Another week, another set of circumstances to deal with, another set of monumental headaches as one tries to do what's best, but first have to decide what's best. Working for a living was so much easier, one just had to deal with the crap but one also didn't have much of any control, Control's an illusion anyway, but, sometimes, it's a nice illusion to have.
But, this morning, I was thinking about love. About how we're fed these stories as kids about finding the happy ending, finding the soul mate/perfect one, finding solace and being saved.
Trouble is all those things depend on so many other things. So, what if you meet your soul mate - or the one you think is your soul mate and turns out that definitions are different, or they just don't see you in quite the same way? What if compromise just can't be done? What if your best friend can't be your romantic partner because they won't allow it (sometimes it's fear, sometimes it's because they just don't get it)? What if you can't escape from the ties that bind (for whatever reason)? What if you so desperately want/need someone else to take the strain for a while but there's no one there to do it?
Why do we assume that those whom we love can read our minds, understand why their actions hurt so much when, in all reality, no one can read another's mind to the point where things said or done can accurately be predicted as causing pain.
There are times/ events in my life that I wouldn't have overcome or made it through were it not for love.
And there are so many different variables of love.
Why do we chase after romantic/soul linking love? Yes, humans are a social species. Yes, opening yourself up to another human risks soul rending hurt. But why is it the goal for so many? I'll admit it, there are times when I so desperately need another human to hold me, to tell me it's okay, to hold my hand and give me strength - I rarely, if ever, get that support. To the point where I become all rather surly about it all, and fed up and disillusioned, not to mention hard and cold.
And there are so many times when I just want to gather up my cats, pile everything in the car and say "fuck it, I can't do this any more" and just drive off. Where would I go? I have no idea. What would I do for money? I have no idea, my savings are long gone, my bank account is permanently overdrawn, some days of a week I have a full tank of diesel, but that's the size of it. And then there's my medical issues and Suki's medical issues (she's a diabetic cat). I don't even have the luxury of being able to run away.
So, I'm trapped. And that's a bloody awful feeling to have - I'm used to it, I've been trapped my entire life because of parental expectations (imagine being told your entire life that you were only born to look after your parents in their old age), because of having no clarity in my own head what I want to do (though I do now - 30 years too late), because I was raised to pay homage to the great banking gods of Money and Responsibility - you MUST work for a living, doesn't matter how ill you are you must work, you must be responsible. Ye gawds, how I sometimes wish to be irresponsible - to say fuck it and just go away for a day, a week, a month, not caring whether anyone else takes up the slack or not - just be completely and utterly selfish.
Aren't we all trapped, one way or another? Doesn't help the way I feel about it all though.
What's love got to do with "it"? I have no idea, but there are definitely times when I wish I didn't have this baggage called "love".
Saturday, 25 July 2015
Sunday, 19 July 2015
The Week That Was . . . or was it all my imagination?
Had my B12 injection last Monday - whohoo - pain levels down a tad, still waiting for the energy to surge, ha ha.
Dad couldn't decide whether he wanted to see a doctor or not. His weight was going up but he wasn't any more breathless than usual, so, while it is a "red flag" as far as his congestive heart failure goes there weren't any other accompanying signals. However, he wasn't listening when I told him he needed to start loosing weight - cut down on the donuts and the scones and the pieces of fruit. Fortunately, while I was in for my B12, I managed to get a conversation with our GP. He decided blood tests were in order - oh, man, how I sighed at that one (last time bloods were requested I "lost" 3 mornings out waiting for a district nurse when they had "forgotten" they were supposed to do it...!) However, the lovely lass & expert blood taker District Nurse turned up the following morning &, well, that was that.
Thing is, when someone, any one, decides they can't be bothered with their medical conditions (life threatening ones, not "just" plain old chronic) what are you supposed to do? Firstly they are adults, secondly you cannot watch them 24/7, thirdly they have the right to choose (no matter what I, or anyone else, may think or wish).
However, I made use of that morning in and contacted a company about taking away the garden rubbish, I tried to contact one about the guttering issue (but no one wanted to talk to me, so I need to find someone else) and I contacted an estate agent about a property I'd seen. I have grand plans. I have no money, but I like to dream. In some ways it keeps me sane, in others it frustrates the hell out of me.
Our GP came out on Thursday, so no rest that day, to see Dad. His long term sugar levels are a bit on the iffy side though not red flagging yet. His chest is clear, so the weight is "just" weight, his legs are fine. The GP also had a conversation with Mum. All in all, he is very pleased with how they are doing and our care of them. Certainly helped a little with the emotional fallout from the patronising SW report.
On the SW front I've had an email from a Group Manager with an unreserved apology. Acknowledging that the points I raised are valid ones. So, next step is a meeting with yet another SW member probably some time in August/early Sept. Bearing in mind that the actual review was in early April. . . Thing is until we get that sorted out the chances of Mum getting her"monkey bar" assessment are 0.
Wednesday morning was glorious. So, I decided to grab my sister & we went out for the day. I couldn't really afford it, and neither could she, but I needed out the house. The last time I'd had a day out was 11 April, the day before my bestie went back home after his 2 week visit. That's a long time without a significant break & decompression. That's the thing when you're a carer - you are told to get out the house as much as you can, but finances constrain you, as does physical ability in my case. As does getting cover for yourself. Cover needs a minimum of 2 weeks advance planning - when the weather is good you can't just pick up and go - however, I took a chance. I bubbled the house & Mum and Dad and we went. It was a bit busy but it was good.
And then there are the carers. We have some excellent carers who take great pride in their work and have an excellent work ethic. We have others who will only do the bare minimum. Fortunately, the ones who pretend to do things are no longer with us. For a number of months now I've been having a back & forth debate with the carers manager/supervisor - if carers can perform the things they are supposed to in half the time allocated then maybe we need to change the time allocation because there are other people out there in need for free personal care& not getting as much. Without physically standing in the room there is no way to tell if all the things written in the log book are actually carried out. Then there are the carers who think that they know better than the care plan instruction and decide, unilaterally, not to do the things they are paid to do because they know better.
*sigh*
But it really is getting to the point now where carers have 30 minutes, they are turning up 10/15 minutes late and leaving 5 mins early yet saying in their log that they've been here 20+ minutes and have done all they should do. If they are that bloody efficient and good at their jobs, then I will speak to Social Work and get our allocation reduced. I know the arguments against it, but I also feel rather strongly that people are getting paid for things they aren't doing.
On the other hand I know they don't earn much, I know they have a rigid timetable and it is not an easy job. But this is my mother we are talking about - if you can't provide the level of care which is stated in your own documentation, then you need to be doing something else with your life. It's a job, it's not a skive.
I'll keep an eye on things, I will continue reporting to their management but, if by the time I have my next meeting with SW things haven't improved then their nice easy time here will be far shorter and their bosses will have money withdrawn and, potentially, have all other SW allocated clients on FPC reviewed. Do they think like that? Oh, heavens no.
Then there's the issue of the Care Commission who oversee the running of care companies (amongst other things). If they notice that care plans are reduced, especially after the length of time we've had the same plan, questions will be asked & things will get a bit too warm for comfort for the company &, I have no doubt, management will share their displeasure.
One more stress on me, but no one gives a shit about that either.
It isn't easy, but at least I've "sold" 4 more copies of my book. That's a whole £0.90 I have earned so far. Still trying to keep a perspective on that viewpoint but it ain't easy sometimes. That said, I'm at page 140 of the next book in the series, so it's not standing still.
And now I'm off to be a unicorn farting rainbows in the kitchen while tidying up and doing dishes & having snuffles LOL
Dad couldn't decide whether he wanted to see a doctor or not. His weight was going up but he wasn't any more breathless than usual, so, while it is a "red flag" as far as his congestive heart failure goes there weren't any other accompanying signals. However, he wasn't listening when I told him he needed to start loosing weight - cut down on the donuts and the scones and the pieces of fruit. Fortunately, while I was in for my B12, I managed to get a conversation with our GP. He decided blood tests were in order - oh, man, how I sighed at that one (last time bloods were requested I "lost" 3 mornings out waiting for a district nurse when they had "forgotten" they were supposed to do it...!) However, the lovely lass & expert blood taker District Nurse turned up the following morning &, well, that was that.
Thing is, when someone, any one, decides they can't be bothered with their medical conditions (life threatening ones, not "just" plain old chronic) what are you supposed to do? Firstly they are adults, secondly you cannot watch them 24/7, thirdly they have the right to choose (no matter what I, or anyone else, may think or wish).
However, I made use of that morning in and contacted a company about taking away the garden rubbish, I tried to contact one about the guttering issue (but no one wanted to talk to me, so I need to find someone else) and I contacted an estate agent about a property I'd seen. I have grand plans. I have no money, but I like to dream. In some ways it keeps me sane, in others it frustrates the hell out of me.
Our GP came out on Thursday, so no rest that day, to see Dad. His long term sugar levels are a bit on the iffy side though not red flagging yet. His chest is clear, so the weight is "just" weight, his legs are fine. The GP also had a conversation with Mum. All in all, he is very pleased with how they are doing and our care of them. Certainly helped a little with the emotional fallout from the patronising SW report.
On the SW front I've had an email from a Group Manager with an unreserved apology. Acknowledging that the points I raised are valid ones. So, next step is a meeting with yet another SW member probably some time in August/early Sept. Bearing in mind that the actual review was in early April. . . Thing is until we get that sorted out the chances of Mum getting her"monkey bar" assessment are 0.
Wednesday morning was glorious. So, I decided to grab my sister & we went out for the day. I couldn't really afford it, and neither could she, but I needed out the house. The last time I'd had a day out was 11 April, the day before my bestie went back home after his 2 week visit. That's a long time without a significant break & decompression. That's the thing when you're a carer - you are told to get out the house as much as you can, but finances constrain you, as does physical ability in my case. As does getting cover for yourself. Cover needs a minimum of 2 weeks advance planning - when the weather is good you can't just pick up and go - however, I took a chance. I bubbled the house & Mum and Dad and we went. It was a bit busy but it was good.
And then there are the carers. We have some excellent carers who take great pride in their work and have an excellent work ethic. We have others who will only do the bare minimum. Fortunately, the ones who pretend to do things are no longer with us. For a number of months now I've been having a back & forth debate with the carers manager/supervisor - if carers can perform the things they are supposed to in half the time allocated then maybe we need to change the time allocation because there are other people out there in need for free personal care& not getting as much. Without physically standing in the room there is no way to tell if all the things written in the log book are actually carried out. Then there are the carers who think that they know better than the care plan instruction and decide, unilaterally, not to do the things they are paid to do because they know better.
*sigh*
But it really is getting to the point now where carers have 30 minutes, they are turning up 10/15 minutes late and leaving 5 mins early yet saying in their log that they've been here 20+ minutes and have done all they should do. If they are that bloody efficient and good at their jobs, then I will speak to Social Work and get our allocation reduced. I know the arguments against it, but I also feel rather strongly that people are getting paid for things they aren't doing.
On the other hand I know they don't earn much, I know they have a rigid timetable and it is not an easy job. But this is my mother we are talking about - if you can't provide the level of care which is stated in your own documentation, then you need to be doing something else with your life. It's a job, it's not a skive.
I'll keep an eye on things, I will continue reporting to their management but, if by the time I have my next meeting with SW things haven't improved then their nice easy time here will be far shorter and their bosses will have money withdrawn and, potentially, have all other SW allocated clients on FPC reviewed. Do they think like that? Oh, heavens no.
Then there's the issue of the Care Commission who oversee the running of care companies (amongst other things). If they notice that care plans are reduced, especially after the length of time we've had the same plan, questions will be asked & things will get a bit too warm for comfort for the company &, I have no doubt, management will share their displeasure.
One more stress on me, but no one gives a shit about that either.
It isn't easy, but at least I've "sold" 4 more copies of my book. That's a whole £0.90 I have earned so far. Still trying to keep a perspective on that viewpoint but it ain't easy sometimes. That said, I'm at page 140 of the next book in the series, so it's not standing still.
And now I'm off to be a unicorn farting rainbows in the kitchen while tidying up and doing dishes & having snuffles LOL
Thursday, 9 July 2015
Money, money, money
Well, it's Thursday, traditional (according to me lol) family grocery shopping day. I managed to save £11 today by buying deals and using a couple of coupons. Still, it came at £100.13 and that's without meat (which I buy in a different supermarket because of quality) and without veggies. I don't buy the premium brands, I don't even buy that much "free from" stuff any more because the cumulative cost is just ridiculous. Mind you £6.50 on milk, because dad wastes so much of it, and £4 on pots of porridge because it's easier for dad and loads of silly little dessert pots for mum because there are days when that's all she wants to eat (almost £8 on those). Frozen veg because there are days I can't deal with peeling veggies or breaking them apart. And have you seen the cost of laundry and cleaning products? !!
Aye, living is cheap in Scotland . . . insert sarcastic tone.
And then there was the Budget yesterday. No cut to Carers Allowance - for now. BUT the usual increases applied each year to increase benefits by inflation is stopped. So prices continue to escalate but we're supposed to cope on the same.
Conservative Governments are utter bastards. And yet listening to all the brouhaha yesterday you'd think that everyday workers are being treated like gods - oh yeah, create a "living wage" which isn't living at all and, quite frankly, isn't legally biding. (I heard someone say it was and yet there have been 3? 4? prosecutions of companies failing to pay it - how many don't pay it? A hell of a lot!) And on the other hand cut tax credits by 3 or 4 times what in "increase" in minimum wage is - because that's all the "living wage" is, it's a re-branding. Plus they are hiking up the rents paid by social housing tenants, the very people who are on minimum wage and claiming tax credits.
No one seems to be asking - why is the benefit system costing so much? If all these people are in employment now, why is it costing so much? I'll tell you why. Because people are forced off the job seekers allowance into 0 hours contracts, with no guarantee of work. Because people are forced to take low paid jobs which don't even cover the cost of transport to the place of work. because people are forced to take unpaid work. It all makes it look like so many people are not claiming jobseekers allowance - true, they aren't, but nor are they in decently paid employment meaning they don't need help.
One day I hope that the workers of this country, of whom there are far more than bosses and company directors and politicians, realise they have a voice and that voice doesn't have to agree with the elitist numpties in Downing Street and Whitehall who have never struggled or faced poverty, going hungry or going cold in winter.
And, btw, even if I only cared for my mother 35 hours a week I should get £252 a week - minimum wage, not £61.
Aye, living is cheap in Scotland . . . insert sarcastic tone.
And then there was the Budget yesterday. No cut to Carers Allowance - for now. BUT the usual increases applied each year to increase benefits by inflation is stopped. So prices continue to escalate but we're supposed to cope on the same.
Conservative Governments are utter bastards. And yet listening to all the brouhaha yesterday you'd think that everyday workers are being treated like gods - oh yeah, create a "living wage" which isn't living at all and, quite frankly, isn't legally biding. (I heard someone say it was and yet there have been 3? 4? prosecutions of companies failing to pay it - how many don't pay it? A hell of a lot!) And on the other hand cut tax credits by 3 or 4 times what in "increase" in minimum wage is - because that's all the "living wage" is, it's a re-branding. Plus they are hiking up the rents paid by social housing tenants, the very people who are on minimum wage and claiming tax credits.
No one seems to be asking - why is the benefit system costing so much? If all these people are in employment now, why is it costing so much? I'll tell you why. Because people are forced off the job seekers allowance into 0 hours contracts, with no guarantee of work. Because people are forced to take low paid jobs which don't even cover the cost of transport to the place of work. because people are forced to take unpaid work. It all makes it look like so many people are not claiming jobseekers allowance - true, they aren't, but nor are they in decently paid employment meaning they don't need help.
One day I hope that the workers of this country, of whom there are far more than bosses and company directors and politicians, realise they have a voice and that voice doesn't have to agree with the elitist numpties in Downing Street and Whitehall who have never struggled or faced poverty, going hungry or going cold in winter.
And, btw, even if I only cared for my mother 35 hours a week I should get £252 a week - minimum wage, not £61.
Thursday, 2 July 2015
Fear and pain
Back in May we had a general election. Much to my utter horror England elected a Conservative majority party - how?! Many years ago Margaret Thatcher started this country on the path of "me, me, greed, greed, me, me". David Cameron's government is taking it all to a higher level. He and his grinning millionaire minions are stamping so hard on the disadvantaged but their voices aren't heard loud enough or wide enough because the vast majority of the press are on the side of the ruling elite - after all, they are very rich and don't give a shit about anyone other than themselves.
Next week George Osborne, our Chancellor (who can't balance his cheque book or understand the rules of claiming expenses) will launch his "emergency" budget. Now that the truth of the country's massive debt is trickling out, he'll refuse to go after company tax dodgers (oh, he'll say the words but he won't actually do it) and put more screws onto those who can least afford to shoulder the crap. He's already done away with a key piece of funding for disabled people - and yet the rallying cry is "we look after the most disadvantaged in society" - aye, look after them so well we kill them. What kind of government kills off its own people? Well, there's an answer to that and, unfortunately, too many in England can't see it/refuse to see it/don't give a shit because at the moment "I'm alright Jack".
It scares me. It really scares me. I struggled for 4 years with debilitating chronic illness and trying to work full time, paying my taxes. Fortunately I had a wonderful line manager and section head who supported me, the only reason I lasted 4 years. Then the government change the goal posts - you'd think it would be an easy life being chronically ill and not working. The Government think so. I'm not able to work full time any more but I couldn't live on a part-time wage (who can?). At the moment I'm lucky, I get Carers Allowance and Income Support in order to provide a minimum of 35 hours a week care to Mum. Dad falls into the care bracket too now but he's not recognised by the State either because he still manages to get around & look after (mostly) his personal care needs. That being said I get £105 a week. Try living on that, it's easier than £71 a week but it's not as easy as £400 a week, which is roughly what I was earning at work.
Next week I fully anticipate the taxes on fuel to rise (despite a pre-election promise not to) - after all we only pay 80% tax on a litre of fuel. That's another wee rant - the change in fuel measurement from gallon down to litre. After all, the public would never have accepted £5 a gallon charge on fuel but they will accept £1.24 + a litre. That's £5.46 a gallon 1 gallon = 4.4 litres - but the man in the street doesn't know this, so he/she grumbles but pays up. Who rakes in the money? The government, because 80% of that amount is tax of one kind or another.
Anyway, so, yeah, I am scared shitless of what that bunch of conservative bastards will do next. At the moment the only reason I survive is because Mum and Dad are very generous and supportive, and they can only be that way because they worked very hard for a long time.
Then there's the pain - in addition to the background 24/7 muscle & joint pain. I can't recall mentioning my broken heel - in 2013,while walking across a car park heading to the local hospital to visit Mum I managed to break my heel. Shards of bone subsequently embedded themselves in the base of my Achilles tendon, the site of a lovely lump. After months of tooing & frowing with medics and podiatrists I was referred to a surgeon - who told me that given my age I should just get used to the fact that things will go wrong & I need to learn to live with it (I kid you not). I eventually got a "boot" which helped but I can no longer wear the "boot" because the restriction in blood supply sets off my cellulitis (whohoo!). Anyway, so, there I am, hobbling round a supermarket when rrrriiiiiippppp - white hot, blinding pain. The bone fragments in my heel have moved, shifted, f*******g agony. I have a new ridge on the lump - a pointy ridge. Makes wearing shoes impossible. Makes walking incredibly painful. Makes stairs even harder (especially as my "good" thigh is now ripping and tearing).
And yet, as I sat before my computer this morning and feeling panic, fear and desperation welling up like my own personal tsunami,I had to remind myself, over and over and over - I can actually deal with whatever happens next. I may not like it, I may not enjoy it and it may cause incredible hardship but I can handle it. I'm a unicorn farting rainbows, I can handle just about anything (and I will keep telling myself that, one day I might believe it).
Next week George Osborne, our Chancellor (who can't balance his cheque book or understand the rules of claiming expenses) will launch his "emergency" budget. Now that the truth of the country's massive debt is trickling out, he'll refuse to go after company tax dodgers (oh, he'll say the words but he won't actually do it) and put more screws onto those who can least afford to shoulder the crap. He's already done away with a key piece of funding for disabled people - and yet the rallying cry is "we look after the most disadvantaged in society" - aye, look after them so well we kill them. What kind of government kills off its own people? Well, there's an answer to that and, unfortunately, too many in England can't see it/refuse to see it/don't give a shit because at the moment "I'm alright Jack".
It scares me. It really scares me. I struggled for 4 years with debilitating chronic illness and trying to work full time, paying my taxes. Fortunately I had a wonderful line manager and section head who supported me, the only reason I lasted 4 years. Then the government change the goal posts - you'd think it would be an easy life being chronically ill and not working. The Government think so. I'm not able to work full time any more but I couldn't live on a part-time wage (who can?). At the moment I'm lucky, I get Carers Allowance and Income Support in order to provide a minimum of 35 hours a week care to Mum. Dad falls into the care bracket too now but he's not recognised by the State either because he still manages to get around & look after (mostly) his personal care needs. That being said I get £105 a week. Try living on that, it's easier than £71 a week but it's not as easy as £400 a week, which is roughly what I was earning at work.
Next week I fully anticipate the taxes on fuel to rise (despite a pre-election promise not to) - after all we only pay 80% tax on a litre of fuel. That's another wee rant - the change in fuel measurement from gallon down to litre. After all, the public would never have accepted £5 a gallon charge on fuel but they will accept £1.24 + a litre. That's £5.46 a gallon 1 gallon = 4.4 litres - but the man in the street doesn't know this, so he/she grumbles but pays up. Who rakes in the money? The government, because 80% of that amount is tax of one kind or another.
Anyway, so, yeah, I am scared shitless of what that bunch of conservative bastards will do next. At the moment the only reason I survive is because Mum and Dad are very generous and supportive, and they can only be that way because they worked very hard for a long time.
Then there's the pain - in addition to the background 24/7 muscle & joint pain. I can't recall mentioning my broken heel - in 2013,while walking across a car park heading to the local hospital to visit Mum I managed to break my heel. Shards of bone subsequently embedded themselves in the base of my Achilles tendon, the site of a lovely lump. After months of tooing & frowing with medics and podiatrists I was referred to a surgeon - who told me that given my age I should just get used to the fact that things will go wrong & I need to learn to live with it (I kid you not). I eventually got a "boot" which helped but I can no longer wear the "boot" because the restriction in blood supply sets off my cellulitis (whohoo!). Anyway, so, there I am, hobbling round a supermarket when rrrriiiiiippppp - white hot, blinding pain. The bone fragments in my heel have moved, shifted, f*******g agony. I have a new ridge on the lump - a pointy ridge. Makes wearing shoes impossible. Makes walking incredibly painful. Makes stairs even harder (especially as my "good" thigh is now ripping and tearing).
And yet, as I sat before my computer this morning and feeling panic, fear and desperation welling up like my own personal tsunami,I had to remind myself, over and over and over - I can actually deal with whatever happens next. I may not like it, I may not enjoy it and it may cause incredible hardship but I can handle it. I'm a unicorn farting rainbows, I can handle just about anything (and I will keep telling myself that, one day I might believe it).
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