Today is #PoetryDayUK apparently, and my friends that tweet on behalf of WoWPetition suggested a WoW Petition Poetry book. Good idea, if it gets people using poetry.
Poetry is a much maligned form of communication, it takes a lot of thought and a fair smattering of vocabulary. It can't take a lot of brains as Rappers do it (sorry Rappers).
So I thought I'd better get started, and, as a fair shot, I decided to blog a one-hit poem about disability. I promise you the poem below came out in one go, no editing and re-editing like I have the first few paragraphs! Oh, I will come back and add a title, the poem will suggest it.
Hidden Pain
It can't be seen or measured up,
It can't be cured with a click,
It can't be fixed by a suture's stitch
Or by visiting a local witch.
The government think it really simple,
You can see it like a dimple.
Pain comes upon a simple scale
Like a colour dark or pale.
Now think real hard just for me
About some pain that used to be
Now on a scale of one to ten
Say how it hurt and when?
So if I walk for twenty yards
Tomorrow's pain is on the cards
But I can do it so you see,
DLA is not for me!
Showing posts with label Pain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pain. Show all posts
Thursday, 3 October 2013
Thursday, 11 July 2013
Getting Ground Down By The System
Quick recap for those of you who may not know me:
I am 50 years old, I have been suffering with a dislocating knee cap and arthritis in my right knee until 2009 when they replaced the knee joint. This has now put the weight off the left leg which is now suffering from an arthritic condition. The arthritis now affects my arms so I can hardly scratch my own head, I am stuck in my basement and ground floor maisonette with only my car to get me about outside.
The DWP decided last year to reassess me for ESA, and sent out their 21 page form the ESA50. Half way through is a question that I misunderstood and that got me into BIG trouble. First off, in concert with the French Data Processing company ATOS, they based a decision on a report with a minimum of 21 errors and my stupid error and said I am fit for work.
Then the DWP set a person, who to my knowledge has done nothing in their life other than work for the DWP and has no medical knowledge, to look at my Disability Living Allowance. Based on the report with a minimum of 21 errors and my stupid error they said I am not eligible for DLA.
I do a voluntary job on Tuesdays, on Wednesday I am in bed until about 11am trying to get moving as I am so stiff and painful. Many nights, I don't get to sleep because I am in pain until 2 am, but do they care about that? No.
So, as you would, I put in an appeal against the decision to class me as fit for work as far as ESA is concerned, when the decision about the DLA came through, I appealed against that.
Now, twelve months after the so called Work Capability Assessment, I have not yet had my appeal for ESA heard, but the Tribunal Service have drawn a line under my DLA appeal - Not Approved. Basically, Mr Turtle, you have had two 36 mile round trips two towns over on the South Coast and had to climb a massive flight of stairs at the hotel that the tribunal was held at, all for nothing!!!
So I had a quick chat with the DWP representative about what to do, his answer, Shut Up and Put Up, until the ESA Appeal is heard, they may give you points and you can appeal your DLA again!
Alright for him to say, he doesn't realise what I am facing. He doesn't realise what I am about to lose.
Unless I can find a way round it, I will lose my car, therefore, I will lose my mobility, therefore I will be trapped inside this house with no way to get out and about, therefore I will lose my voluntary job, therefore I will have nothing to keep my mind occupied, therefore I will lose my sanity! But I'm FIT FOR WORK!
There's the good news, I can get a job that allows me to move about when I stiffen up, will allow me twice the time of a "normal" person to walk down the corridor to the photocopier/break room etc. and allow me to be taking close to an overdose on Tramadol. Then, on the day after I get into work, they will allow me a day off to recover from the first day, so, possibly, I could work Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. So does anyone know anywhere that will pay me five days pay for a three day week? (Apart from being an MP)
I just wish there was some way of temporarily inflicting the pain I feel, the fuzzy head making me question everything I do, the feeling of "have I remembered to do all I had to do", on some one so that they can understand what I am going through. The frustration I feel when I reach for something in a cupboard that I can no longer reach, and it's only just above eye-level. The anger that I cannot keep up with my wife or grandchildren when we are out and about. The way I scream inside my own head at night, so tired I can hardly keep my eyes open, but the pain is so great that I cannot get off to sleep. The useless feeling I get when the weight of my laptop sends needles of pain through my knees and I have to put a tray on a cushion on my lap with the laptop on to ease it.
So here am I, wondering if I have the internal strength to carry on, wondering why everything is mounting up against me, wondering why my MP is such an uncaring sheep she follows the lies and mistruths that the Prime Minister and his cabinet keep spouting without question. Why do all these politicians listen to the lies that are spouted and don't question them I do not understand.
It's a simple thing to go on-line and check on the lies that the government are spouting, it's easy to spot when David Cameron is lying, it's when he's talking about caring, "Being in this together", or benefit claimants in general. I am still looking for the proof of "The test of a good society is you look after the elderly, the frail, the vulnerable, the poorest in our society. And that test is even more important in difficult times, when difficult decisions have to be taken, than it is in better times." as said by David Cameron on the Andrew Marr Show on 2nd May 2010. Three years later and we're getting to see that his society is a BAD one.
I am 50 years old, I have been suffering with a dislocating knee cap and arthritis in my right knee until 2009 when they replaced the knee joint. This has now put the weight off the left leg which is now suffering from an arthritic condition. The arthritis now affects my arms so I can hardly scratch my own head, I am stuck in my basement and ground floor maisonette with only my car to get me about outside.
The DWP decided last year to reassess me for ESA, and sent out their 21 page form the ESA50. Half way through is a question that I misunderstood and that got me into BIG trouble. First off, in concert with the French Data Processing company ATOS, they based a decision on a report with a minimum of 21 errors and my stupid error and said I am fit for work.
Then the DWP set a person, who to my knowledge has done nothing in their life other than work for the DWP and has no medical knowledge, to look at my Disability Living Allowance. Based on the report with a minimum of 21 errors and my stupid error they said I am not eligible for DLA.
I do a voluntary job on Tuesdays, on Wednesday I am in bed until about 11am trying to get moving as I am so stiff and painful. Many nights, I don't get to sleep because I am in pain until 2 am, but do they care about that? No.
So, as you would, I put in an appeal against the decision to class me as fit for work as far as ESA is concerned, when the decision about the DLA came through, I appealed against that.
Now, twelve months after the so called Work Capability Assessment, I have not yet had my appeal for ESA heard, but the Tribunal Service have drawn a line under my DLA appeal - Not Approved. Basically, Mr Turtle, you have had two 36 mile round trips two towns over on the South Coast and had to climb a massive flight of stairs at the hotel that the tribunal was held at, all for nothing!!!
So I had a quick chat with the DWP representative about what to do, his answer, Shut Up and Put Up, until the ESA Appeal is heard, they may give you points and you can appeal your DLA again!
Alright for him to say, he doesn't realise what I am facing. He doesn't realise what I am about to lose.
Unless I can find a way round it, I will lose my car, therefore, I will lose my mobility, therefore I will be trapped inside this house with no way to get out and about, therefore I will lose my voluntary job, therefore I will have nothing to keep my mind occupied, therefore I will lose my sanity! But I'm FIT FOR WORK!
There's the good news, I can get a job that allows me to move about when I stiffen up, will allow me twice the time of a "normal" person to walk down the corridor to the photocopier/break room etc. and allow me to be taking close to an overdose on Tramadol. Then, on the day after I get into work, they will allow me a day off to recover from the first day, so, possibly, I could work Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. So does anyone know anywhere that will pay me five days pay for a three day week? (Apart from being an MP)
I just wish there was some way of temporarily inflicting the pain I feel, the fuzzy head making me question everything I do, the feeling of "have I remembered to do all I had to do", on some one so that they can understand what I am going through. The frustration I feel when I reach for something in a cupboard that I can no longer reach, and it's only just above eye-level. The anger that I cannot keep up with my wife or grandchildren when we are out and about. The way I scream inside my own head at night, so tired I can hardly keep my eyes open, but the pain is so great that I cannot get off to sleep. The useless feeling I get when the weight of my laptop sends needles of pain through my knees and I have to put a tray on a cushion on my lap with the laptop on to ease it.
So here am I, wondering if I have the internal strength to carry on, wondering why everything is mounting up against me, wondering why my MP is such an uncaring sheep she follows the lies and mistruths that the Prime Minister and his cabinet keep spouting without question. Why do all these politicians listen to the lies that are spouted and don't question them I do not understand.
It's a simple thing to go on-line and check on the lies that the government are spouting, it's easy to spot when David Cameron is lying, it's when he's talking about caring, "Being in this together", or benefit claimants in general. I am still looking for the proof of "The test of a good society is you look after the elderly, the frail, the vulnerable, the poorest in our society. And that test is even more important in difficult times, when difficult decisions have to be taken, than it is in better times." as said by David Cameron on the Andrew Marr Show on 2nd May 2010. Three years later and we're getting to see that his society is a BAD one.
Sunday, 16 June 2013
Life, the Pain and the Medication!
As a follower of the Diary of a Benefit Scrounger - Sue Marsh's views on life I read with a growing awareness that her blog And Drugs Don't Work They Just Make Things Worse mirrored my life.
I am fairly fortunate that my GP understands how much I respect the lack of control that some medication gives, the fact that some of the medication he has me on is OK for some parts of my life, but doesn't quite help out at the times I need it to. Yes, my GP has agreed to let me control some of my medication with the clear knowledge and understanding that I do respect the maximum daily dose.
Through this, I have now been able to adapt my medication levels to the extent that I can manage to cope with my voluntary job on a Tuesday. This is a good thing.
The negative side to being able to cope with Tuesday is to lose Wednesday. I don't do Wednesdays very well, it takes until about 2 p.m. for the near overdose of Tramadol on the Tuesday to clear out of my head enough for me to feel safe driving (I just pray I don't get a drug test when driving on Wednesdays).
In addition to the loss of Wednesdays and the fuzzy headedness is the disbelief of my wife. Yep, she that must be obeyed can not get her head around the fact that I can cope on Tuesday but not through the rest of the week.
The other really annoying thing about pain, that thing that I have tickling away at my nerve endings even now as I sit here feeling no pain, thanks to the meds, is describing it. Every Health Care Professional wants to know how much pain I'm in on a scale of one to ten. I don't know, I seem to remember the pain I had when my knee dislocated as being the worst I can remember. Now this being the most, it should be a ten. Now I have to think where my pain level is compared to that? At times it seems more as it lasts longer.
Is it as bad as hitting my thumb with a hammer (about a four)? Is it as bad as breaking a rib (about a seven)? Is it as bad as slicing my arm open when falling through a plastic gutter (6)? Is it as bad as ... ? That's my interpretations, what is someone else's?
I can understand 30°C temperature, I've felt it. I've felt it in the south of Spain, I've felt it in the South of France (well in the Pyrenees), I've felt it in the south of England. Three places where the temperature at ground level was the same. Oh no it isn't! In Spain, it's warm. In France it was tolerable. In the UK, however, it's stifling, to hot to breathe.
We can measure temperature, we can measure blood pressure, we can count the number of pulses in a minute. We can do all these things, and do them accurately and repeatedly. So why can't we measure pain accurately?
I am fairly fortunate that my GP understands how much I respect the lack of control that some medication gives, the fact that some of the medication he has me on is OK for some parts of my life, but doesn't quite help out at the times I need it to. Yes, my GP has agreed to let me control some of my medication with the clear knowledge and understanding that I do respect the maximum daily dose.
Through this, I have now been able to adapt my medication levels to the extent that I can manage to cope with my voluntary job on a Tuesday. This is a good thing.
The negative side to being able to cope with Tuesday is to lose Wednesday. I don't do Wednesdays very well, it takes until about 2 p.m. for the near overdose of Tramadol on the Tuesday to clear out of my head enough for me to feel safe driving (I just pray I don't get a drug test when driving on Wednesdays).
In addition to the loss of Wednesdays and the fuzzy headedness is the disbelief of my wife. Yep, she that must be obeyed can not get her head around the fact that I can cope on Tuesday but not through the rest of the week.
The other really annoying thing about pain, that thing that I have tickling away at my nerve endings even now as I sit here feeling no pain, thanks to the meds, is describing it. Every Health Care Professional wants to know how much pain I'm in on a scale of one to ten. I don't know, I seem to remember the pain I had when my knee dislocated as being the worst I can remember. Now this being the most, it should be a ten. Now I have to think where my pain level is compared to that? At times it seems more as it lasts longer.
Is it as bad as hitting my thumb with a hammer (about a four)? Is it as bad as breaking a rib (about a seven)? Is it as bad as slicing my arm open when falling through a plastic gutter (6)? Is it as bad as ... ? That's my interpretations, what is someone else's?
I can understand 30°C temperature, I've felt it. I've felt it in the south of Spain, I've felt it in the South of France (well in the Pyrenees), I've felt it in the south of England. Three places where the temperature at ground level was the same. Oh no it isn't! In Spain, it's warm. In France it was tolerable. In the UK, however, it's stifling, to hot to breathe.
We can measure temperature, we can measure blood pressure, we can count the number of pulses in a minute. We can do all these things, and do them accurately and repeatedly. So why can't we measure pain accurately?
Saturday, 27 April 2013
My label.
Disabled! What an awful label, I wish I could get away from it.
I have lost the ability to stand for long periods, I have lost the ability to get items from the top shelf in the supermarket (if I can get there), I have lost the ability to walk long distances. I am disabled, but I don't want to be called that!
Thesaurus.com has this to say on the matter of being disabled:
Let me take the synonyms step-by-step:
hurt
YES!!! I'll go for that, I'm definitely hurting especially in my arthritic joints.
laid-up
No, I'm sat up at the moment, it's not bed-time yet
maimed
Nobody did this to me.
out-of-action
If I weren't fighting the symptoms of osteoarthritis, I might go for that.
out-of-commission
Excuse me??? As all Armed Forces NCOs would say I work to survive.
So it looks like I can't rely on a "proper" old-fashioned word, it'll have to be more modern, more street-speak. The problem is I don't do street-speak!
I have lost the ability to stand for long periods, I have lost the ability to get items from the top shelf in the supermarket (if I can get there), I have lost the ability to walk long distances. I am disabled, but I don't want to be called that!
Thesaurus.com has this to say on the matter of being disabled:
| Main Entry: | |
| Part of Speech: | adjective |
| Definition: | incapacitated |
| Synonyms: | broken-down, confined, decrepit, disarmed, hamstrung, handicapped, helpless, hurt, incapable, infirm, laid-up, lame, maimed, out-of-action, out-of-commission, paralyzed, powerless, run-down, sidelined, stalled, weakened, worn-out, wounded, wrecked |
| Antonyms: | able, healthy |
Let me take the synonyms step-by-step:
broken-down
That makes me sound like I'm an unkempt tramp,
That makes me sound like I'm an unkempt tramp,
confined
Close, confined to my home by the DWP thanks to them stopping my DLA.
Close, confined to my home by the DWP thanks to them stopping my DLA.
decrepit
Isn't that a building that's falling down?
Isn't that a building that's falling down?
disarmed
Nope, definitely got two of them, even if the connections are killing me.
Nope, definitely got two of them, even if the connections are killing me.
hamstrung
Erm, no, I think my strings are still attached to my hams.
Erm, no, I think my strings are still attached to my hams.
handicapped
Only when meeting a lady or entering a bilding, otherwise my cap is on my head.
Only when meeting a lady or entering a bilding, otherwise my cap is on my head.
helpless
I have help in the form of glamorous assistant Sally, who I help in turn.
I have help in the form of glamorous assistant Sally, who I help in turn.
hurt
YES!!! I'll go for that, I'm definitely hurting especially in my arthritic joints.
incapable
Ah, no, I am capable of many things; I just prefer them not to be negative things.
Ah, no, I am capable of many things; I just prefer them not to be negative things.
infirm
Afraid not, just poked my tummy and it's definitely solid and firm.
Afraid not, just poked my tummy and it's definitely solid and firm.
laid-up
No, I'm sat up at the moment, it's not bed-time yet
lame
ah, hm, close - movement, especially walking, is difficult or impossible,
ah, hm, close - movement, especially walking, is difficult or impossible,
maimed
Nobody did this to me.
out-of-action
If I weren't fighting the symptoms of osteoarthritis, I might go for that.
out-of-commission
Excuse me??? As all Armed Forces NCOs would say I work to survive.
paralyzed
Bah! My limbs move.
Bah! My limbs move.
powerless
Not until the electricity prepayment meter runs out of cash.
Not until the electricity prepayment meter runs out of cash.
run-down
Never in my knowledge has a car hit me and run over me.
Never in my knowledge has a car hit me and run over me.
sidelined
Never been a game player, so can't have been sidelined.
Never been a game player, so can't have been sidelined.
stalled
This is a house, not a stable, I'm not a horse even though my wife sometimes nags me (geddit?).
This is a house, not a stable, I'm not a horse even though my wife sometimes nags me (geddit?).
weakened
Yes, true, but so is a tree branch when half cut through.
Yes, true, but so is a tree branch when half cut through.
worn-out
No, I'm not a piece of clothing.
No, I'm not a piece of clothing.
wounded
No holes in me that shouldn't be there.
No holes in me that shouldn't be there.
wrecked
Not sunken, not crashed, not wrecked.
Not sunken, not crashed, not wrecked.
So it looks like I can't rely on a "proper" old-fashioned word, it'll have to be more modern, more street-speak. The problem is I don't do street-speak!
Tuesday, 5 February 2013
Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
In the film "Independence Day", part of the speech the embattled President of the United States uses to inspire the pilots at Groom Lake (Area 51) before they fly off to repel the alien hordes got me thinking.
""Mankind." That word should have new meaning for all of us today. We can't be consumed by our petty differences anymore. We will be united in our common interests. Perhaps it's fate that today is the Fourth of July, and you will once again be fighting for our freedom... Not from tyranny, oppression, or persecution... but from annihilation. We are fighting for our right to live. To exist. And should we win the day, the Fourth of July will no longer be known as an American holiday, but as the day the world declared in one voice: "We will not go quietly into the night!" We will not vanish without a fight! We're going to live on! We're going to survive! "
Is this guy trying to reach through the years and give us hope? Did the script writers realise the end was closer than we thought?
Mankind, all the human beings on the planet, be they black, white, yellow or tanned, be they male, female, transgender or transsexual, be they fit or unit, able or disabled. We are fighting for our freedom from a tyrannical, oppressive government that by adroit use of the media are persecuting those of our society that need the most help. Why? I wish someone could tell me.
But, be it May the Fourth or July the Fourth, we need our independence from fear of starvation, we need to be able to survive. I don't want a Teak Toilet Seat for £50, I don't want to pay a researcher, or buy a Garlic Press or some Jamie Oliver cooking equipment, I want to know that my wife and I can eat and be kept warm.
It would be nice to buy food, I don't want a massive amount of food, we only eat one cooked meal a day, a small snack and a small breakfast. It's not a large meal, and we don't use expensive ingredients.
It would be nice to carry on being able to watch some television, I don't want Sky Movies, I don't want the Sports Channels, I definitely DO NOT want any "Adult" channels.
It would be nice to keep my telephone, so my daughter who has just recently been diagnosed with Myalgic Encephalomyeltis can phone at 5 a.m. to get her mm to talk her through getting up. So my 83 year old Dad who lives in Spain can call and let the phone ring enough so we know he's alive still!
It would be nice to keep paying for gas and electricity, to keep us warm and dry, to keep us and our clothes clean.
It would be nice to pay the water company for providing clean water to cook with, to drink and to wash with. OK, once we have used the water, we need them to take it away as well!
It would be nice to be able to keep the Internet, so I can carry on learning about how cruel the government can get, so I can keep in touch with my MP and friends by email.
It would also be nice to hang on to my car. Not a priority to most, but I cannot get to the nearest bus stop without severe pain! Without the car, I'm stuck indoors.
Soon, I've got to pay the Council £2 a week for Council Tax top up. In addition to that I may have to pay £14 for the bedroom I'm about to go to sleep in as I am twitching so much that I will wake my wife if I go to sleep in our bedroom.
Let's have a rough break-down of how my money goes at present-
| Electricity | £ 15.00 |
| Gas | £ 15.00 |
| TV | £ 6.00 |
| TV Licence | £ 8.00 |
| Water | £ 15.00 |
| Broadband | £ 6.00 |
| Telephone | £ 6.00 |
| Food | £ 40.00 |
| £ 111.00 |
Oh great, I get £111 on the DWP's Assessment Rate while waiting for my ESA appeal to be sorted out! I can survive!
BUT ... When the Council Tax and Rent Top-Up come into play I've got to find another £16 a week to pay for that, what goes? Looks like there's two choices, £26 a week for food or "Can't Pay, Won't Pay!"
Now, imagine, I didn't like keeping up with the TV, I could lose the TV and TV licence, the problem is the TV comes as part of a package that supplies TV, Telephone and Internet. I stop paying for the TV channels, I have to pay more for the Internet and phone. OK, I might save the Licence fee, but that would soon be swallowed up in the increases in Fuel prices and now Water rates.
Did anyone not tell the Members of Parliament that restricting benefit increases to 1% would cause severe problems of poverty? Well, I told my MP, but she still voted for the cap! I have half a feeling that she was misled by the title of the Bill, "the Benefit Uprating Bill", it didn't up any rates, just cut them. That and the lies that Iain Duncan Smith spouted about benefits going up by double what wages went up by.
Did you notice, in the calculations above, the missing link? The thing I used my Disabled Living Allowance for? Yep, petrol and maintenance for the car!
As I said in my earlier blog entry, http://aturtle05.blogspot.co.uk/2013/01/the-death-sentence-arrives.html the Department of Workshy and Painfree have stopped that, so, the car is eating into money I haven't got already.
Saturday, 5 January 2013
The Death Sentence Arrives.
It arrived yesterday, with an ominous slap on the floor by the front door. A small brown envelope from Belfast! OK, unsuspecting, I opened it.
It took me thirty minutes to read and re-read it.
"Dear Mr Turtle" it starts, how dare they! Also, if I was dear to them they wouldn't have done this to me!
"I decided to look at your DLA again to make sure you are getting the right money" - No you didn't you looked at it again because I failed the ESA assessment and appealed!
Some how, without the knowledge of my GP they looked at "Current Treatment, Medication, Symptoms and Test Results" How you could have looked at the blood tests I've had in the last three months without consulting my GP?
"You can walk:
Slowly, yes, because I'm in pain.
In a reasonable manner? What, 2 minutes to walk 100 metres is reasonable? What is a reasonable manner?
Do they ask if, after walking that distance, I have to sit or lie down for at least an hour to recover? No.
Do they ask if, after walking that distance, I can get to sleep at night because of the pain? No
Question: where do the government get these silly figures from? The new High Rate Mobility distance (i.e. the worst people can't do it) will be 20m. Shorter than the length of the House of Commons from "the Bar" to the Despatch boxes. Shorter than the length of a cricket pitch. Shorter than the length of a "bendy" bus. It's the width of the steps in Trafalgar Square!
The next level is 50m - walk further than that and No Mobility Mate! 50m the distance from the side of Trafalgar Square to the centre of Nelson's Column. Less than the distance from the gate to the pitch at Lords! 20m less than the length of the walk down Downing Street to Number 10!
So, Iain Duncan Smith and his cronies have decided that if you can't walk down Downing Street to hand in your petition, you can't deliver it!
Next bit on the "Let's meet our quota", oops sorry, Decision;
"Preparing a cooked meal
You don't ned help to:
Ex-squeeze me, her over there exists, I'm married, it's a meal for TWO!
You expect me to sit and stir pans of food at eye-level? What does the Health and Safety Executive say about that? Oh, just tried it, can't lift my arm high enough to stir a pan sitting down!
Erm, Carrying safely while cooking, NO, I have difficulty getting a pan of pasta off the cooker to the sink to drain it! Lift the kettle? Only just, more than enough water to fill two mugs means I have to slide the kettle across the work-top and tilt the kettle to pour it. Did they ask this? NO. Can I lift a pint of milk, just, but talk to she-who-must-be-obeyed and she'll tell you I spill more than I pour when I use a small carton like a pint. A litre, just right for sliding and tipping.
Then comes the biggest shock - "I can't consider any of the following:
Weather Conditions? Have you never suffered from arthritis? Oh, no, I forgot you work for the DWP so you would have had to pass a medical to get in there as your masters are senior members of the Eugenics Society! Cold, wet weather makes it worse, medically proven fact.
They got it right in 2007, but changed their minds in 2012 as I have obviously got better, how, I'd love to know!
Oh, "Clinical examination shows: ... He has slightly reduced left knee bending... ability to lift straight left leg while lying down was reduced due to low back pain!" NO, reduced due to Knee Pain!
"In his statement of a typical day to the Approved Disability Analyst (who I've never seen, unless the Human Cull Participant was him) Mr Turtle states gets out of bed despite joint problems and back problems" Back problems? Where? When?
I tell you one thing, the person that wrote the "Reason for Decision" never went to a decent school, his grammar is attrocious! Someone in the line of decision was in cloud cuckoo land, in my opinion!
Strangely, when I telephoned the Darling Wonderful People, I asked what planet their staff were on and whether the Hopeless Can't Practice person from the Acceleration to Suicide group had reported on me or someone else? I naturally said "Add me to the 70% of people who appeal your decisions, thank you very much indeed"!
If it wasn't for Mrs T and my grand-daughters, calums list might have a new entry. I am that desperate, it's earth shattering, I don't know how I'm going to be able to get to my appeal if I have to go to Eastbourne when/if it comes up.
It took me thirty minutes to read and re-read it.
"Dear Mr Turtle" it starts, how dare they! Also, if I was dear to them they wouldn't have done this to me!
"I decided to look at your DLA again to make sure you are getting the right money" - No you didn't you looked at it again because I failed the ESA assessment and appealed!
Some how, without the knowledge of my GP they looked at "Current Treatment, Medication, Symptoms and Test Results" How you could have looked at the blood tests I've had in the last three months without consulting my GP?
"You can walk:
- About 130 metres
- Slowly
- In a reasonable manner"
Slowly, yes, because I'm in pain.
In a reasonable manner? What, 2 minutes to walk 100 metres is reasonable? What is a reasonable manner?
Do they ask if, after walking that distance, I have to sit or lie down for at least an hour to recover? No.
Do they ask if, after walking that distance, I can get to sleep at night because of the pain? No
Question: where do the government get these silly figures from? The new High Rate Mobility distance (i.e. the worst people can't do it) will be 20m. Shorter than the length of the House of Commons from "the Bar" to the Despatch boxes. Shorter than the length of a cricket pitch. Shorter than the length of a "bendy" bus. It's the width of the steps in Trafalgar Square!
The next level is 50m - walk further than that and No Mobility Mate! 50m the distance from the side of Trafalgar Square to the centre of Nelson's Column. Less than the distance from the gate to the pitch at Lords! 20m less than the length of the walk down Downing Street to Number 10!
So, Iain Duncan Smith and his cronies have decided that if you can't walk down Downing Street to hand in your petition, you can't deliver it!
Next bit on the "Let's meet our quota", oops sorry, Decision;
"Preparing a cooked meal
You don't ned help to:
- Use a cooker
- use kitchen tools
- carry and lift safely
Ex-squeeze me, her over there exists, I'm married, it's a meal for TWO!
You expect me to sit and stir pans of food at eye-level? What does the Health and Safety Executive say about that? Oh, just tried it, can't lift my arm high enough to stir a pan sitting down!
Erm, Carrying safely while cooking, NO, I have difficulty getting a pan of pasta off the cooker to the sink to drain it! Lift the kettle? Only just, more than enough water to fill two mugs means I have to slide the kettle across the work-top and tilt the kettle to pour it. Did they ask this? NO. Can I lift a pint of milk, just, but talk to she-who-must-be-obeyed and she'll tell you I spill more than I pour when I use a small carton like a pint. A litre, just right for sliding and tipping.
Then comes the biggest shock - "I can't consider any of the following:
- Walking on Slopes or uneven surfaces
- weather conditions"
Weather Conditions? Have you never suffered from arthritis? Oh, no, I forgot you work for the DWP so you would have had to pass a medical to get in there as your masters are senior members of the Eugenics Society! Cold, wet weather makes it worse, medically proven fact.
They got it right in 2007, but changed their minds in 2012 as I have obviously got better, how, I'd love to know!
Oh, "Clinical examination shows: ... He has slightly reduced left knee bending... ability to lift straight left leg while lying down was reduced due to low back pain!" NO, reduced due to Knee Pain!
"In his statement of a typical day to the Approved Disability Analyst (who I've never seen, unless the Human Cull Participant was him) Mr Turtle states gets out of bed despite joint problems and back problems" Back problems? Where? When?
I tell you one thing, the person that wrote the "Reason for Decision" never went to a decent school, his grammar is attrocious! Someone in the line of decision was in cloud cuckoo land, in my opinion!
Strangely, when I telephoned the Darling Wonderful People, I asked what planet their staff were on and whether the Hopeless Can't Practice person from the Acceleration to Suicide group had reported on me or someone else? I naturally said "Add me to the 70% of people who appeal your decisions, thank you very much indeed"!
If it wasn't for Mrs T and my grand-daughters, calums list might have a new entry. I am that desperate, it's earth shattering, I don't know how I'm going to be able to get to my appeal if I have to go to Eastbourne when/if it comes up.
Sunday, 30 December 2012
Hysterical History
I've been asked why I mentioned the demon in the Chain Theory, the best answer is to explain about the first Demon to enter our house. OK, this may be OLD history, but it's not as old as some things, like Henry VIII or the Romans, but close.
Let's start by taking you back about 18 years to early 1995. I had been divorced for a couple of years and thinking that my pension would be a Single Person Pension (alright I was only 32), when I met Sally, it was through her daughter that we met. Christina had said to her mum,
Oh My God! I realise I’ve been putting up with the wife for a long time, but I had forgotten what we went through in the early days (He lied! I hadn’t forgotten, just repressed it as we all do with horrible memories.)
My darling wife, was diagnosed with bowel cancer thirty years ago, long before I knew her and, just after we started going out together she was given the chance of life saving surgery to fit, what was then a revolutionary idea, an ileo-anal pouch, in effect an internal ileostomy. This pouch was going to change our lives in such a BIG way… well, let me tell you in the words I used in the newsletter of the Red Lion Group (the support group set up by patients of St Mark's Hospital) back in February 1997:
“Do I have the operation or not?” - a brilliant question to be asked less than two months into a relationship! I will agree that for married couples this question might not cause too many easy nights, but I had only just started going out with Sally!
So there I was, mid-33, not quite realising how much I felt for this thirty-five-year-old divorcee, and, thanks to a cousin in Lewisham, “commuting” to Northwick Park every day! (Who could have expected that within one short week, I would have been on the receiving end of every one of her bodily fluids?
The next moment having hardly got to know the girl, she starts off by vomiting all over the floor of the ward...with me in the firing line! By day four blood, urine and faeces had been added to the list along with copious tears on the shoulder!
Still, as the nursing staff agreed when they found out how long we had been together, I must be a godsend. (I don’t know if I agree with that?)
Once we had got over the one-part operation which went slightly astray (the nurses realising that things weren’t quite right when a shout of “Get lost, you don’t care about me!” was sent in my direction), we made the not-so-short journey back home to Hastings along with an unexpected ileostomy bag. Isn’t it strange, you don’t realise how hilly your home town is until you start pushing someone in a wheelchair? Thank heavens for my experiences at Lourdes in the 80s, but then, in Lourdes, things are adapted for wheelchairs. Hastings is not wheelchair friendly, like most UK towns and cities. {Please remember this was late 1990's}
It does make a change when, in planning things from the complex day out to the simple shopping trip, you start trying to visualise in your mind the shortest , quickest routes to “ friendly ” shops or public conveniences that you can get into easily!
So, a piece of advice to the partners of both pre- and post-pouch patients. Get a map of your home town, mark the shops or cafés with accessible toilets and get in touch with the Red Cross for assistance with a wheelchair until your partner is able to walk easily.
Finally find the best taxi firm (and this includes price, assistance and willingness to break the speed limit) if you don’t have your own car, and remember: others have gone through this. I coped - so can you. By the way, Sally and I are getting married on May 14 next year! {And somehow, we're still together!}
And from Summer 1999:-
As experienced pouch-pairs will know only too well, the first few months of coping with the new addition can be sheer hell. This food goes straight through, that food slows it all up too much. And as for beer... Ha!!!! For someone as stubborn as my wife Sally (her description, not mine), it is a big change having to restrict the diet. For someone as adventurous in the kitchen as I am (and he is a good cook - Sally) it’s the biggest challenge possible.
The change from being brought up knowing when you need to go to the loo to suddenly needing “nappies” just in case can be downright degrading. Soiling the bed or your clothes, without having felt the need to go, can bring the Demon Depression flying out of its hiding place!
That’s the Demon, creeping up behind you and jumping out just when you didn’t expect it and it does not just aim itself at the pouch owner but targets the spouse-of-pouch as well. Still, as Sally keeps reminding me in the long gaps between the Demon’s appearances - .It lives with you, not you with it!
Still, having got the Demon firmly put into its rightful place (buried about two miles deep on the surface of Pluto preferably), you then have to look into feeding the pouch. I am sure that many of you will have discovered that "pouch" actually stands for Permanently Open Unfillable Constant Hunger, because of the little but often method of feeding needed to satisfy this creature seldom encountered out of the tight-knit social group in which it lives.
First, take a very minimalistic shopping budget (as I am now on incapacity benefit, thanks to arthritis aggravated by pushing her around the hills of Hastings in a wheelchair for six weeks!) and a greatly reduced shopping list (take a chair into the supermarket to sit on while you read the contents lists to avoid the no-no items). Then it’s a case of trying out a variety of meals (one at a time!).
While I am talking of food, a bed of boiled white rice topped with some plain fried minced beef or lamb into which a large quantity of ketchup had been mixed was, and still is, our staple emergency meal. If the owner of the “little f(r)iend” liked spicy foods before the op - sorry, but it may take a long time to slowly build up to something they can handle.
“Slow and Steady wins the day” as the Turtle said to the Hare!
Gee, it's amazing how little realisation the Department for Wonderful People and the rest of Her Majesty's Government have for how simple things AREN'T for disabled people. It's also amazing that I'm the one claiming the benefits and not her!
It's also strange that "The PouchDemon" and "The ChainDemon" are married and living happily ever after (Sorry, that should be existing, you can't live on Assessment Rate).
I'd like to thank the webmaster of The Red Lion Group for archiving all the old newsletters including the ones that had those two articles in. It gave me a wonderful afternoon of reminiscing and reformatting the text as I didn't have copies of the articles I wrote soooooo long ago.
Let's start by taking you back about 18 years to early 1995. I had been divorced for a couple of years and thinking that my pension would be a Single Person Pension (alright I was only 32), when I met Sally, it was through her daughter that we met. Christina had said to her mum,
"I'm not always going to be around, you need to find someone to look after you.Good logical thinking from a 12½ year old! The only problem, we'd been seeing each other for a week before the night my daughter chose her dad. Oh, and yes, I take every opportunity to remind her that she chose me as her dad!
There's three people I know might fit the bill, the first's a Male Chauvinistic Pig, so no, not him.
The second is a bit young so, no.
Mr Turtle, he's the one, you should go out with him!"
Oh My God! I realise I’ve been putting up with the wife for a long time, but I had forgotten what we went through in the early days (He lied! I hadn’t forgotten, just repressed it as we all do with horrible memories.)
My darling wife, was diagnosed with bowel cancer thirty years ago, long before I knew her and, just after we started going out together she was given the chance of life saving surgery to fit, what was then a revolutionary idea, an ileo-anal pouch, in effect an internal ileostomy. This pouch was going to change our lives in such a BIG way… well, let me tell you in the words I used in the newsletter of the Red Lion Group (the support group set up by patients of St Mark's Hospital) back in February 1997:
“Do I have the operation or not?” - a brilliant question to be asked less than two months into a relationship! I will agree that for married couples this question might not cause too many easy nights, but I had only just started going out with Sally!
So there I was, mid-33, not quite realising how much I felt for this thirty-five-year-old divorcee, and, thanks to a cousin in Lewisham, “commuting” to Northwick Park every day! (Who could have expected that within one short week, I would have been on the receiving end of every one of her bodily fluids?
The next moment having hardly got to know the girl, she starts off by vomiting all over the floor of the ward...with me in the firing line! By day four blood, urine and faeces had been added to the list along with copious tears on the shoulder!
Still, as the nursing staff agreed when they found out how long we had been together, I must be a godsend. (I don’t know if I agree with that?)
Once we had got over the one-part operation which went slightly astray (the nurses realising that things weren’t quite right when a shout of “Get lost, you don’t care about me!” was sent in my direction), we made the not-so-short journey back home to Hastings along with an unexpected ileostomy bag. Isn’t it strange, you don’t realise how hilly your home town is until you start pushing someone in a wheelchair? Thank heavens for my experiences at Lourdes in the 80s, but then, in Lourdes, things are adapted for wheelchairs. Hastings is not wheelchair friendly, like most UK towns and cities. {Please remember this was late 1990's}
It does make a change when, in planning things from the complex day out to the simple shopping trip, you start trying to visualise in your mind the shortest , quickest routes to “ friendly ” shops or public conveniences that you can get into easily!
So, a piece of advice to the partners of both pre- and post-pouch patients. Get a map of your home town, mark the shops or cafés with accessible toilets and get in touch with the Red Cross for assistance with a wheelchair until your partner is able to walk easily.
Finally find the best taxi firm (and this includes price, assistance and willingness to break the speed limit) if you don’t have your own car, and remember: others have gone through this. I coped - so can you. By the way, Sally and I are getting married on May 14 next year! {And somehow, we're still together!}
And from Summer 1999:-
As experienced pouch-pairs will know only too well, the first few months of coping with the new addition can be sheer hell. This food goes straight through, that food slows it all up too much. And as for beer... Ha!!!! For someone as stubborn as my wife Sally (her description, not mine), it is a big change having to restrict the diet. For someone as adventurous in the kitchen as I am (and he is a good cook - Sally) it’s the biggest challenge possible.
The change from being brought up knowing when you need to go to the loo to suddenly needing “nappies” just in case can be downright degrading. Soiling the bed or your clothes, without having felt the need to go, can bring the Demon Depression flying out of its hiding place!
That’s the Demon, creeping up behind you and jumping out just when you didn’t expect it and it does not just aim itself at the pouch owner but targets the spouse-of-pouch as well. Still, as Sally keeps reminding me in the long gaps between the Demon’s appearances - .It lives with you, not you with it!
Still, having got the Demon firmly put into its rightful place (buried about two miles deep on the surface of Pluto preferably), you then have to look into feeding the pouch. I am sure that many of you will have discovered that "pouch" actually stands for Permanently Open Unfillable Constant Hunger, because of the little but often method of feeding needed to satisfy this creature seldom encountered out of the tight-knit social group in which it lives.
First, take a very minimalistic shopping budget (as I am now on incapacity benefit, thanks to arthritis aggravated by pushing her around the hills of Hastings in a wheelchair for six weeks!) and a greatly reduced shopping list (take a chair into the supermarket to sit on while you read the contents lists to avoid the no-no items). Then it’s a case of trying out a variety of meals (one at a time!).
While I am talking of food, a bed of boiled white rice topped with some plain fried minced beef or lamb into which a large quantity of ketchup had been mixed was, and still is, our staple emergency meal. If the owner of the “little f(r)iend” liked spicy foods before the op - sorry, but it may take a long time to slowly build up to something they can handle.
“Slow and Steady wins the day” as the Turtle said to the Hare!
Gee, it's amazing how little realisation the Department for Wonderful People and the rest of Her Majesty's Government have for how simple things AREN'T for disabled people. It's also amazing that I'm the one claiming the benefits and not her!
It's also strange that "The PouchDemon" and "The ChainDemon" are married and living happily ever after (Sorry, that should be existing, you can't live on Assessment Rate).
I'd like to thank the webmaster of The Red Lion Group for archiving all the old newsletters including the ones that had those two articles in. It gave me a wonderful afternoon of reminiscing and reformatting the text as I didn't have copies of the articles I wrote soooooo long ago.
Saturday, 29 December 2012
The Chain Theory
I have what might be a silly question, I know there are
people out there, and I am one of them, who have to budget their energy
reserves carefully. These people suffer from a wide variety of maladies ranging
from Lupus to Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, Arthritis to Fibromyalgia. These people group together under the title
of "Spoonies", thanks to Christine Miserandino and her spoon theory. My question is, what do we call those of us
who have an additive problem that is like being pulled back and gets worse as
we go through the day?
I was sitting trying to think of a similar description for the way I
have to force myself to wade through invisible mud and suffer from the delayed
pain that this causes. This may not be
typical of other Osteo-Arthritis sufferers, but it’s my description of my
“Demon”.
The spoon theory states that you have blocks of energy, represented by a
handful of spoons that get taken away as you do tasks throughout the day. My “Demon” doesn’t take, until later, but
adds, however, he makes sure I throw my spoons about too!
What you need to do is imagine that as I start to walk, or stand, this
little blighter nips up behind me and threads a chain through my leg. Not between them, but sort of sticks a link
of the chain right into and through my knee.
Needless to say, the analgesics I am on hide the actual pain of the link
being threaded through the knee, but sometimes, the heat used to weld the link
shut can be felt.
Like Jacob Marley, in “A Christmas Carol”, who appears to Ebenezer
Scrooge weighed down by chains he forged in life, my chains weigh me down
throughout the day and drag along behind me as I walk. It starts off with just small light chains,
but these are added to and added to as I move, if I can stop and take a rest
with my weight off my legs, some may fall off, but there’s always some that
don’t.
The day goes on, with these chains dragging me down, throwing my spoons out as I go along, until at last, I run out of spoons and fall into bed. This is the time the Demon really has his fun. He gets to stand at the end of my bed and pull the chains with all his might, pulling on those links that pass through my shoulders and knees. He doesn’t have the decency to undo the link that goes through the joint, just pulls as hard as possible to yank the chains out, dragging the last link straight through and out!
I had tried to find other descriptions, like a back-pack
being filled with stones, but being a “Stonie” didn’t sound too good, that and
the pain at the end of the day isn’t there.
The chains seem to be the best description, so, as well as being a
“Spoonie”, I’m a “Chainee”.
Wednesday, 26 December 2012
Ouch, Christmas Day has been spoiled!
There was I, half past seven in the evening, feeling like the day was good, I felt totally drained, but hey that's what bed is for. Amazingly, for the first time in about two months I went to bed in NO pain.
Started to watch some (really boring) Will Smith film, and dozed off in the middle of it about 15 minutes after getting into bed. About an hour and a half later ... BANG! Hello Pain!!!! Don't know what caused it, don't really care, but my knees, ankles and shoulders are letting me know they are there!
So I lay there, trying to a) get comfortable, b) stop hurting and c) go back to sleep (oh, and d) not sobbing so much that I wake the wife). No success. So I give up, turn the TV back on (I use a sleep function, in case I drop off again) and start to watch stuff. Oh, I see a programme of Bee Gees music, that's good, I'm a fan. I sit and get about 20 minutes in to a 30 minute programme, when I hear that most glorious of sounds, the car outside my house is leaving!
"Oh My God," I thought, "I'm parked over the road as there was no parking spaces anywhere when I came home!"
I threw on my trousers and boots, grabbed the car keys and walked over the road to where my car was parked on Double Yellow Lines (No Parking for any that don't realise), start the engine, indicate I am about to pull out. The lady in the little car that had been taking up enough room for my large saloon pulled out, I started to pull out and ... A Multi-Person Vehicle owned by one of the local taxi firms pulls up alongside it.
OK, thinks I, he's dropping someone off. I gesture first at me then at the space, "Pull forward mate, I am going in there!" He pulls forwards, then slams the van into reverse and fills the space!
I can tell you, I was a little put out by this. No scratch that, I was a LOT put out by this.
I pulled alongside his door, stopped, thought, shall I leave my car here or not?
Thirty metres down the road (Thanks Ms McVey, I measured it the other day thanks to the new Mobility requirements), there was a LARGER space, one by a garage so this Hackney Carriage Licence holder could have driven in more easily and would not have been blocked in in the morning! So, I, with a car steamed up because it had been standing for three hours with a Blue Badge displayed, had to reverse 30 metres to get to a parking space so that the Lesser Spotted Blue Stripped Traffic Vultures (aka Parking Attendants) didn't get up at Oh Dark Hundred Hours thinking, "lets get those who had too much to drink last night" and give me a ticket.
Insult added to injury though, when I got close to this Minibus on the walk back home, the driver had disappeared into the ether and hadn't even had the courtesy to apologise for stealing my parking space.
Oh, I wish I had a disabled bay outside, but it's no good applying for one, there's too many people around here with disabled badges that would park there and I'd still have to walk a mile to park.
So now, from thinking I was going to get a good night sleep, agony and annoyance!
Oh, and the Bee Gees programme, on a channel without a +1 sister was just rolling it's credits when I got back to the bedroom!
BAH HUMBUG!!!!
Started to watch some (really boring) Will Smith film, and dozed off in the middle of it about 15 minutes after getting into bed. About an hour and a half later ... BANG! Hello Pain!!!! Don't know what caused it, don't really care, but my knees, ankles and shoulders are letting me know they are there!
So I lay there, trying to a) get comfortable, b) stop hurting and c) go back to sleep (oh, and d) not sobbing so much that I wake the wife). No success. So I give up, turn the TV back on (I use a sleep function, in case I drop off again) and start to watch stuff. Oh, I see a programme of Bee Gees music, that's good, I'm a fan. I sit and get about 20 minutes in to a 30 minute programme, when I hear that most glorious of sounds, the car outside my house is leaving!
"Oh My God," I thought, "I'm parked over the road as there was no parking spaces anywhere when I came home!"
I threw on my trousers and boots, grabbed the car keys and walked over the road to where my car was parked on Double Yellow Lines (No Parking for any that don't realise), start the engine, indicate I am about to pull out. The lady in the little car that had been taking up enough room for my large saloon pulled out, I started to pull out and ... A Multi-Person Vehicle owned by one of the local taxi firms pulls up alongside it.
OK, thinks I, he's dropping someone off. I gesture first at me then at the space, "Pull forward mate, I am going in there!" He pulls forwards, then slams the van into reverse and fills the space!
I can tell you, I was a little put out by this. No scratch that, I was a LOT put out by this.
I pulled alongside his door, stopped, thought, shall I leave my car here or not?
Thirty metres down the road (Thanks Ms McVey, I measured it the other day thanks to the new Mobility requirements), there was a LARGER space, one by a garage so this Hackney Carriage Licence holder could have driven in more easily and would not have been blocked in in the morning! So, I, with a car steamed up because it had been standing for three hours with a Blue Badge displayed, had to reverse 30 metres to get to a parking space so that the Lesser Spotted Blue Stripped Traffic Vultures (aka Parking Attendants) didn't get up at Oh Dark Hundred Hours thinking, "lets get those who had too much to drink last night" and give me a ticket.
Insult added to injury though, when I got close to this Minibus on the walk back home, the driver had disappeared into the ether and hadn't even had the courtesy to apologise for stealing my parking space.
Oh, I wish I had a disabled bay outside, but it's no good applying for one, there's too many people around here with disabled badges that would park there and I'd still have to walk a mile to park.
So now, from thinking I was going to get a good night sleep, agony and annoyance!
Oh, and the Bee Gees programme, on a channel without a +1 sister was just rolling it's credits when I got back to the bedroom!
BAH HUMBUG!!!!
Sunday, 23 December 2012
Dear Dave
I'd like to acquaint you with some of the problems that your friends in Atos (Advanced Targeting of Scroungers) miss.
These observations are true, well, at least they are true for me, other arthritis sufferers may differ in their symptoms.
You may notice (I think the time that this blog is written appears somewhere on it) that this is being written at Oh My God It's Early O'clock. This is because I had to walk around a supermarket yesterday (Saturday) morning to scrape together some food for my wife and I tosurvive exist over the Christmas period.
"Why", I hear you ask "should a walk around a supermarket keep you up at night?"
Simple, I reply, arthritis is agony wrapped in a dose of pain enhanced when exercising and in cold, wet weather. You may have noticed the country is bathed in rain type precipitation at present, this and the general low temperature at this time of year does not help reduce this pain.
Pain, you may have experienced a severe sprained ankle (pain rating about 8/10 for a week or so), well arthritis is about 7/10 all day, all year even when dulled through painkillers, then, you have to walk too far and it goes up, the painkillers don't dull it, so you take more and the pain is still there and a side effect of the painkillers is - insomnia!
This is, however perhaps one or two days per month, but I cannot plan which day(s) it might be, there could be an emergency that means too much standing or walking, but I can tell you what the next day will be - one spent drowsy or in bed asleep! Fortunately, tomorrow is a Sunday so if I were working it would not necessarily mean a day off work, but, as said before, I can't guarantee which day of the week I will be kept awake overnight.
The Atos (Advanced Termination of Sick-people) snapshot is taken on one day, in my case on one of the hottest driest days of the year, one that was, for me, a fairly reasonable day. So the person that examined me, did not see me at my worst and was not willing/able to take my description of the bad days. Mind you, he also could not tell right from left and did not test the flexibility of my legs, yet commented on it in his report!
Now, I hear that one of your colleagues wishes to add to my embarrassment by giving me a "Benefit Payment" card. To highlight to people in shops that I am one of these people labelled by your government as a scrounger. As others have said, we only await the badges that we have to sew onto our coats, or the tattoos that we have to wear on our foreheads to announce to the world that we are unable to work. A horrible reflection of something that took place in Germany eighty years ago!
So, Dave, if I may call you that, Mr Cameron, I hope and pray that none of your relatives ever have to suffer the indignity of a debilitating illness or, through no fault of their own, end up disabled.
These observations are true, well, at least they are true for me, other arthritis sufferers may differ in their symptoms.
You may notice (I think the time that this blog is written appears somewhere on it) that this is being written at Oh My God It's Early O'clock. This is because I had to walk around a supermarket yesterday (Saturday) morning to scrape together some food for my wife and I to
"Why", I hear you ask "should a walk around a supermarket keep you up at night?"
Simple, I reply, arthritis is agony wrapped in a dose of pain enhanced when exercising and in cold, wet weather. You may have noticed the country is bathed in rain type precipitation at present, this and the general low temperature at this time of year does not help reduce this pain.
Pain, you may have experienced a severe sprained ankle (pain rating about 8/10 for a week or so), well arthritis is about 7/10 all day, all year even when dulled through painkillers, then, you have to walk too far and it goes up, the painkillers don't dull it, so you take more and the pain is still there and a side effect of the painkillers is - insomnia!
This is, however perhaps one or two days per month, but I cannot plan which day(s) it might be, there could be an emergency that means too much standing or walking, but I can tell you what the next day will be - one spent drowsy or in bed asleep! Fortunately, tomorrow is a Sunday so if I were working it would not necessarily mean a day off work, but, as said before, I can't guarantee which day of the week I will be kept awake overnight.
The Atos (Advanced Termination of Sick-people) snapshot is taken on one day, in my case on one of the hottest driest days of the year, one that was, for me, a fairly reasonable day. So the person that examined me, did not see me at my worst and was not willing/able to take my description of the bad days. Mind you, he also could not tell right from left and did not test the flexibility of my legs, yet commented on it in his report!
Now, I hear that one of your colleagues wishes to add to my embarrassment by giving me a "Benefit Payment" card. To highlight to people in shops that I am one of these people labelled by your government as a scrounger. As others have said, we only await the badges that we have to sew onto our coats, or the tattoos that we have to wear on our foreheads to announce to the world that we are unable to work. A horrible reflection of something that took place in Germany eighty years ago!
So, Dave, if I may call you that, Mr Cameron, I hope and pray that none of your relatives ever have to suffer the indignity of a debilitating illness or, through no fault of their own, end up disabled.
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