transfer chair and into bed.

Fair play to my dad he usually stands back and lets my mum do all the work when it comes to hoisting but he picked it up very quickly.

It’s moments like this when I realise how fucking awesome my parents are. They’d risk breaking their backs to get me warm and comfortable and I am so grateful for them.

This incident reminded me of when we had a power cut at school and I desperately needed a wee and had to piss by the torch light of my dear friend Sue’s iPhone (See 2014 blog post Piss by IPhone) and we were stranded upstairs all morning. (We could have made it downstairs if the schools SEO didn’t decide not to buy evacuation chairs for the new build but instead fancy mattresses that we were essentially strapped to and then unable to move… not much common sense there.. but that’s a crap comprehensive for you.)

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s