We all tend to put people in boxes, even if we try hard not to: that person is English, that person is deaf, and so on. As we get to know them, we find that they don’t fit neatly into any one category and we gradually adapt to seeing them as they really are.
Large bureaucracies like the NHS find it harder to think outside the box.
I have to have regular blood tests. While I was not allowed to walk because of my broken leg, there was no question of me being able to attend the surgery, so arrangements were made for a nurse to come to me.
Now I am on my feet it is a different story. The rule is unbreakable: if you can step outside your front door, you are not housebound and you do not qualify for a home visit. I tried explaining to the community nursing team that whilst that was true, it was one thing to ask a taxi driver to guide me because I am blind and quite another to ask them to assist a visually-impaired person who is using a Zimmer frame.
The answer was still no.
In the end, I had to ask a friend to accompany me to the surgery.
In example number two, I was trying to book hospital transport. For my first X-ray I was allowed transport because I couldn’t walk. There was no ambiguity there. However, when I rang back recently to arrange transport to hospital for my second X-ray, there was a definite reluctance on the other end of the phone.
“Do you go out at all?”
“I go to church.”
“How do you get there?”
“A friend gives me a lift but then she is going there anyway. It’s quite a different thing to ask her to take me to the hospital.”
“Can’t anyone go with you?”
I was asked to see if I could find someone to accompany me. I was told, that, if this really wasn’t possible, I could come back to them but there was no guarantee that they could help me.
In the end, I did manage to find a friend who could take me, and I’m very grateful for their help.
Now, it probably sounds as though I’m complaining but, actually, I’m not. I do understand that the NHS has limited resources and has to draw up rules to ensure that those resources are used for the benefit of those who need them most. I also understand that if they started making exceptions it would end in over-stretched resources and headaches all round for those in charge.
There is an issue here, though, about what happens when you don’t slot into a convenient category or meet a predefined bureaucratic criterion – when, in other words, you don’t quite “fit into the box.”
When I mentioned this to the nurse as she took my blood, she said it was a problem many of her patients had. I’m sure it is. There are lots of us out here with complex needs.
I hope I’m getting across that I’m not indulging in special pleading for the visually-impaired. We’re not the only ones affected by these issues. I do want to make a point about visual impairment, though, when it’s combined with another physical disability. I don’t think people always realise how much this complicates life.
Even when I am in my own home, where – at least in theory! – I know where I’m going, I still bash into the walls when I have to use a Zimmer frame because I can’t accurately judge how big the frame is. I don’t always walk smoothly through gaps in the furniture for the same reason. I’m not a brilliant Zimmer frame driver and, when I do go out, I have to get my friends to grab hold of the frame to steer me, rather in the manner they used to do when helping me with supermarket trolleys back when I still went out to a supermarket!
Imagine me trying to explain to a taxi driver, for whom English may not be their first language, exactly what help I need! They are mostly very helpful, but I think that would be asking a bit too much.
I don’t know what the answer is and, as with so much in life, there probably isn’t a perfect solution. I do wonder, though, whether a little education for health service professionals about the complications thrown up by having more than one disability might not be a very good idea.