The Big Red Button

The last ten to twenty years have seen an increasing reliance on technology within daily life; today most people will have a mobile phone, personal computer or digital music player. Trips to the library and the supermarket are now increasingly dominated by technological encounters, self-checkouts seem to be conspicuously replacing human contact and last year I even came across an article about the idea of a machine that replaced the family doctor, a step too far in my opinion. I only have to look at some of the errors made by my voice recognition software to see the possible pitfalls of this idea, it frequently offers up bizarre approximations of what it thinks I have said leaving me to wonder about booking it a session with a psychoanalyst.

Disabled people are often the guinea pigs for, and recipients of, technological innovation such as alarms to summon help or remote communication devices to keep us safe. These are intended to be cost effective to allow for an increasingly strapped public purse and many are now an established part of the social landscape. In reality I have found that technological reliance produces some interesting and sometimes funny results.

Many people unfamiliar with disability assume that we disabled people live in specially adapted environments away from the problems and stresses of general life, that we are monitored and kept safe from harm. I started my adult life in one such sheltered environment, a block of flats purpose built for us wheelies. The place had an alarm system, in the form of a red button on a string around my neck that I could press for summoning help should I fall or become unwell. An alarm would sound after pressing the button and a microphone in a box next to my bed would allow me to talk to someone to arrange assistance.

I had lived in the flat for some years and never had to use the alarm for anything. To be honest, I always found that keeping a mobile phone with me worked just as well. However, early one Wednesday morning I was catapulted from sleep by a very loud noise. In my drowsy state I pressed the button on my alarm clock, but the noise was still there! I opened my eyes, squinted at the clock and realised it was only 5am. As my mental capacity, was somewhat fogged by interrupted sleep, it was a few minutes before it dawned on me that I had no mains power at all, and that the noise was the back-up panic-alarm battery kicking in. Did we have a power cut on the complex? I took stock of the situation. I was in the pitch black, lying in a bed that required electricity to raise me up and allow me to get out of it. Was this one of those emergency situations the button round my neck was meant for? I decided it probably was.

“Hello Miss Baddeley. Can we help you?”

I explained the situation to the disembodied voice on the other end of the intercom system. The response came, ” Have you paid your bill, or put enough money in the meter?” I explained that I have a quarterly bill, no meter and that I thought it was only a trip switch that had been activated, not a complete loss of supply.

The operator seemed not to grasp my situation, so I changed tactics and asked if someone would be able to come out to me? They said they were only able to give me a phone number, that I would have to reset the power myself and work out which of my appliances was causing the problem. At this point I was losing the will to live. I, like a lot of people, had assumed that the operators at the call centre would have been aware of my disability and situation, as every six months or so I had filled in their form, but it seemed that this not the case. I told the operator it was sorted, gave up and phoned the fourth emergency service, otherwise known as “Dad”.

I was left wondering what the point of the alert system actually was? If the idea is to safeguard people, don’t get me wrong, I don’t expect anything resembling the Milk Tray advert, with a bloke parachuting out of the sky, or another similarly exotic entrance, but I was expecting some useful suggestions for the situation I was in. This was a service I was paying to have access to. As it was I was left literally blundering about in the dark.




Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s