“For thousands with a disability it has become a part of everyday life to be anxious, desperate and scared. That isn’t their illness or disability inflicting that on them but the people in power who should be helping them“. (Guardian 6th Oct 2016)
Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, (or so it feels today) I didn’t know anything about all this ‘disability’ stuff. Oh, I read the articles in the paper, like the one above, I knew of some people who had had accidents or were on sticks but I didn’t need to know, I was blindly walking around minding my business, running around like the proverbial fly getting my job done, looking after my family, running a home and generally being a ‘normal’ person.
Do you know what? I can’t now even remember what that life was like now, what it felt to be “up and at ’em”, to have to fit in the food shopping between the end of the day and a parents’ evening or how to teach 5 lessons to 5 different year groups, do break and lunchtime duty and still manage to prepare all my lessons for the next day all before heading home at 6 to cook tea for the kids. I did this as a matter of course every day, every week, every year, how did I do it……??
Today, I’ve had one job, ONE, to see someone to sort out some paperwork. It’s not, in the scheme of things, a difficult or taxing job but it has drained every ounce of energy from me. I am a capable professional woman who has handled far heftier tasks in the past but yet again, I am left feeling that I have to justify every penny that I am applying for, that I need to prove that the pain that I carry with me every second of every day is real and that I am not attempting to ‘scrounge’ anything from anyone. Even with letters from three different consultants telling me that “management” of the pain is the word now, that there is no “cure”, I still feel like I have to prove every word.
When I read the article above a couple of weeks ago, I was having a fairly good day and I found it an interesting yet sobering article. Today, it describes my state of being. I am anxious, I am desperate and I am scared; this is my everyday life and I am overwhelmed. No wonder people slip into a spiral of despair.
I am one of the lucky ones, I have support, someone to take over when it gets too much and to speak for me when I can’t get the words out of my drug addled brain. I have a loving family who can see beneath the ‘I’m ok’ face when I’m obviously not and friends who hold my hands when I’m struggling. How I would cope without them all I do not know, I’m simply grateful beyond words that they are there ❤️
After some extra meds, some soothing green tea and a good old crash out on the bed, I’m feeling much more positive. Paperwork? Let’s be ‘aving you eh…….!!
* I tell you what though, if I hear one more doctor/nurse/advisor expressing amazement, bewilderment or “god that’s bizarre” at my bad luck at having these issues at ‘my age’, I think I will scream! Luck?? Really?? I did the lottery for years, all I ever got is a £72 win and a new fishpond in the garden, lady luck is not on my side, this much is obvious 😉
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