On the move?

We've lived here for a while now. Nine years, almost to the day. This has been The Little Princess' address ever since she moved in with me, and it's been Miss Mog's since she was 15 months old.

We moved out of our old house because, beautiful though it was, it was not suited to the needs to two wheelchair users. Into our old house moved a family whose previous house was not suitable for their disabled daughter. And into that family's previous house moved another family, whose former house was not suited to the needs of children with disabilities. All change. And all, as far as I know, happy in our new homes - certainly, none of us have moved out just yet.

One of the first things to happen when we moved here was the installation of overhead hoists in what was then Goldie's bedroom. In what would turn out to be an interesting sequence of events, Goldie had been scheduled for a minor op the day after we moved in. This minor op had the unintended consequence of landing her in bed for more than a few weeks, as her healing was somewhat slower than anticipated. And so it was that the installers had to work around a bedbound Goldie, creating a den for her in her own bedroom, barricading her into a corner with her wardrobe and chest of drawers, draping a canopy of dust sheets over the bed as they drilled and hammered, and took eight hours to pound their way through a significantly more complicated than anticipated ceiling track installation.

She loved it - mammoth amounts of noise and chaos and confusion, and a captive audience for her retelling of the Three Little Pigs and "Gordilocks and the Three Beers."

I'm not sure they were quite so enamoured of the experience.

But still, eventually it was done, the hoist was installed, and over the next few years we would gain further hoists in the bathroom, Mog's bedroom, and playroom.  Each of these hoists would be serviced every five to six months, and so over the years we've had a number of different hoist engineers bringing slips to sign to prove their presence. Goldie's room became the Little Princess' room, green and gold moved via an underwater phase to its present extreme pinkness, the names on the forms changed, but the engineers have stayed largely the same.

And now, to facilitate tLP's independence, the hoist in her bedroom needed to be swapped from the standard button for up, button for down, pull it along the tracking to slide left and right type of hoist to one with four buttons, so she can slide herself left and right. I'm not entirely certain I like the idea of her being able to get out of bed by herself, but I suppose we can't put it off forever.

I had a letter a few days ago, informing me that the hoist would be swapped shortly. I had a phone call yesterday, confirming that the work would happen today. And then today, I had a phone call from the engineer, claiming to be standing outside our house waiting to be let in. Except that he wasn't; he was standing outside our old house, the one we moved from nine years ago.

Somehow, despite the letter having been sent to this address, the company have my old address listed as tLP's current address. I'd think this was simply outdated records, except that tLP has never lived there, so someone must have manually inserted that address into her file.

And then let's add Miss Mog's current address confusion; one branch of the hospital appears to believe that she lives at her respite centre. Medical records claim the only way we can change this is for Mog herself to write in with her correct address. Again, this is not an address which has ever been Mog's address, meaning that someone has taken the time to update the records, incorrectly.

Somehow, independently of each other and myself, both girls now have alternative addresses. I wonder if someone is trying to tell me something?
Tia