Life call is a national service for which we pay monthly. It is a box connected to our landline. The Nonagenarian wears a bracelet with a radio transmitter. When she pushes the button on the bracelet the box automatically dials the monitoring centre. The service is the buffer between the guilt I feel leaving her alone all day, and my work obligations.
Most of the time the box sits quietly. Evey now and then it makes noises…noises you cannot ignore. But like a crying baby the box is unable to tell you what is wrong. I have to call the monitoring centre and hope that in faraway Edmonton, there will be someone on the other end that understands the depth of terror engendered when the machine is out of order. How will I care for the Nonagenarian from my desk 30 km away?
Today, being Saturday, when the box began to emit a trio of beeps every 30 seconds, I damped down the panic and called the help desk. The battery needs replacing. I was given 3 options: we mail a replacement to you, you bring it in to one of our offices’ , or you take the box apart retrieve the battery and go to a battery store and buy a replacement. “You just have to remove 4 screws on the back of the box near the speaker.”
I chose door number three. Eight screws, two covers and an inoperable landline later, I was mailing photos of the pieces to my brother 1000 km away. “What does the battery look like?”
When at last, as instructed, I followed the red and black wires to their source I found something I had never seen on the shelf of a battery store. My brother suggested I call back Lifecall , and ask where to find such a battery.
“Oh, we send you a replacement. That is the only way to acquire it.”
We are without the service for 4 days. I still have a dismantled alarm, 8 screws and the battery from hades on the dining room table. What do people do who don’t have someone to take up the slack for them? That’s my future. It terrifies me.
