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About 10 years ago, I had not long been in post as an Advocacy Service manager and we got a call
from a client wanting a home visit.  I asked if her home was wheelchair accessible.  “Yes” she said, so
off I trundled.

I arrived to find there was no parking anywhere nearby so I parked about 4 streets away and arrived at
the building (a block of flats) red faced and breathing heavily.  The slope from the road must have been
45 degrees, but I banished my fears and persevered to the door where I found a 6 inch step.  Fortunately
a friendly passing postman took pity on me and heaved me up.  Great, I thought…here we go………..

Inside I found the smallest lift I have ever seen.  Might have taken 2 people standing but only if they were
intimately acquainted or wanted to be by the time they reached their destination. Fighting off waves of
claustrophobia, I entered and heard the doors closing uncomfortably close to my shoulders.  Then I felt
them grip the rear wheels in a pincer movement. Panicking, I prodded the "open doors" button and
quickly vacated the lift.  Then I reversed in only to find the doors closing on my knees.  By this time my
heart was pounding.  I took off the footrests and tried to make myself ever so small.  Still the doors
gripped my knees.  At this point I was tempted to go back to the office.  However, the client needed this
visit urgently.  What could I do?

Eventually, madness gripped me and I decided to slide down onto the ground, fold up my wheelchair and
slide it to the side of the lift (all the time trying to ensure the lift doors did not close and leave me stranded
sitting on the floor with no means of going anywhere).  I then dragged myself into the lift beside the folded
chair.  At this point, a horrified resident came by asking “Are you alright dear?  Shall I call somebody for
you?”.  “No thanks,”says I “I am fine“, as if I always sit on the floor in public lifts.  She looked aghast as the
doors closed and I was away.  

By the time I reached my client’s flat I must have looked a picture.  Red faced, short of breath and
sweating; covered in dust; more that a tad dishevelled.  However, if she noticed, she never said a thing.  
I then had to do the entire process in reverse. By the time I reached the office I felt as if I had scaled
Everest before lunch.

The moral is:  Beware of people telling you places are wheelchair accessible.  It may not be true!

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Does it have wheelchair access?