Every Profession Has Its Yahoos

The Occupational Therapist (OT) was a farce.  Not the profession ... the individual person who arrived on my doorstep.

When I left the hospital I was offered temporary in-home physio and a home assessment by an OT.  Going on the theory that there is no such thing as too much professional help during times of crisis, I accepted both. Oy .. mistake.  But at least I've heard from the OT - I haven't heard anything from the physio people.  But, back to my sighing and head shaking ...

I got a call mid-week from someone advising that she had been assigned to my "case" (I have a case worker now ... that sounds ominous), and was Friday a good day to stop by, say 2:45pm.  Perfect timing - post nap, pre after school Friday craziness.  We're good to go. 

Friday morning turned out to be busy (okay, busy by the old person definition of "having more than one thing to do") and a friend stopped by for lunch and a great visit.  Her departure timed perfectly with nap time, but just as I was propping my feet up and getting my pillow settled ... phone rings ... OT, wanting to know if she can come now, and oh, she's only two blocks away.   Sigh ... back out to the front porch to await my new visitor.

I can't believe I missed my nap for that visit.  We spent 99% of the time on the front porch going through her paperwork answering questions that she didn't even bother to verify or observe - I could have said anything and she would have written it down.  She gave me lots of brochures on energy conservation, and pamphlets on other services her organization provides (for a fee), but zip, zilch in the way of good advice. 

Now, maybe that is because in the scheme of things I'm reasonably mobile and I live in a small house that's pretty accessible, or maybe it's because she didn't really want to be there (I was her last call on a gorgeous Friday afternoon).  Either way. Of the 6 minutes she was in the house, the only thing she commented on was that the toilet was awfully low.  No concerns that there is no handrail on the basement stairs and I can't get downstairs without one.

No, she wants to come back next week to confirm that their service installed an armrest frame around the toilet.

Like there's a hope in hell that's going to happen.