A wee bit of background. I’m having surgery on my brain as a participant in a clinical trial for a new gene therapy for Parkinson’s. Yes, there will be holes drilled into my brain. No, I won’t be awake for it, and it isn’t expected to be painful.

The study provides what they call “concierge” service, which means they fetch me at home in a car and deliver me to the hospital for appointments, and return me to my home when the appointment has concluded. Pretty sweet deal, right?

On the morning of my first appointment using the service, I was collected by a driver behind the wheel of an Escalade. I no longer drive, and my friends who do so occasionally chauffeur me in regular sized automobiles. Don’t ask me the makes of my friends’ cars; I know as much about autos as I do about the 20-yard line in football. Which is to say, zilch.

Upon pick-up, I managed to haul myself into this monster of a vehicle without too much effort. However, the arrival at the hospital told a different story. We arrived, and the driver parked easily, opening the rear door using some device from the driver’s seat I was about to disembark when I was startled to observe a gulf between the floor of the car and the roadway. I’m pretty certain we’re talking about a foot-deep gap which I somehow managed to ford without breaking an ankle. I am a rather small person, and surely not the first of my kind to utilize this particular company’s services, not to mention the differently abled, the aged (who me?) and anyone not wishing to break a bone jumping to the ground from the car. I vowed that I’d secure the driver’s assistance in exiting the vehicle safely on the trip home.

Later that morning, still in the doctor’s office, I received an email from the concierge service, inquiring about my experience as a passenger in their vehicle. I described my concerns about my inability to exit the car safely, and was quite surprised to receive a call that same afternoon from an executive with the car service, apologizing Uriah Heep fashion, profusely and repeatedly for sending me this terrible car. I was actually kind of embarrassed for the guy.

Until my next appointment. Same deal, only this time it was an SUV, with the same treacherous, foot-deep drop from car to street. I can imagine some cane-sporting, frail patient leaping from the SUV and breaking an ankle. Did the concierge company want to get sued?

When I explained the situation to the driver (different one) he showed me the work order for my ride which, right in front of me, in writing, appeared the words “Requested vehicle type – Sedan.” Which this most definitely was not.

My theory: these two consecutive automotive behemoths were considered luxury cars and therefore, I was actually complaining about an intended upgrade, a gift!

I spoke to Mr. Concierge again, more Uriah Heep groveling, and a promise to get it right the next time. Yup.

Still having appointments in preparation for the surgery, I had made yet another, but I had to reschedule due to a bout with the RSV virus, fortunately no worse than your average cold. I made all my appointmemnts through the Clinical Trial Department, who then communicated my needs to the concierge service.

On the original day of my rescheduled appointment, all comfy cosy in bed, I received a call telling me my car had arrived. I had a moment of panic, thinking that i’d missed the part where they told me I was expected to communicate directly with the concierge company.?Turns out I wasn’t, and the oh-so-efficient trial coordinator assured me she’d correctly rescheduled our appointment. for another day. Whew! Except the driver refused to accept my word that ‘I DO NOT HAVE AN APPOINTMENT TODAY, PLEASE LEAVE, asking me over and over where I was going.

The very next day, I received yes, another wake-up call from another driver. And another the following day. I wondered about the hiring process that generated the folks at the concierge service, and suggested to the trial coordinator that perhaps they might wish to find a new vendor.

Maybe I can walk part of the way to a future appointment. That could work, provided my legs are in better working order than the concierge company.