Ahem. There's a quiz over at Donimo's Chronic Holiday blog. And so the Monday quiz lives on, popping up from time to time amid assorted postings on DDT wallpaper, Warholian hamburger eating and all manner of strange and wonderful material. It's been some time now since Donimo was turfed out of her home by a large amount of sewage. Blogging from a hotel room is tricky, but she's managed to put together a fantastic multiple choice based on something wot I wrote - with buttons and everything.
The subject is Back To School. With a twist.
Thursday, 27 November 2008
Thursday, 13 November 2008
Feeling Good
I am pleased to report that having got over yet another wisdom tooth infection, I have had a few days of general contentment.
We have put some curtains up in the front room. This makes us both feel cosy and warm (er). We have been baking cookies and cakes. Watching a couple of good films. Drinking hot chocolate. And last night, because access, so it turns out, is so good at a theatre in town, we got to see Edward Scissorhands the ballet. Suddenly something that was totally off-limits is actually possible. Yes, the shades and earplugs were present as ever, but the seats were comfortable and the stewards nifty with a wheelchair. All in all, it was a brilliant way of introducing my son to ballet (though if I'm honest, I expected a bit more...ballet).
Oh, and I'm writing a play. And enjoying my brain working again.
We have put some curtains up in the front room. This makes us both feel cosy and warm (er). We have been baking cookies and cakes. Watching a couple of good films. Drinking hot chocolate. And last night, because access, so it turns out, is so good at a theatre in town, we got to see Edward Scissorhands the ballet. Suddenly something that was totally off-limits is actually possible. Yes, the shades and earplugs were present as ever, but the seats were comfortable and the stewards nifty with a wheelchair. All in all, it was a brilliant way of introducing my son to ballet (though if I'm honest, I expected a bit more...ballet).
Oh, and I'm writing a play. And enjoying my brain working again.
Tuesday, 4 November 2008
Quite Literally
It's interesting not having your regular PA for a while. Mine is off for a few weeks having just had her sixth child.
So in the meantime there have been two regulars. And then last week happened. Both my regulars were off for half term so we got a replacement. All I can say is the agency was struggling, and a lot of regulars had colds. It started with the bathroom...
Me: Could you clean the bathroom?
Her: (pulls sour face) Where's the bathroom?
Me: Erm, upstairs?
Now fair enough this was her first visit, but I clearly don't live in a flat and mine is an upstairs bathroom sort of house. She's the first person to ever have asked where it is. And then I wanted the rubbish taking out...
Me: Could you use the alley to take the bins out?
Her: (pulls sour face, sighs, looks at ceiling) Where's the alley?
Me: (in disbelief) Erm, it's outside and it runs along one side of the house?????
I wish I'd said "It's in the shape of a helter skelter and it runs from the top floor, round the house and finishes across the street."
But this was only the start of it. Seriously, this woman is not stupid, just perverse. So I have no qualms about recording our exchanges here. If she had been stupid I'd have respected her stupidity. But it was as if every time I gave her a helpful instruction she had to challenge it. It gets better...
Me: Here's two pillowcases to put on the pillows in my bedroom. The rest are in the dryer. They will be ready in a few minutes.
Her: (a few mins later) There aren't enough pillowcases
Me: (double take) Yes, as I said there are more in the dryer...
Or how about this? I was quite astonished and had to leave the kitchen for a few moments to compose myself...
Her: (about to wash up) There's not enough hot water.
Me: Well you could use the kettle.
Her: (almost as a threat) I'll burn my hands.
Me: (breezily) Try adding some cold water to the bowl first, then you can slowly add hot water from the kettle until it is the right temperature???
Yes, I absolutely had to leave the room at that one. My home support worker (who was visiting at the time) also left the room and collapsed in giggles in the front room. In fact, we ended up going out for a while to return a manual wheelchair I'd borrowed from a local shop. I had to get out, even though I was worried about leaving her.
Thing is, each of these utterances was delivered with what I can only describe as a 'meaningful look'. I can't describe it, but it was as if she wanted to find a problem and present it to me to see what my solution would be. To finish, here's my son's favourite (it was half term last week so he got to be hugely entertained by this person - we ended up calling her Grumpy Cow)...
Me: Could you put the hoover under the stairs?
Her: Where's under the stairs?
Me: (cringing) Erm, under the stairs????
Priceless. Which is exactly what I should write on the cheque when I get the bill from the agency.
So in the meantime there have been two regulars. And then last week happened. Both my regulars were off for half term so we got a replacement. All I can say is the agency was struggling, and a lot of regulars had colds. It started with the bathroom...
Me: Could you clean the bathroom?
Her: (pulls sour face) Where's the bathroom?
Me: Erm, upstairs?
Now fair enough this was her first visit, but I clearly don't live in a flat and mine is an upstairs bathroom sort of house. She's the first person to ever have asked where it is. And then I wanted the rubbish taking out...
Me: Could you use the alley to take the bins out?
Her: (pulls sour face, sighs, looks at ceiling) Where's the alley?
Me: (in disbelief) Erm, it's outside and it runs along one side of the house?????
I wish I'd said "It's in the shape of a helter skelter and it runs from the top floor, round the house and finishes across the street."
But this was only the start of it. Seriously, this woman is not stupid, just perverse. So I have no qualms about recording our exchanges here. If she had been stupid I'd have respected her stupidity. But it was as if every time I gave her a helpful instruction she had to challenge it. It gets better...
Me: Here's two pillowcases to put on the pillows in my bedroom. The rest are in the dryer. They will be ready in a few minutes.
Her: (a few mins later) There aren't enough pillowcases
Me: (double take) Yes, as I said there are more in the dryer...
Or how about this? I was quite astonished and had to leave the kitchen for a few moments to compose myself...
Her: (about to wash up) There's not enough hot water.
Me: Well you could use the kettle.
Her: (almost as a threat) I'll burn my hands.
Me: (breezily) Try adding some cold water to the bowl first, then you can slowly add hot water from the kettle until it is the right temperature???
Yes, I absolutely had to leave the room at that one. My home support worker (who was visiting at the time) also left the room and collapsed in giggles in the front room. In fact, we ended up going out for a while to return a manual wheelchair I'd borrowed from a local shop. I had to get out, even though I was worried about leaving her.
Thing is, each of these utterances was delivered with what I can only describe as a 'meaningful look'. I can't describe it, but it was as if she wanted to find a problem and present it to me to see what my solution would be. To finish, here's my son's favourite (it was half term last week so he got to be hugely entertained by this person - we ended up calling her Grumpy Cow)...
Me: Could you put the hoover under the stairs?
Her: Where's under the stairs?
Me: (cringing) Erm, under the stairs????
Priceless. Which is exactly what I should write on the cheque when I get the bill from the agency.
Tuesday, 28 October 2008
Reflection
It's nearly upon me. A whole ten months have gone by and I will in a matter of days be free of benzodiazepines.
Before I harp on I know there may be some people reading who use or have used these drugs, and sometimes for good reason. In fact there are often sound reasons why people turn to prescription medication. But in my own experience the damage far outweighed any benefit there could have been. For a start I have a liver condition that makes metabolising drugs difficult. In itself it is harmless jaundice, but put my liver under strain and the jaundice can become a bit more serious. I also have a neurological condition that is not necessarily helped by bucket loads of psychiatric medication. And they were forced on me rather than taken willingly. I'll stop short of denouncing benzos as pure evil, but they have certainly represented that in my life.
Back in January I decided it was time to be less drugged. To achieve my long term goal (my whole withdrawal programme spans three years - still three other drugs to go) I initially needed an increased dose of Valium to wean myself off the sleeping pill Zopiclone. This was achieved in a few weeks, and then the long Valium taper began. I descended into a persistent brain fog and my functioning became extremely basic. My outlook also became markedly myopic. I am too ashamed to link to my contribution to BADD this year, but it was me going on about myself in a way that had very little to do with Disablism or Blogging Against it. It was the drugs so I can only express regret and hope to do better next year ;-)
I didn't even know I'd become so introspective until I really started to emerge from it. In recent weeks I've been blessed with a rebirth of my senses. It started with colours over the summer. Then I started to enjoy cooking again, and savoured aromas and flavours in a way that brought back memories of four years ago. Being on Valium, in my case, has been like being buried alive. So coming to life again has been a revelation and a really unique experience. After my senses words started to return, then feelings. And for a while that was very hard, as I had a lot of feelings coming at me at once.
I had a rough time with each reduction in medication on my taper. I reduced at a rate of 1mg a month and suffered IBS, stomach cramps, muscle spasms, hypomania and sensory disturbance with each cut. I've also been through rage, paranoia and intense misery. The Samaritans came in handy a few times. I'm currently at 0.5mg and am soon cutting to 0.25mg. As I said, it'll be a matter of days and I'll be free.
And here's where the benzo rant comes in. It is indeed a freeing, a release from a purgatory I would not wish on my worst enemy. My heart sings with every new feeling of contentment, happiness, joy even, that comes my way. In many ways I still have many restrictions in my life, but somehow knowing that they are not down to being under a chemical soup, I accept them more readily and with less hopelessness. I still use a mobility scooter, cannot work, read at length, watch TV or films much, and still find listening to music tiring and confusing. So my CNS is still jangled, to say the least. I still need a minimum three rests a day. And I don't expect a miraculous cure at the end of all this.
But what is important to me is recovering my Self. Pretentious? Possibly, but when you have actually had your essence removed by the very people who are supposed to be 'caring' for you, when you realise that you are far better off without input from mental health services, when you go through emotions like betrayal, anger, grief and disbelief, the Self returning is a triumph.
To recover one's Self when it has been so abused as to have felt like little more than a bloodied, maimed corpse is freedom indeed. The internalised sobbing, sometimes screaming, that punctuated my days has at last receded. I have been held hostage, so to be free is to feel joy and to know that more joy is coming to my life.
Before I harp on I know there may be some people reading who use or have used these drugs, and sometimes for good reason. In fact there are often sound reasons why people turn to prescription medication. But in my own experience the damage far outweighed any benefit there could have been. For a start I have a liver condition that makes metabolising drugs difficult. In itself it is harmless jaundice, but put my liver under strain and the jaundice can become a bit more serious. I also have a neurological condition that is not necessarily helped by bucket loads of psychiatric medication. And they were forced on me rather than taken willingly. I'll stop short of denouncing benzos as pure evil, but they have certainly represented that in my life.
Back in January I decided it was time to be less drugged. To achieve my long term goal (my whole withdrawal programme spans three years - still three other drugs to go) I initially needed an increased dose of Valium to wean myself off the sleeping pill Zopiclone. This was achieved in a few weeks, and then the long Valium taper began. I descended into a persistent brain fog and my functioning became extremely basic. My outlook also became markedly myopic. I am too ashamed to link to my contribution to BADD this year, but it was me going on about myself in a way that had very little to do with Disablism or Blogging Against it. It was the drugs so I can only express regret and hope to do better next year ;-)
I didn't even know I'd become so introspective until I really started to emerge from it. In recent weeks I've been blessed with a rebirth of my senses. It started with colours over the summer. Then I started to enjoy cooking again, and savoured aromas and flavours in a way that brought back memories of four years ago. Being on Valium, in my case, has been like being buried alive. So coming to life again has been a revelation and a really unique experience. After my senses words started to return, then feelings. And for a while that was very hard, as I had a lot of feelings coming at me at once.
I had a rough time with each reduction in medication on my taper. I reduced at a rate of 1mg a month and suffered IBS, stomach cramps, muscle spasms, hypomania and sensory disturbance with each cut. I've also been through rage, paranoia and intense misery. The Samaritans came in handy a few times. I'm currently at 0.5mg and am soon cutting to 0.25mg. As I said, it'll be a matter of days and I'll be free.
And here's where the benzo rant comes in. It is indeed a freeing, a release from a purgatory I would not wish on my worst enemy. My heart sings with every new feeling of contentment, happiness, joy even, that comes my way. In many ways I still have many restrictions in my life, but somehow knowing that they are not down to being under a chemical soup, I accept them more readily and with less hopelessness. I still use a mobility scooter, cannot work, read at length, watch TV or films much, and still find listening to music tiring and confusing. So my CNS is still jangled, to say the least. I still need a minimum three rests a day. And I don't expect a miraculous cure at the end of all this.
But what is important to me is recovering my Self. Pretentious? Possibly, but when you have actually had your essence removed by the very people who are supposed to be 'caring' for you, when you realise that you are far better off without input from mental health services, when you go through emotions like betrayal, anger, grief and disbelief, the Self returning is a triumph.
To recover one's Self when it has been so abused as to have felt like little more than a bloodied, maimed corpse is freedom indeed. The internalised sobbing, sometimes screaming, that punctuated my days has at last receded. I have been held hostage, so to be free is to feel joy and to know that more joy is coming to my life.
Thursday, 16 October 2008
A Little Quiet Time
Well it's been manic since the fire. And mania is my least favourite state. Fuelled by shock, benzo withdrawal and lack of sleep, I have found myself engaged in compulsions that must be broken.
Like weighing every single item from my Grandmother's house clearance that has been demanded by She Who Hath No Name and Lives Abroad. In a bid to get on top of the situation I went a bit OTT on the postage research and could now, feasibly, work for the Post Office offering a consultancy service on volumetric weight calculations.
It had to stop. So it has stopped. Thank God. Only to be replaced by manic research into moving my Gran's savings. Though in the current climate I feel I am not alone in tearing my hair out and wondering what to do for the best.
And, as if sensing with that finely-tuned sixth sense of hers that I was all at sea, cusp sent me a lovely present in the post that has soothed, relaxed and reassured. Thank you cusp, you are a love. And I smell gorgeous for once.
So at last, I have calmed down. A bit. And I am seriously ready for some quiet time. The decorator who will be repainting the bathroom asked me yesterday why I don't just move into my Gran's house, as I was moaning we hadn't let it yet. Ha, ha aha ha ha (and thrice ha, ha aha ha ha). Like I really want to be that enmeshed in family? And like I can afford the rent I'm charging? Anyway, we got a tenant today.
Here's a picture of a strawberry tartlet to celebrate.
Like weighing every single item from my Grandmother's house clearance that has been demanded by She Who Hath No Name and Lives Abroad. In a bid to get on top of the situation I went a bit OTT on the postage research and could now, feasibly, work for the Post Office offering a consultancy service on volumetric weight calculations.
It had to stop. So it has stopped. Thank God. Only to be replaced by manic research into moving my Gran's savings. Though in the current climate I feel I am not alone in tearing my hair out and wondering what to do for the best.
And, as if sensing with that finely-tuned sixth sense of hers that I was all at sea, cusp sent me a lovely present in the post that has soothed, relaxed and reassured. Thank you cusp, you are a love. And I smell gorgeous for once.
So at last, I have calmed down. A bit. And I am seriously ready for some quiet time. The decorator who will be repainting the bathroom asked me yesterday why I don't just move into my Gran's house, as I was moaning we hadn't let it yet. Ha, ha aha ha ha (and thrice ha, ha aha ha ha). Like I really want to be that enmeshed in family? And like I can afford the rent I'm charging? Anyway, we got a tenant today.
Here's a picture of a strawberry tartlet to celebrate.
Tuesday, 7 October 2008
Business As Usual
Well, someone somewhere has a sense of humour because having moaned about being cold we had a house fire on Sunday night.
My son was getting ready for his customary bath when a tealight caught the shower curtain and within seconds we had a raging inferno (well, okay, a not insignificant fire). So what do you do? Ignoring all advice I hurtled into the bathroom, grabbed a basket and bailed some of the bathwater in the general direction of the flames. Then we legged it, choking on toxic smoke.
The fire brigade arrived within three minutes and put the remains of the fire out. We were given oxygen in the fire engine for smoke inhalation. Hospital proved unnecessary because we only had a lungful or so each. Enough to cause a nasty cough, but not enough to do any lasting damage.
After an hour of general mayhem we were allowed back inside. The bathroom is a bit blackened but will be okay with a lick of paint. The shower has been obliterated as the curtain fell on it and sort of enveloped it in molten plastic.
Having said goodbye to the firemen (who fitted new smoke alarms for us and gave us some general safety tips...like be careful with candles) my son asked:
"Can we play Cluedo now?"
So we did. And the very next morning he went off for a week long trip with school. A bit fazed but ok I think as I haven't had a call and I did put the centre he's staying at in the picture. He's probably glad it's an outdoor sort of week.
An electrician from the letting agency is currently checking over the electrics, as it was lack of lighting upstairs that caused us to be using candles in the first place. He looks like Devendra Banhart. Which is nice. He's got to come back tomorrow to fix the wiring. Every cloud...
My son was getting ready for his customary bath when a tealight caught the shower curtain and within seconds we had a raging inferno (well, okay, a not insignificant fire). So what do you do? Ignoring all advice I hurtled into the bathroom, grabbed a basket and bailed some of the bathwater in the general direction of the flames. Then we legged it, choking on toxic smoke.
The fire brigade arrived within three minutes and put the remains of the fire out. We were given oxygen in the fire engine for smoke inhalation. Hospital proved unnecessary because we only had a lungful or so each. Enough to cause a nasty cough, but not enough to do any lasting damage.
After an hour of general mayhem we were allowed back inside. The bathroom is a bit blackened but will be okay with a lick of paint. The shower has been obliterated as the curtain fell on it and sort of enveloped it in molten plastic.
Having said goodbye to the firemen (who fitted new smoke alarms for us and gave us some general safety tips...like be careful with candles) my son asked:
"Can we play Cluedo now?"
So we did. And the very next morning he went off for a week long trip with school. A bit fazed but ok I think as I haven't had a call and I did put the centre he's staying at in the picture. He's probably glad it's an outdoor sort of week.
An electrician from the letting agency is currently checking over the electrics, as it was lack of lighting upstairs that caused us to be using candles in the first place. He looks like Devendra Banhart. Which is nice. He's got to come back tomorrow to fix the wiring. Every cloud...
Friday, 3 October 2008
Keeping Warm
So my plan to not have the heating on until November has fallen at the first hurdle. It's cold. I am ill. I need to be warm. So on goes the heating. Damn.
It really pisses me off that you have to be elderly in this country to get help with heating bills that's actually worth having. A winter fuel payment, a social tariff that's guaranteed to pay...yes I know it's still a drop in the ocean for many, but some of us are without help altogether. When I enquired recently with my provider Npower I sailed through the checks. I was so happy and warm inside I was ready to share the good news at Ouch! Then they told me two weeks later that because I was on a dual fuel online tariff I wasn't eligible for a social tariff. Whaaaaat????
So I am back to square one. Saving £100 over 24 months is not the same as getting £250 a year knocked off your bill to help with winter fuel costs.
I left Scottish Power because they failed to inform me that they had introduced a social tariff back in February this year. I am still paying off the winter bill from last year, plus over £100 a month with Npower.
Whilst I await a resolution to my case, which has to involve something more practical than taking two showers and two baths a day to keep warm (when you get into bed after a shower or bath you stay warm longer...but of course you are heating water, which costs money) I thought I'd amuse myself with some top tips.
So here are my Top Tips for Not Dying of Cold This Winter:
Only now the joke's on me. How I wish I hadn't chuckled all those years ago. Being cold isn't funny. No matter how old you are. And once you are in possession of a free bus pass, it becomes quite tempting. So, I've decided I'll take a thermos and my camera and join them one day next week and report back here when I've done it. Oh boy, I can't wait. Three hours of fun, fun, fun. But hey, at least my fingers won't be dropping off.
It really pisses me off that you have to be elderly in this country to get help with heating bills that's actually worth having. A winter fuel payment, a social tariff that's guaranteed to pay...yes I know it's still a drop in the ocean for many, but some of us are without help altogether. When I enquired recently with my provider Npower I sailed through the checks. I was so happy and warm inside I was ready to share the good news at Ouch! Then they told me two weeks later that because I was on a dual fuel online tariff I wasn't eligible for a social tariff. Whaaaaat????
So I am back to square one. Saving £100 over 24 months is not the same as getting £250 a year knocked off your bill to help with winter fuel costs.
I left Scottish Power because they failed to inform me that they had introduced a social tariff back in February this year. I am still paying off the winter bill from last year, plus over £100 a month with Npower.
Whilst I await a resolution to my case, which has to involve something more practical than taking two showers and two baths a day to keep warm (when you get into bed after a shower or bath you stay warm longer...but of course you are heating water, which costs money) I thought I'd amuse myself with some top tips.
So here are my Top Tips for Not Dying of Cold This Winter:
- Warm yourself up by writing angry blog posts and letters to your snug and smug MP
- Have a bonfire permanently going in the garden. That way you can go outside to get warm
- Burn all the furniture...only good for one night though
- Ask your son's school if you can become library monitor (full time, five days a week with a bed please)
- Get on the bus and stay there
Only now the joke's on me. How I wish I hadn't chuckled all those years ago. Being cold isn't funny. No matter how old you are. And once you are in possession of a free bus pass, it becomes quite tempting. So, I've decided I'll take a thermos and my camera and join them one day next week and report back here when I've done it. Oh boy, I can't wait. Three hours of fun, fun, fun. But hey, at least my fingers won't be dropping off.
Sunday, 28 September 2008
Music Matters
I had a moment of extreme sadness tonight where I suddenly felt, quite strongly, the full force of unlocked potential.
It's one thing to have one's own ability to enjoy and perform music impaired, but quite another to not be able to pass down musical ability and nurture it in someone you love.
I've done my best with piano lessons but my aunt and uncle weren't wrong when they suggested that perhaps proper lessons may be in order if my son is to get serious about it. After all, I never trained as a teacher. They both did, and though they wish they lived nearer so they could teach him themselves, they did the right thing suggesting he gets lessons.
Anyway, that's a slight tangent. What got me tonight was the fact that since we moved out of nursery rhymes I've not heard my son sing a song all the way through. And that struck me as quite incredible. Then I started crying.
Now, I can see that it's not all my fault. Apart from having a condition and a prescription that together have done a great job of destroying my senses, I am also up against the National Curriculum, which places music firmly at the bottom of its list of priorities.
How can it be so? Doesn't anyone in education recognise the value of singing on a regular basis, of having access to free music tuition and regular music lessons within the timetable? It should be right up there with Literacy and Numeracy, Art and Science. That's what I think. But the days of singing en masse seem to be over. I used to sing in assembly every day. And in a choir at primary school, and then in a Saturday music school, and then at GCSE, A Level and in the university choir. And several shocking bands. But we won't go there.
I know a vocal coach locally. But I think my son is now a little too old to be learning World Music and shaking a tambourine in a room full of earnest hairy mothers with their flora and fauna-named offspring. Which is a shame. Sort of. To be honest it's the only access to group music around where I live, and I suspect in many other areas. The years he would have enjoyed that with me have disappeared in a blur. And that's what I'm struggling with. It's a huge chasm, a divide that cannot be bridged.
So I'd like to share a memory with you. When he was very, very small my son stood in the middle of his Grandma and Grandpa's living room and shyly managed to sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. All curly locks and big brown eyes, he sang it very softly and yet with that magic only music can bring of knowing he was sharing something that brought pure happiness.
It's one thing to have one's own ability to enjoy and perform music impaired, but quite another to not be able to pass down musical ability and nurture it in someone you love.
I've done my best with piano lessons but my aunt and uncle weren't wrong when they suggested that perhaps proper lessons may be in order if my son is to get serious about it. After all, I never trained as a teacher. They both did, and though they wish they lived nearer so they could teach him themselves, they did the right thing suggesting he gets lessons.
Anyway, that's a slight tangent. What got me tonight was the fact that since we moved out of nursery rhymes I've not heard my son sing a song all the way through. And that struck me as quite incredible. Then I started crying.
Now, I can see that it's not all my fault. Apart from having a condition and a prescription that together have done a great job of destroying my senses, I am also up against the National Curriculum, which places music firmly at the bottom of its list of priorities.
How can it be so? Doesn't anyone in education recognise the value of singing on a regular basis, of having access to free music tuition and regular music lessons within the timetable? It should be right up there with Literacy and Numeracy, Art and Science. That's what I think. But the days of singing en masse seem to be over. I used to sing in assembly every day. And in a choir at primary school, and then in a Saturday music school, and then at GCSE, A Level and in the university choir. And several shocking bands. But we won't go there.
I know a vocal coach locally. But I think my son is now a little too old to be learning World Music and shaking a tambourine in a room full of earnest hairy mothers with their flora and fauna-named offspring. Which is a shame. Sort of. To be honest it's the only access to group music around where I live, and I suspect in many other areas. The years he would have enjoyed that with me have disappeared in a blur. And that's what I'm struggling with. It's a huge chasm, a divide that cannot be bridged.
So I'd like to share a memory with you. When he was very, very small my son stood in the middle of his Grandma and Grandpa's living room and shyly managed to sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. All curly locks and big brown eyes, he sang it very softly and yet with that magic only music can bring of knowing he was sharing something that brought pure happiness.
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