Journal Entries
Result
Posted Dec 1, 2006
It took a long time coming, did December 1st, but it was worth all the waiting and gibber, I think, on balance. Well, for me, personally, that is; but it was still one hell of a wait
I made my third application for DLA in late December last year. The claim date is (I believe) 3rd January, which is the day the Powers That Be received it, anyway.
I'd applied twice before; one (which I'm sure I mentioned in the summer of 2004 - which was turned down flat) and another one, in summer of 2005; I was examined by a GP who I shall refer to as Dr Snotface in August of that year, and for sheer callousness, disregard for basic human decency the guy would take the serious biscuit. In short, he was an obnoxious get who was not my favourite sort of person.
On the strength of his report I was turned down, again, flat.
I really wanted to give up, but I knew if I didn't claim agin (I was too dispirited to make an appeal in the time scale allocated) I would be in too weak a case to ever do it again.
I wanted to curl up in the corner and die, but I'm a stubborn old bezom and I do hate injustices like this; if I were being mardy, or trying it on, I wouldn't have minded, but my blood absolutely *boiled* at the thought of Dr Snotface's Spanish Inquistion tactics on people even more weak and vulnerable than me was a damned good impetus to kick up a stink. If I'm going down, I decided, I'm taking that 
with me.
So I applied again, with a lot of help, support and friendly organisation from the Area Benefits Officer and one of her colleagues.
Now, current legislation states that if you re apply for DLA within a year of being declined, they can use the last EMO's (Executive Medical Officer's) report; so I had to disprove Dr Snotface's findings, because thats what they used.
So thats what I set out to do
I began to amass a large body of paper evidence from my new GP, the pain clinic nurse, the chiropractor and a hell of a lot of righteously indignant essays from me.
(I think I may well have amassed a serious tree's worth of paper in the last year)
Its been miserable, stressful and downright disheatening. And because I was concentrating so much on the DLA I fell foul of the Local Council and got into a tizz with my Housing Benefits; I contacted my local MP, and somehow or the other - don't ask how, because I don't know - he volunteered to represent me at my DLA Appeal
So the "Paper Hearing" in October was cancelled at his behest and a face to face Appeal arranged.
And today was that day
I wasn't looking forward to it, and I've been feeling like poo on a stick with pain (and nerves, I must admit)
In this year alone I've had 5 operations and gawd knows how many outpaitents' check ups and tests; infact, I have another 2 this next week alone, so I'm not exactly Queen of the May in oomph or morale.
Its tiring and debilitating with just them to contend with. I could have done without having to jaunt to Margate on a cold, damp, m-i-s-e-r-a-b-l-e sort of a day when frankly the back is crucifying me, the hands and feet are screaming blue murder at me; the tummy is Playing Up big time and I'm not so much having a Bad Hair Day as a Bad Hair Year.
But Wendy the Witch came up trumps and drove me over, and we hung around looking like 2 frozen old pouter pigeons outside the Magistrates Court wating for my Representative to arrive.
Which he did, bang on time.
I've never been inside a court before; I had visions of old men in wigs and lots of M'Ludding.
It may well have been like that, downstairs. Stupidly enough, the Disability Hearings room is on the 2nd floor.
So I got the lift with the other 2
My MP briefed me, and went thru a few details like (trans) You mustn't slag off the EMO; leave that to me, alright?
And : I understand that you think the System Stinks, but you mustn't say it in so many words - Promise me you won't. Thats my job.
And: Don't get defensive and bite their heads off if you think they're asking you stupid questions. At this point Wendy butted in and said "And don't *look* like you think they're asking stupid questions either
Deary me, how openly transparent I must be.
At 10.00am we were ushered in. 2 Ladies - the Chairman and a "Lay" Observer and a rather obese gentleman doctor. Lecture me on diet mate, I thought to myself, and I'll have to use disdainful silence.
The MP made the representation, explaining just how proud potentially disabled people can be, and how they'd rather make light of the situation rather than admit their failings.
Then came the Questions; the Chairman asked the legal sort of questions, and the basic "history" - she went thru the original EMO's appraisal, and though I say it myself, I handled it well. I explained quite calmly that I found his questionning technique very aggressive and insensative when it came to "tummy habits".
My eldest, who had just turned 18 was my chaperone that day, and he said, quite clearly at the time "Mum, I can see you're really not confortable talking about this infront of me - I'm going outside of the room while you tell Dr (Snotface) about your bum. Call me back after you've done"
As I was explaining this, and trying to use the educated words rather than the Son's terminolgy, I was absolutely mortified to find my voice quavered a bit; I was on the brink of tears - and also very very angry - how *dare this insenstive oaf of a jumped up GP then had the termerity to tell me that he was going to disregard the information I gave him when my son had left the room to spare my dignity
So I told them, very simply, how I had felt during that interview, and how defensive I had become with Dr Snotface as a result. No bluff, no defensiveness, and no sentiment.
And it was the Lay Observer (who is herself disabled) who poured me a glass of water and shoved the tissues at me.
I nearly cracked; but I didn't, and I'm glad I didn't. It would have been a mortifying inconvenience I could do without.
Then we got the medical questions; and its no problem to me to discuss *any aspect of *any ailment with non involved adults. Its not easy really to discuss the more intimate details of bowel behaviour - one does prefer to have a little mystery, after all, but needs must when the devil drives, and I needs musted Alright.
I can still look Wendy in the face, and she me, so thats OK.
I doubt I'll ever meet the others again, so thats OK, too.
More questions from the Lay Person - she asked me how I coped "generally" with life, and I sort of shrugged and said "I work around the bits I can do and I've learned to ask for help with the bits I can't any more. After a time, what might seem odd to outsiders becomes normal to me and mine"
Eventually, the questions came to an end and we were asked to go out of the room whilst they came to a decision. I took the opportunity to hand a little present and thankyou card to the MP; and before he'd unwrapped it, we were called back in.
I've been awarded High Rate Mobility (maximum allowance) and Low Rate Personal Care component "indefinately", and it will be backdated to the date of my claim.
Which in a nutshell means:
(a) A Year's back pay
and, even better
(b) No more bloody horrible forms to fill in, ever again, unless I need to claim for a higher rate of Personal Care. Or at least, not for the DLA, anyway. Not whilst I can be recalcitrant and stubbornly independent.
I did cry then - but only after we'd walked out of the room, and it was sheer relief rather than mortified boohooing.
Son no 1 has just come up behind me and gave me a hug whilst I was typing this and remarked my shoulder muscles felt really "good and loose for a change" mum.
What does this mean for me?
Well... it means the ability to have transport - and decent transport at that. I love my little Witchmobile, but its held together with chewing gum and string, and there's no way I can really afford to run it; now I can afford to run a healthy car - which means I can travel easier and more reliably
Its probably cruel of me, but I shall give my car to the boys to learn to drive in. If they can drive that, they can drive anything.
It means that I can pay off all my debts, and still have enough to treat the lads to something half decent for a change...I've wanted, for so long to take them to the theatre, do a show a have a nice meal with them both; and now I can do that. Derren Brown looks a favourite.
It means I can get back to regular chiropractice which helps me tremendously, and afford to keep the treatments going, so I *may well improve gradually. Or if I don't improve, at least I can keep the problems under control
It means that I can have a modest holiday - a complete break from every day life every so often. I intend to go on a 3 day Spa Holiday when I get my back pay and have done all the necessary debt removals.
And even when I've taken all my friends out for a nice evening, (not all in one whack - I'd prefer to spread that fun out a bit) to say thank you to them for being such incrediably loyal, staunch friends and giving me so unstintingly their time, support and affection, I shall still have enough in the bank to feel financially secure for the first time in over a decade. I probably don't *need an awful lot financially to feel secure, but to know that I will have - at last - a full month in hand's living expenses at any one time feels indescribably good as far as I'm concerned.
It means a lot to me in general.
And frankly, I think this particular 1st December was well worth the wait and grief and stress.
Especially as now the MP really understands how unsuitable my current dwelling is, and is more than willing to pressurise the council into rehousing me, once I have the official paperwork from the DLA
Definately a result 
And who needs to wait until the 25th of this month to know that Christmas exists?
I don't.
I shall wait until the January Sales instead and celebrate in absolute spades.
Discuss this Journal entry [15]
Latest reply: Dec 1, 2006
WooHoo!
Posted Nov 18, 2006
Just for a change, something a bit more cheerful
I've got a gig!
I'm going to be 
famous again! Or at the very least, have a bit of fun.
Well, put it like this; I'm going for an audition with one of the local theatre groups next Thursday evening They're looking for someone to do a poetry slot at their forthcoming junket to one of the WI's Christmas do's, and I've been asked to take along some work.
And apparently, the WI are braordminded.....H'mmm.
I'm hired, (apparently) before I meet up with this Group.
Now; whether thats because young Hairy Andy has been doing a bit of surrepticious P.R.-ing about his friend's mum to his colleagues, or whether its because there arn't many folk in this locale that'd admit to reading, let alone writing poems, OR they're just desparate to find someone willing to get up on stage and strut their stuff, is a moot point.
It doesn't matter.
I've got a five minute slot to fill and rehearsals to attend, and a fully fledged excuse to kit up and be a touch glamourous
To hell with fame.
I'll settle for just that. I'm not proud. I didn't enjoy being A Face much, when I was a Face; it always felt a bit odd being recognised by strangers. But I do enjoy sharing, and I do enjoy the buzz of getting up on a platform and turning words into images and entertaining others
And... I do, also, rather enjoy the after performance parties.
That'll do nicely, thanks
Discuss this Journal entry [32]
Latest reply: Nov 18, 2006
LOndon Mete October 2006
Posted Oct 23, 2006
Well, the journals will be filling up with scale and scandal I expect, so I reckon I'd better get my version in quick.
I've met around 20 more Hootooers, AND the italics, I've drunk with Roymondo and 2 Legs, I've met Gnomon, I've arrived and have lived to tell the Tale.
And from a relatively sober point of view, too, I might add.
Honest
Twas a great day and evening. The main set of Meetees elected to go to Wetlands, but I have a tendency to shrink in the rain, and the lure of the Tate Modern and the current exhibit of Slides appealed more. Its dry, for starters. And its got naked people on most of the walls, which is no bad thing
O-K - got up to London AND found ReddyFreddy's flat (he very kindly offered me Bed and Bucket for the weekend) with very little trouble, which surprised me - I'm none too good at London Driving, but obviously Word had got out that the Witchmobile was on the roads, and it was unaccountably clear, so that was alright
After a restoritive cuppa, we set off along to the Tube into..erm some station whose name escapes me, but it was a Tube station, anyway and began a long meander-y sort of mooch along the South Bank - I, of course, was rubber necking like a yokel and it was all rather jolly.
I learned about Oyster cards and the new fangled travel card system they've got up in Town... I'd forgotten just how BIG the stations are there.
Sigh
I really must get out more!
Theres a fantastic Foodies Paradise Market at Borough - you name it, they've got it, so I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. 97 different types of cheeses, fish I didn't know that existed...oh, all sorts. It was greatbiggrin
We found the Tate, and first off queued for tickets to go down the new exhibit - the Slides - bought em at 12.30, for a 3.00pm slither, so you can imagine the popularity.
They're big buggers - one from the 1st floor, on up to the 5th floor. They looked like MRI Unit scanners only a lot more glamourous and helterskeltery. And from what I saw, there didn't seem to be too much blood. So that was OK
Did the Cultural bit - there's some really good exhibits there, as well as the ones I privately think of as Money for Old Rope, and adjourned for lunch. Waved to the permanent Picasso there, because thats what I do.
Found a Book fair on the way back, which of course, was compulsory enjoyment as well!
Back to the slides.
The British tradition of forming an orderly queue was well in evidence, but when we got to the end where the attendants were exhorting the vic- sorry, punters - into little sacks to whizz down the tube in, together with baseball caps with head protection, it occured to me I still had my bag - and apparently you have to deposit ones bag in the cloakrooms.
However, despite the fact that I nobly offered to just watch (it had suddenly occured to me (a) I'm not too good at heights and this WAS the 4th Floor and (b) I'm a tad on the claustrophobic side) RF volunteered to bring my bag down with him to the basement part of the Tate - where the slides eventually spew out the slidees, once he'd had his turn
So thats what happened.
Its more fun watching than doing, on reflection - but I wouldn't have missed it for the world - I was shreiking like a banshee for the complete duration of the slide - it's a real buzz, and more than a bit fast - and there is absolutely NOTHING you can do to slow down, even if you want to - once you've launched yourself down the first bend - which I didn't think I'd be physically able to do, frankly, then thats it - You don't stop until it somehow magically levels out and you come - in theory, anyway - to a dignified and gentle halt.
Yeah. Right. Trust me on this, 8 seconds is a very long time from certain perspectives.
The elbows are healing nicely, thankyou. Soon, I will be able to play the violin again. I may even be able to stand without the knees going to pulp in a few weeks time, too
It was Great
And if it wasn't for the queues, I'd have done it again. Immediately!
****TO BE CONTINUED***
Discuss this Journal entry [9]
Latest reply: Oct 23, 2006
Good old distraction therapy...
Posted Oct 10, 2006
.....it works every time.
I knew it was a mistake to get up today. A couple of hours on, it was illustrated in spades exactly how bad an idea it was.
The bloke who did my Ad Pen interview from a couple of weeks back phoned me - "look" he says, "I'm not sure you really understand what you signed last week. I'm giving you another opportunity to consider - because I know that under the laws of the land you fulfil the criteria to have Court Proceedings taken against you"
(Amazing, isn't it? I fulfil the Criteria to be taken to court for a mistake..but I don't fulfil the Criteria to be considered disabled enough to receive extra financial help which would enable me to avoid making these mistake in the first place)
"Well, I'm still trying to get Legal Advice, but surely I can explain at court the situation and get it sorted properly there?" I siad, hopefully. Naively, possbily, too.
Anyway, we were both very polite to each other, and I said I'd have another think about it and get back before this afternoon. He even offered to bring the forms to me if needs be, rather than me schlep over to Canterbury to him
I rang my MP - his office referred me to one of the County Councellors.
I explained the situation to her, she said she'd ring round a few people she knew and get back to me
She got back to me. She's a rather flutilly spoken lady, with a lisp and an enthusiastic "We know best" sort of way of expressing herself. She doesn't sound to me like she's had a days hardship or worry in her life.
Basically, once the council takes you to court, regardless of any mitigating circumstances, the chances of winning a case are about 7 to the power of 230 and increasing against the individual. It involves stress, misery, a criminal record...and court costs.
She advised me (and I quote) "To throw myself on the mercy of the council - they'll do everything they can to make it easy for you to pay them, they're really decent about things like that"...and to pay the voluntary fine.
Apparently, just because I'm ill, is absolutely no excuse for not making the Council my first priority.
Now...
Is it me, or does it appear that I'm being legally discriminated against for being ill?
Or is it merely the fact that I am so overwhelmed with pain and prescribed painkillers I'm not seeing things clear here?
The system seems to me, to be absolutely loaded against anyone who deviates against their assumed "norm" by a hairs breathd...BUT the concept of "norm" is a totally unrealistic description.
I COULD - if I were mentally and physically strong enough protest, and go thru the legal rigmarole and draw attention to my situation - and the situation of thousands and thousands like me. Possibly, after an inordinate length of time, once awareness has been drawn to us, then MAYBE the laws might change
BUT
If I WERE mentally and physically strong enough, then I wouldn't NEED to draw attention to my situation - I wouldn't be in it!
I could just do what everyone else does, and ignore the situations of the other several thousnads of people like me and continue - against my conscience - with the "I'm Alright Jack s*d you" attitude. Which I find morally deplorable, and unjustifiably expedient.
Or I could, if I were Superwoman, and rich enough (in which case, why the hell would I *need to claim state benfits?) to make a stand, protest and lobby legally and peacefully and ensure the laws are changed, so that they protect the weak rather than stifle and penalise them further?
I'm not Superwoman - I will, to save myself even more financial and emotional stress, swallow my anger and pay my (purely voluntary) Penalty because I cannot face the extra stress of a court case, with all its attendant misery.
Which puts me into more debt. Which in turn is more worry.
I feel a complete failiure - but not because I made a mistake.
I feel a failiure because I haven't the means and the health and strength to be able to get myself out of the Poverty Trap I'm in.
Small wonder any of us turn to drink - or get sidetracked with anything that will take our minds off this ridiculous System - fashion, substandard music, religion, sex, drugs, whatever. The drugs aspect is especially encouraged - just look at how many antidepressant drugs are legally prescribed each year, for example.
I could write a thesis on how these legal pharmaceuticals ruin ones way of thinking, but unless you've actually experienced it, the facts would be too unpalettable and harsh for you to comtemplate fully.
Anything rather than face facts, and ask:
What can WE do about this? What can I do to change things for the better?
The system neatly ensures, with its one sided rules and strangulated language that WE and I can't - unless we're of the mind set of the rule makers; in which case, we probably wouldn't want to, because it upsets our status quo.
Distraction for the masses, and distraction for the rulers - because they, in their turn don't want to look at facts, either. They'd realise what a pigs ear they've made of it and that would be just as bad for them - it might make them realise how stupid and unrealistic *they are, too.
No.
Lets all stick to the mantra of I'm Alright Jack - its not expedient any more to care about anyone else but oneself.
Its too complicated
And frankly, its too late for me to build a future anyway. I'm too old, and too tired and too ill to continually draw on any reserves of inner strength.
I ran out a long time ago
Discuss this Journal entry [1]
Latest reply: Oct 10, 2006
I don't this this much, either
Posted Sep 21, 2006
My word, what a little ray of sunshine I am to be sure
Life continues, I suppose. Well, a sort of life, anyway. I feel appaulingly ill most days, with the ususal chronic pain, spak hands, and and extra helpings of ouch during the nights, so I'm unable to sleep in order to convaless quicker; consequently I am beyond tired, beyond exhausted, and its hard to concentrate. Add to that the painkillers, which of necessity slow me down (morphine is a dis-assossiative) and you can add an extra helping of self frustration.
I cannent go back to swimming (which at least controls the pain to an extent) because the routine aberlation isn't quite a routine recovery, and internal sanitary protection is out of bounds till at least Novemeber. And I can't predict when I need it.
I'm not an unintellegient person. I know this of all things. But I can objectively see myself saying inane things and being unco-ordinated. So I'm appearing to outsiders as an aimiable idiot.
Which possibly I am, anyway. But I can be that quite happilly without pain, illness and mind buggeriung drugs, thank you.
The house is a tip but the jobs I want to do in it are physically beyond me.
Time Management and summoning up the impetus to *do what I can do is getting more and more difficult.
I've got the Council on my back hassling one way, and the DLA is conspicuous by its absence.
I'm dealing with all this - and most of the time, objectively, I can still see I'm coping pretty well.
Son number one is working all hours and is loaded down with the responsibilities *i should (as a mum and a more experienced adult) be doing. I hate watching him get thinner and more hard faced; it hurts to watch him realise so early on in his life that Life isn't fair, and see his increasing disillusionment at so young an age.
And son number two is worrying the life out of me for totally different reasens. It's like watching history repeat itself, and now, as then, I know there is absolutely nothing I can do to stop him from hurting himself further.
I've suspected for a while now he has a Problem. Now, whether its drink or drugs I'm not sure, but I know its an addiction problem. I can't prove anything, so I cannot confront him.... (I'd dredge up the energy to do that, from somewhere)
His more established friends have started to avoid him, and the ones that do phone or call round are not *good people; I don't judge them, and nor is it any of my business as to who he chooses as mates, but I know as sure as I know my name thses people are not beneficial to have around him. They don't get past the door with me.
He's moody, idle, manipulative and can be - if I let him get away with it - appaulingly unkind. To me especially (I'm a useless crip who's incapeable of doing much, and the rest of my life is nothing much to be proud of - apparently. And that's one of the the more objective comments. That boy knows how to hurt and demoralise)
He's equally scathing and unpeasant to his brother, too. But to what mates he has, he's Mr Party Time, Mr Nice.
And I know, this is the behaviour of an addict, just as his father was, and his grandfather before him. It isn't the behaviour of an immature teenager. I don't want to say that, or face it, but I HAVE said it, and I Am facing it, and I don't like how I feel about either action.
I've reared a House Devil/Street Angel after all.
And soon he's 18. An adult. No longer, legally, my responsibility.
Son number one - and the circle of friends I have (kind, decent people, softies like Sue, June, Sarah) have all come to the same conclusion - my little household will be better off, happier and less stressed without him in it.
And the shock of not having those he feels the most secure with giving him the choice of "Shape Up - or Ship Out" may jolt him into awareness that his anti social behaviour is unacceptable.
I suppose, indirectly I'm quietly wailing "Where did I go wrong with the lad?" But the short answer is, I don't think I have. I did my best, he was always treated as an individual, and he wasn't short of the love, care and interest I was capeable of giving. I don't think he can blame all his angst on me being ill/creaky.
It's a reasen to be angry and frustrated, but not an excuse to foul his own life up thru addiction.
But I am wailing inside, because we've given him a deadline...the deadline is looming fast, and he has made no attempt to reach out, to staocktake his life and make good decisions for his own well being (NOT ours, his)
And I will NOT enable him - that's not loving a child, that's indulging him.
So I have the unenviable task of saying "Go. You're 18, an adult, and your self made problems and outfall are unacceptable You have to take your own consequences for your own actions. Without me. And without your friends and familly, because you've alientated us from you"
And somewhere along the line I've got to find the inner strength to stick to my guns and go thru the whole performance of Tough Love again. Which is exactly what it says on the tin. Appearing and being tough. Feeling sorry for him, but NOT immediately jumping in and trying to remove the pain and misery he's going to feel. Watching him suffer (and the poror little sode *will suffer, I know that) and allowing him the time and space to work thru it on his own terms.
I have all the strength of a wet marshmallow nowadays. Doing the Tough Love route 18 years ago was hard enough. I don't know if I can do it again.
How the hell am I going to manage this?
Discuss this Journal entry [31]
Latest reply: Sep 21, 2006
Moving On
Researcher U226093
Write an Entry
"The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy is a wholly remarkable book. It has been compiled and recompiled many times and under many different editorships. It contains contributions from countless numbers of travellers and researchers."