A Loss Of Affirmation

Although I generally manage to maintain a reasonably upbeat outlook, in the face of the various slings and arrows my physical and emotional being undergoes, there are times when the clouds just fall around you and the sun refuses to break through. Today, possibly the hottest day of the year so far, is one such occasion. Not that any major disaster has occurred, hot weather always drains me. The day started with a delivery, of a shed and tool store, twenty minutes before the allocated delivery window and without the promised thirty minutes prior ‘phone call; seemed like a bad omen. I immediately called our friend who was going to help with its assembly and, to my relief he came over within a few minutes.

 

The plans for preparing a level base went rather awry and, although I wasn’t involved in the process, it made me start to feel uneasy. I’ve mentioned before how difficult I find it to cope with any change of routine and, that even seems to be the case when I’m not directly involved in the new situation. Even I find it hard to believe that there was a time, some years ago, when I thrived on new situations and new challenges.

 

Next delightful event of the day was the recurring appearance of the blue screen on my old PC and then, later in the day a letter from my beloved ATOS (see previous post) when once more it became apparent that the form I submitted had neither been thoroughly read, nor had aspects of the brief telephone conversation been taken on board.

 

So the oppressive heat, the ATOS lackeys, and plans going awry, each contributed to a reduction in my inner resilience and the loss of any sparkle in the eyes. Three times during the day I fell asleep, a welcome relief from a sense of intensely aching frustration. A griping sensation around the knees, similar to cramp, caused them to lock up as I ambled up the garden, an unwelcome distraction from the pain in calves, thigh, and back.

 

I seek the strength to affirm the day!

ATOS Calling

11.30 am, Sunday morning, and the telephone rings. The caller asks if I’m me, a disembodied voice from ATOS, the private medical arm employed by the DWP, proffering me a date to attend a medical in York. It has got to be York (not Leeds, my preferred option next to a home visit), in the most dismally oppressive claustrophobic building, where one is locked in the waiting room, outer door locked behind you and the door to reception locked in front of you. If you need the toilet, one has to get the attention of the receptionist and traverse the corridors beyond the receptionists room; an ideal setting for people who have problems with their physical and/or mental health.

The date suggested by the disembodied one is a Tuesday, to which I have to point out that I’d already explained on my form that Wednesdays are the only day when my beloved chauffeuse is available to transport me there. Of course, they had an available time on the Wednesday so they’ll be sending a confirmation letter regarding the date and time of the appointment.

In less than one year’s time, I shall be in receipt of a State Pension, as well as a couple of other policies maturing; the big question is, will I be in receipt of incapacity benefit until that time? The unpredictable nature of my condition, how I will be from one day to the next, (the only certainty being that if I overdo it I’ll be wrecked for several succeeding days), has prevented me from taking on any voluntary work or having what I used to consider a normal social life. To be honest, if I was to declare myself as being available for paid employment, I would be lying to myself as well as any potential employer. I’m sure they’d all rush for the opportunity to give employment on the basis that I would only attend when I was fit or alert enough to attend, at the whim of my erratic achingly exhausted body.

The only viable option, should they (under their remit to attack the most vulnerable members of society) deny my eligibility for IB, is to live off my savings, and make the necessary national insurance contributions, for the next eleven months.

Just something I had to get off my chest, at the same time acknowledging that there are far too many people in a worse predicament and condition than myself. I just wonder why I should be made to feel guilty about having a health condition which is not immediately obvious, except to those like my beloved who have to live with its effects.