A Risky Business

So there I am, sitting on the loo when the front door opens as a carer arrives. It was a quarter of an hour before l was expecting them but hey-ho. A moment or so later the door opens again and the second carer arrives. Then the doorbell goes and two more women arrive. There is a polite knock on the bathroom door and then four women enter. Polly comes in too. So now there are six of us in our not so big bathroom. I pretend I'm not sat on the lavatory. It doesn't work. Every one smiles at me.”Hello,” I say weakly. “Hello,” they chorus.

It turns out I'm having a risk assessment done. There are two carers to do the hoisting, washing and getting me into bed, one to carry out the risk assessment and one to observe, presumably to step in. if it all gets too risky. Every stage of the transfer was meticulously noted down (you put the shoulder straps on first apparently – it might be risky if you didn't). I washed and brushed my teeth without hurting myself or others. (There was a dodgy moment when my electric toothbrush nearly slipped and took my eye out, but l recovered the situation and no one was harmed.) My entourage followed me to the bedroom and assessed the risk of entering. The all clear was given and they hoisted me, using the approved method, on to the bed. I'm happy to report that nothing untoward occurred and that it was deemed risk free enough for me to go to sleep. Phew!

So now I've got an evening care plan being drawn up. Carers will be able to refer to it and know exactly what they need to do to get me safely to bed with out hunting me or themselves. I'm only sorry I forgot to mention that I usually spend a few minutes juggling flaming razor sharp petrol powered chainsaws before I get ready for bed and that I expect the carers to help me light them.