In Sickness and in Health: A column dedicated to everyone who hasn’t helped

To the people who stare, slack jawed, at my husband on wheels, may the wind change and leave you like that

"I’d like to introduce you all to the five call-centre staff at the Department for Work and Pensions who each gave me a different reason for why one of Nick’s benefits was being stopped, and print their names in block capitals"

Last year, Rebecca’s husband Nick was hit by a car and seriously injured. Here, in one of a series of columns, she writes about the aftermath of his accident

Since I began these columns, there have been many times when my fingers twitched with the desire to name and shame those who have crossed Nick and me. I’ve been helped by so many people, so it’s churlish to focus on the bad ’uns, but what the hell. I spend most of my time trying to be positive, but now I’m going to the dark side for once. Names have been withheld to protect those who should feel guilty.

I’ve longed to call out the benefits adviser who caused me untold hours of financial chaos and terrified tears. To spread the word about what he wrought, and his powerlessness to undo his screw-up. Instead, I stuck to the rules and made a formal complaint in the hope that he would never put someone else in the position in which I found myself, floundering.

Then there’s the therapist who vanished, without explaining why I couldn’t be his client. I’d never had a problem with closure before he waltzed off. I thought that he was going to help me, but he did quite the opposite. All I could do was bury my sense of betrayal and find someone to talk to who was actually willing to listen.

I’d like to introduce you all to the five call-centre staff at the Department for Work and Pensions who each gave me a different reason for why one of Nick’s benefits was being stopped – or wasn’t, depending on who I spoke to – and print their names in block capitals. I made do with a supervisor’s crawling letter of apology for their incompetence and/or apathy.

I have called my local council three times asking them if they could possibly send me a form for a blue badge so that Nick and I can park in disabled bays. We’re still waiting. Hey, guys – this is a shout out just for you. Thanks for not giving a damn about enabling the disabled in your borough.

To the people who stare, slack jawed, at my husband on wheels, may the wind change and leave you like that.

Finally, there’s a special place in my litany of bitterness for the people who have melted away since the accident. Mercifully very few, but I know who they are, and, increasingly, so does Nick. I’d like to forget them in the way that they seem to have written off my husband.

Right, that’s enough of that. I’ve been milked of my venom and I can go back to being grateful for all of the amazing individuals who have each helped with Nick’s recovery. You’re the ones who are worth remembering.