Last Thursday a bloke arrived here.
He was a grand cheerful chatty bloke, and he was here to fix a second handrail on the stairs up to the attic, all courtesy of our Glorious Health Service. Herself had great difficulty with the stairs as there was only the one handrail and the health visitor had insisted she needed two.
The next day Herself decided it was time she went downstairs [for the first time in weeks] to give the lovely new rail its first test.
I helped her out of bed and we made our way to the stairs with myself leading the way. We got to the turn in the stairs when her knee joint gave way. She sat down screeching in agony. Fuck!
I should mention that the stairs are narrow [and the new handrail made them narrower], and at the bend in the stairs the ceiling is very low. It is not a spot for easy manoeuvring.
I tried to help her up from the front, but the space was too cramped. I managed to climb over her to try lifting from the back but she was too low and my own back couldn’t take it. We were stuck.
I phoned Daughter as she’s an expert in these matters and she promptly arrived. She tried the various techniques that I had tried and failed as well. We tried together. No go. We were well and truly stuck and Herself was in severe pain.
Daughter phoned for an ambulance which duly arrived. The two lads had to use some kind of specialist lifting equipment to extricate Herself and I mentioned on Saturday the fun we had after that.
So we started to go downstairs at around half three on Friday afternoon and eventually arrived downstairs at around one on Saturday morning. That must be a record for the slowest descent of a staircase?
She has been downstairs ever since and refuses to go back up. Not that I blame her. At least she has been having great fun on her new electric chair. I still haven’t tried tossing her onto the floor though. I’ll wait until she’s in a bad mood for that.
And she still hasn’t tried out the new handrail.