Nickle and Dime

I am currently in the middle of a bit of a make over for my power wheelchair. This make over is the recommendation of my stint this Summer and Fall at the Rehab unit. When the durable medical boys are finished with me I’ll have new arm rests for more stability with new padding( the sales guy thought was very special) and I’ll have a new Roho cushion. Roho is the cushion built from magical rubber “fingers” of air to keep your but free of pressure.

As of last week these items are beginning to finally arrive and had the arms put on my chair necessitating that I go my durable medical provider so they can install the armrests. My van also entered the shop this morning with what I thought was a radiator issue but just found out is the water pump and will be in the $400.00 range. This is a major hit but I guess is survivable, all things considered. I will at least have option in the bad weather coming this week. The point being that I am taking public transit to the vendor to have the work done which I did. When I got there the vendor was shocked that I did not have my van with me. He actually thought I was just having someone drop off my chair—so I think he could feel he could work on the chair at his leisure and not have to have me, the consume, looming down his neck. Plus he would not have to worry about getting me out of my chair and storing me somewhere during the refitting. In the old days leaving my chair was never an issues. Just sidle up to a chair, any kin of chair, and “jump” from on chair to the next and I was happy as a clam. Not anymore. When I tried the transfer I started slipping between the two chairs and I was a sad crawdad. Finally a couple of shop guys came out and threw me in to one of the chairs littering the floor where I remained for the next hour.

I sat there quiet watching as one older couple after another came in looking for a walker, or a power chair of one sort or another as the sales guys pounced on them and then started the “up-sell” almost immediately. The old guy did not have a chance. The “suite” smelled medi-care or Medicaid “blood” like sharks in the ocean. The sales shark was not even good at it either had them in his teeth and proceeded to chew. The shark actually spit one out for time being when he realized that the old guy did not have a precipitation from his doc. It was ad as he sort of separated the old teamster from the shiny red Jazzy 1170 and gently backed the Jazzy back onto the showroom floor, promising it to the senior when the senior had complied with all the requirements.