2020,  achievements,  care,  disability,  lymphoedema,  Quarantine 2020

Value for Money

One of my carers has asked me about two things I’ve bought lately (a stocking aid and some cloth masks) and specifically how much they’ve cost. When I’ve said “about X pounds” she’s said that’s very expensive.

I’ve been thinking about that a lot since we had those two conversations. I think she’s wrong. But only because of the bigger picture.

The mask conversation was almost irrelevant. She’s told me how much she paid and said delivery was more. I didn’t pay delivery. Hers came from somewhere abroad (I forget) and took ages to come. Mine were here in a few days, from (I think) London. She wasn’t comparing like from like, even before you get to the fact that knowing it’s difficult to make a fair amount of money as a crafter, I was prepared to pay a bit more.

The stocking aid (one specifically for taking them off) was £22.40. Although I just had to look that price up and had told my carer it was “about £20” I thought that was very fair, particularly given that as soon as you put the word “disability” on anything it goes up in price and that the market for stocking aids must be a niche market within that already niche market.

But.

I’ve spent the two and half years since I started wearing compression hating having to have the carers twice a day. Hating the time I lost and the tie of always having to be home/free/awake at those set times and feeling like who I was, Emma, was getting lost in the wash of the woman with lymphoedema who needed this doing to her. It had a real negative thing for me and was part of the reason why my mental health was in such a downward spiral when I started needing compression.

Everyone who knows me and my history and my level of mobility (and the amount of problems I had when I used to wear normal socks let along compression stockings) was sure that there wouldn’t be a way of my getting them off myself. The lymphoedema nurse thought getting the stocking over my heel was going to be an issue.

Eventually coronavirus hit and the risk of my injuring myself trying to get my own stockings off was less than the risk of having the carers here twice a day so much. Very long story short: I got one in the hope I could go to once a day calls, it worked. It took some trial and error to find the easiest way to do it and it takes ages (but I’m getting quicker!) and in two and a half months I’ve probably had support to take my stockings off less than ten times.

Starting next week I am actually going to have a carer three evenings a week because applying my cream myself is still tricky and I think it needs doing better more often than the once a week or so Dad was doing it. But I don’t currently anticipate going back to having a carer here twice a day, everyday.

Should life ever go back to normal there will be no more leaving things early to be home for the carers or planning how I will manage to get my compression off if I go here. Or not going to things because I can’t work round an evening care call. Without being able to go out I’m already eating dinner when I want, sitting outside losing track of time for hours of an evening. Once the morning carer goes, my day is completely my own. I’m thrilled with that.

My carer has looked at it and seen a simple looking thing I can use to take my stockings off. But she’s missing what my being able to take my own stockings off means to me. And £22.40 strikes me as amazing value for money for something that’s changed my life.

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.