When my husband was ill, we moved into a house that was supposed to be wheelchair accessible. The Landlord insisted that he'd get the stair lift working, the special bath, etc.

When we got there the house was damp, wires hanging out of the walls, the stairlift dangerously unstable, holes in the walls... it was a dump. It broke my heart that the last few months of my husband's life he lived in such a tip. My son developed asthma, and I actually think the stress of living in a heap contributed to my husband's illness (though he was terminal anyway.)

I don't want to talk about it too much, because it still makes me want to cry when I think how terrible that house was, but I can safely say that we were taken advantage of, and my mental health suffered as a result.