I can’t drive far, so it means my poor mum has to drive me to hospital appointments, and she HATES driving in central London. She’ll do it, unlike a lot of people, but it’s not fun.
It’s already a worry before we leave that we’ll get to the hospital and they’ll be no parking. This has happened loads of times before, and usually results in madness and mayhem. And that’s putting it lightly.
Picture this: last hospital appointment at the University College Hospital in London, which has six blue badge spaces. We’d been stuck in traffic and were now 45 minutes late for the appointment and of course all six spaces are taken. So we pull up outside, put the wheelchair together and mum sends me on my way while she goes to hunt for a space. Wheelchair battery promptly dies, so I’m having to use my feet to pull the wheelchair along (Fred Flintstone style) at 0.000000000001 miles per hour. I’m given the wrong directions and head to the other end of the department, before being sent back, and arrive at the nurses station way, way past my appointment time and promptly burst into tears and have a mild panic attack. Luckily, they took pity on me and they let me see the consultant at the end of his surgery time.
So parking, and being able to have someone with me? Helpful. Anyway, as a passenger in a car, I have an unfortunate issue of falling asleep. I’m generally close to exhaustion at all times, and there’s something about a car I obviously find soothing, as I can’t fight it and within a few minutes I’m usually out of it.
However, my mum struggles with the whole driving in London thing and trusting the sat nav, so I get woken up every 15 minutes with increasing franticness, “Which road do I take?” I mumble an answer, and then go back to sleep again. This apparently stresses her out, and she’d rather have an awake passenger when going to London. Whoops.