it’s a yes from me

It’s a yes from me.


By this point, a week before the end of voting closes, I’m really kind of fed up of the whole thing. Actually, not ‘kind of’.. I am fed up. It’s exhausting experiencing all of the things that one is prompted to feel when seeing people energetically and eagerly supporting and encouraging others to support the Yes campaign, and it is exhausting and disheartening and frustrating experiencing all of the feels when you see some of the incredibly mean-spirited and outright false stuff that the No campaign are saying in their attempt to convince people that they’re right. Even more frustrating and incomprehensible is that people actually seem to believe some of the patently ludicrous stuff they are putting out there.

And while I want to hope that change will happen, I have waited for too long and seen too many people say and do cruel and damaging things to LGBTQI+ people and their allies for far too long to actually believe that it will. Seen too many times where it seems like a problem has an obviously better and more humanitarian solution and people keep choosing the other thing. See the reality that the government could have just fixed this without having to spend a fuckload of money on a non-compulsory, non-binding opinion poll that’s given all the people who hate gays the opportunity to shout their propaganda as loudly as they want and it’s fucking fine because it’s their opinion and they have a right to campaign for what they believe and you have to respect that. But they didn’t.

And actually, no. I don’t have to respect your opinion. I respect your equal right (somebody fetch Alanis) in our society to have and even express an opinion; that does not mean I must respect whatever opinion it is that you hold. There’s a big difference. Further to that, while I agree that you can have your opinion and even that you should be able to express it without fear of persecution, I don’t believe that your right to do it means that you should do it. If you can’t say something nice, don’t say nothing at all. Shortcomings in the rabbit’s grammar aside, isn’t this still a valuable lesson to hold and practise? Just because something is your opinion does not give it some kind of sacred status that absolves you of the basic obligation not to hurt other human beings with your words and/or actions, nor can you rebrand false information as an opinion to magically make it a truth. Lies are lies, there is no ambiguity about it. They are not “alternative facts” or “opinions,” and trying to claim that they are is clutching at straws trying to justify your lies in order that you don’t get called out for it.

But when it all comes down to it, I just simply do not understand why the prospect of two people who love each other being able to marry each other is such a threat to some. It changes exactly nothing about any other existing or future marriage or relationship, it only makes a difference to the (potential) spouses in question and their nearest and dearest. I saw one person claim that she was going to vote no because one of the reasons people were saying you should vote yes is because LGBTQI+ people and young ones especially were at significantly greater risk of experiencing depression or attempting suicide, but getting married is not going to change that so it’s really not a good reason to vote yes. How can a person be so willfully and blatantly disingenuous? Of course getting married is not a cure for mental health issues and no one is fucking claiming that it is. What it does do is helps to remove part of the reason people end up feeling that way in the first place, i.e. that they are continually shown that they and their relationships hold less value to the community than those of straight people.

Anyway. It’s not like I’m saying anything new or even unique. Millions of us feel the same way and millions of us have two more weeks to wait to see how this shitshow turns out. And then to see what the inept twats in our government are going to do with the outcome of this not-sticky shitshow. It’s such a festive time of year.

Here’s more I wrote earlier on the topic.

it’s a yes from me

it’s not just a step

A little while ago, various people in my facebook feed shared a link to a blog post called “It’s not just a step.” I related strongly to the post because I am constantly working to deal with hurdles that Stephanie encounters that other people write off as “just this” or “just that” yet at the same time I was feeling shocked and sad about how much worse it could be. Also wondering: have I ever been the cause of one of these unnecessary hurdles for a person who already has a lot to deal with? I like to think that I am in-tune and considerate, but I also know that I’m not perfect and can’t anticipate everything.

Actually, I have a problem sometimes with whether knowing if it’s appropriate to offer someone help. I don’t like to assume that I should just automatically intervene if I see someone with a walking stick or wheelchair or walker who is attempting to do something and clearly having difficulty. They might not want help. They may be glad of the struggle because it lets them know they have achieved something. OR, they could be struggling and just fucking wishing that SOMEONE around them would be a decent human being and throw them a fricking bone. Of course, I’m not going to do the logical thing and ask, because that would mean talking to a stranger and, well, everyone has their weaknesses.

But that’s not what I was going to write today. Inspired by the Rusty Hoe, I wanted to share some of the “just a step” situations that I’ve come across since this adventure started, because I truly believe that people just do not realise that a rare and inconsequential encounter for them – the fully-able person – is neither rare nor inconsequential from the other side of the coin.

So it’s a million things, a billion things, things that you have to consider when your legs don’t work like they used to before. Before Stephanie had the walker, she used crutches, but they weren’t ideal because it made it very difficult for her to carry her bag and stuff too and of course they inevitably made her armpits and arms and back hurt as well. So I came up with the idea of getting the wheely walker thing. She was very resistant at first. Because she’s not old. Because people would laugh at her. It’s not just able people who can hold unfair perceptions of what is and isn’t an appropriate use for a particular device. Anyway. She grudgingly agreed to give it a try, and I found one on gumtree that was a bargain and we got it.

I think that one of the big motivating factors in her agreeing to try it was TATINOF. Almost from the moment they announced the tour dates for Australia, which I think was in June, I had been planning and thinking and figuring out the best way to make it happen. We knew crutches would be incredibly awkward, not to mention she didn’t have great stamina with them. A person from QPAC ended up working with me and giving me lots of information to ensure that the whole show and meet-and-greet experience would go as smoothly as possible and be as not-difficult as possible given the limitations of a person who can’t walk very far or fast, can’t have her legs come into contact with anything and has a walking device. Seeing Stephanie on the day that I took her, Brie and Lizzie to see TATINOF was amazing, but also so heartbreaking. She was so happy, energetic and excitable, chatting and laughing and being silly with her friends. She was Stephanie. And seeing her like that was a glaring reminder of how much she has become dulled by the pain experience, by the struggles, by the constant fight to be considered on an equal basis with everyone else around her. I knew that she had changed, but it happened gradually and I don’t think I realised just how much until I saw this glimpse of the old, loud, vibrant and present Stephanie that the TATINOF show bought out. So I think I love Dan and Phil almost as much as she does now, because they were able to give that back to her if even just for a short while.

The success of using the walker there gave her more confidence to use it for school. And it’s made a huge difference. Where before she could barely attend because it was simply impossible for her to carry all of her belongings while using the crutches to keep herself stable, she now had something that helped her but did not just transfer the fatigue to a different part of her body and it also came with a built in basket which solved the problem of her books and stuff.

But it bought problems of it’s own. Suddenly every classroom that has steps to enter it, or a lip in the door way, or doors that close automatically became a new challenge to figure out. Dicks who questioned the need for her to use the crutches (because the only valid reason, ever, for using crutches is a break or sprain) instead switched to asking if they can have a ride on the walker, or calling her a Grandma. When she started using the walker, we talked with the school and some of her classes were moved to different classrooms to make them more accessible for her. Her form class (roll check) in the mornings was not moved though, and the solution for that “so it’s easier for Stephanie” was to have her not be required to attend form class and instead sign in at the office each morning. And in some ways, it is easier for her. But other times it’s a real pain because they like to hand out information and notices and other stuff in form class. While she has access to notices in the office which are there for late starters, there are other things that she does miss out on, for example her school photos. It is just given that they are handed out in form class, and so she had to seek out the teacher in order to get hers.

So, the walker, it wasn’t just a solution that fixed a problem. It fixed immediate problems for Stephanie but we’ve encountered and no doubt will continue to encounter more situations where people just fail to consider how things are difficult for a person who isn’t ambulating typically. Sometimes, even when you anticipate the problem and seek to take action before it happens, people just don’t. Earlier in the year the students of Stephanie’s grade participated in a First Aid course. Some of her friends, being in earlier classes than her, talked about it and mentioned how it was held in a demountable classroom (they typically have a number of stairs leading to the door) and how they had to kneel on the floor for it. So she made sure to seek out her teacher and say, “Hey, I know this is coming up for our class, and these things are going to be a problem for me but it could be fixed by changing the classroom and asking if it would be alright for me to use the dummy on a table rather than the floor. Can you please look into that?” So the teacher agreed but of course when the day arrived and everyone else went in to do the First Aid lessons, Stephanie was told to go to the library instead.

This one wasn’t just an inconvenience. This was an outright exclusion because they could not be bothered to take a few simple steps to remedy the issues. We had words with the Deputy Principal about this who was very apologetic and assured us that Stephanie would be able to do the First Aid course still, since there were still some classes who had not had their turn. But guess what? She never got to do it. It’s something she is interested in, would have enjoyed and is directly relevant to her hopes for further education and careers, but it was too hard for them to take a couple of minutes to plan ahead so she wouldn’t be left out and sent to the library like a naughty kid on detention.

We are not unreasonable people and we understand that there are things that she’s going to be unable to do because of this shitshow that is chronic pain. But there’s one point, the ideal world, if you will (short of that one where you could just not be in pain) where whenever events or activities out of the norm occur, the person in charge makes the effort to approach Stephanie and say, “This is what’s involved. What here is going to be a problem for you and what can I reasonably adjust to make it easier?” And then they do it. There’s a huge, gigantic, gaping space between that place and the one that is the actual reality.

In this one, sometimes when Stephanie wants to participate in an activity, other people decide for her that it’s going to be too hard for her to do and that she shouldn’t attend for her own well-being. (It was a Leadership Skills day. Of course everyone knows that all leadership skills involve a lot of intense physical activity.) And then, later in the year when she presents to submit her application for a leadership position, tell her she isn’t really eligible to apply since she didn’t attend the Skills Day.

It’s also the incongruity of one week, having to demand that your daughter not be excluded from a list of students who have earned a particular privilege and then the next week receiving a letter inviting you to attend the school’s Award Night where your highly achieving child will get an award. While from the school’s end of things the first incident may take just a minute to fix and be a simple mistake, when you are on the receiving end of such “oversights” and must constantly seek people out to remind them that you’re here and as worthy of consideration as anyone else, it’s fucking tiresome.

It’s the hours of discussions and reflections that both Stephanie and I did regarding an overnight excursion that her biology class recently took. It was a field trip to examine a particular environment, which happened to be beachy/dunes/hilly/rocky. Definitely not something where she could use the walker. While she has been taking steps to decrease her need to rely on the walker, it’s a slow process and we ultimately decided that the combined effect of the travel, the overnight in a different location without someone familiar with her situation, the prospect of trying to move around in an uneven environment while trying to make observations and take notes was just not something that is within her ability at the moment and presented more of a risk that she’d harm herself further. We talked about this a lot. We tried to think up lots of scenarios and considered how they would affect her. In the past students that haven’t gone, for whatever reason, have still been able to complete the overall project by getting a copy of the data collected from a friend who did go. After our deliberations, Stephanie told her teacher the conclusion we came to and yet the teacher still pressured her to attend the trip, saying things like “you won’t get any special consideration or allowances for your project if you don’t attend” and “you really should reconsider coming, it’s a very valuable trip to go on.” Well, first, she didn’t ask for any special consideration. And second, by suggesting that Stephanie could “reconsider” and change her mind and go anyway, the teacher is basically implying that all of the factors that we carefully and thoroughly weighed up are irrelevant and inconsequential and that it was a choice made for convenience rather than one made after measured consideration.

It’s the people who see her moving slowly and deliberately with the help of her walker and then step right in front of her at the last moment, or those who make no effort to adjust their own trajectory so that she doesn’t have to change hers. I know that someone with a walker or a wheelchair or even a pram has no more “right” to have someone give way to them than any other person, but what about fucking manners? Respect? If you can do something easily that it’s obvious will take considerably more effort for someone else.. you should do it. You know, be a human fucking being. Don’t act insulted and aggrieved because she politely asked you to move your chair a bit for her to get past.

It’s the people that you see casually observing their surroundings and the people around them. Their eyes slide over Stephanie and then a second later, they slide back. What is this young person doing with a walker? Aren’t disabilities meant to be limited to the old and infirm? Had better carefully examine her to try to figure out this mystery. Subtlety? What’s that?

It is sitting in your school assembly and listening to your school’s principal tell the student body that if they do not make enough effort to be active and keep themselves fit, one day they may find that their bodies betray them and they could be forced to use a wheelchair or a wheely walker. Because, without exception, every person who uses one of these devices uses it only because they did not do enough to keep themselves a well-oiled, perfectly functioning machine. So if that happens to you, you’ll have only yourself to blame. (Side note: this one was so fucking blatant that even Abigail came home that day and expressed shock and outrage that she would make these statements. While we are able to exclude the other two kids from many aspects of this whole business, in order that they can just be themselves and be kids, even she could immediately identify that speaking like that was fallacious and insulting.)

It’s having people say things like “I wish I got a special parking spot” or “I wish I didn’t have to go to Swimming Carnival” without really considering what the price you have paid to receive those accommodations is. Don’t they think that if it was as simple as a choice between being allowed to use a dedicated parking space or not being in pain all the time and having the freedom to move about as whim dictated, most people would happily give up their access to disabled parking?

It’s about hoping that a new test will show something, anything that a doctor can look at and recognise and identify as a known condition with a treatment that has a good chance of a positive outcome. And being disappointed when yet again the answer is no. It’s when people ask what is wrong with you/your daughter and you think that finally, here is someone willing to make an effort to understand. But as soon as you say “the doctors don’t really know” an invisible curtain drops across their face. So absolute is the trust of health-fortunate people in the medical profession that they assume that if the doctors can’t find a proper explanation for your symptoms, the reason must be because you’re a big fucking hypochondriac.

It’s having to be the asshole when your daughter doesn’t want to go to school because she can’t stand the idea of yet another teacher bitching or nagging at her because of something related to her condition. It’s having to agree that no, it isn’t fair, but also having to remind her that they don’t lose anything if she chooses not to put herself in their firing line – she does. It’s having to say, some mornings, that you know she is hurting but she needs to try anyway. It’s having to listen to the disdain and scepticism in an office lady’s voice when she rings you up to ask you to come and pick up your daughter because she has “sore legs.” It’s going, sometimes, to pick your daughter up from school early because someone did something without thinking which resulted in a ball or a chair or a desk being pushed into her legs, and she’s in so much pain she she literally cannot stand, and you have to lift her into an upright position and support her all the way out to the car while biting your tongue and digging your nails into your palm as hard as you can so you have something to focus on to stop you from losing control and breaking into ugly crying in public.

It’s pointing out when people are behaving insensitively and getting a blasé non-response that minimises and invalidates the point you were trying to make and makes you wonder if there is any compassion or caring left in the world at all.

it’s not just a step


I feel like I am getting very boring. All I seem to talk about is me being depressed and anxious or me being in pain or Stephanie being in pain. On the one hand, those things do take a lot of my attention. I don’t know if I ever wrote it, but she got examined and tested with a bunch of shit from the Endocrinology Clinic at the Children’s Hospital but they could not figure anything out. The doctor was actually really, really fucking awesome and even though he did not do anything in terms of making progress in figuring out this problem, he was kind and compassionate and explained everything and was pretty much the complete opposite of Dr. Douche. (Who actually blocked Stephanie from being re-assessed by the Pain Clinic, despite the request from the Endocrine people, because he had decided a year ago that it was just all in her head.) In the end, what it boiled down to, though, was that although she has a variety of tests that have some results that are not quite normal, when put together they do not fit with any condition that they know about or are able to treat. So, yes. She has something, and there IS physical evidence that supports my continued assertion that it is NOT “just” a somatic disorder.. but it’s either so rare or such an unusual presentation that they can’t do anything about it.

So I was disappointed with that outcome but not angry at the man. We like to think that with modern medicine, anything is possible but I am smart enough to know that it is not. However as a mother I can’t just accept “we don’t have answers at this point in time” as an outcome that is satisfactory in terms of my daughter’s well-being. So I feel like the weight of figuring out this problem is pretty much resting on me, now. All the ways in which I am not qualified to research and theorise and hypothesise are constantly running through my mind. I think about everything Stephanie has ever said or mentioned or complained about and try to decide if it is relevant or if it was a random one-off. The thing is.. just about every possible combination of symptoms I try comes back with the same single result: CRPS. And we’ve been told in no uncertain terms that it’s not that. Very difficult situation.

Anyway, that’s not exactly where I was going. After the being told that it isn’t CRPS, Stephanie was referred to the Youth Mental Health people because Dr. Douche said it was somatic. She’s been going there nearly a year now and there’s not been any improvement in her symptoms. One problem is that she was referred to the psychiatrist registrar and they work on six month rotations. So she just started to make some progress and the person she was seeing got sent to Logan instead. Now we are soon going to have the same thing with the new person they had. So he’s suggested moving her to psychologist care instead because they are permanently based there instead of rotating all the time. In the process of setting up for this transition he asked her to consider a couple of questions.

1) What does she see when she thinks about the concept of “being well?” (Given that the basic idea of this and any other treatment is to “make her well.”)
2) Who is she, what is her identity separately from the illness? What are the other things that define her, and how can we get those back to front and centre rather than the limitations of this pain being the focal point of Stephanie?

And I’ve not always been really keen on this guy. I loved the lady she had before him. I don’t think he’s bad at his job, I just think he’s not necessarily the best fit for Stephanie. Unfortunately we don’t get to pick and choose in the public health system. But these questions.. I think they’re so important. For everybody, maybe. Right now, especially for Stephanie. And I thought that they could be worth revisiting for myself too.

The other day the girls had a bit of a disagreement about someone going to get something that had been left in the car. Abigail refused because she said “it’s not like you’re sick or something.” To Stephanie. Stephanie got offended and slowly clomped down the stairs muttering about how she IS sick. That was interesting to me. I’ve come to view “being sick” as an entirely different thing to being “in pain” or “having a chronic condition.” I’m not sick. But it’s not really accurate to say that I’m entirely well, either. I’m always working uphill against the clouds in my mind and the limitations of my not-straight spine. (Gay spine. Curved, like a rainbow. Oh, the lolz.) If I really consider “sickness” I tend to see it as something transient, non-permanent. You can and do recover from being sick, reasonably easily, usually. I’m not injured, either. Injuries also heal. Some faster than others, but they heal. And it sounds kind of silly to say this but I didn’t think of myself as having a chronic condition, really, until I started having to process a lot of information and thoughts to do with what is happening with Stephanie. I knew I had a rare condition. I’d never given thought to the true meaning of the word “chronic” though.. because it gets used, I think, to mean “severe.” A bad, serious condition. But chronic is ultimately derived from a greek word χρόνος / khrónos which is referring to time, not intensity or severity. It does happen that a lot of people have chronic conditions that are serious and dangerous if not fully managed. But you can also have a chronic condition that can be of lower impact on your life. Or, as for me, one that is becoming worse as I get older.

This entry has been a casualty of blogus interruptus, which is an ancient Latin term meaning 'life got in the way.'


naughty crazy

Last time I had to go to the doctor for new prescriptions I also asked him for a Mental Health Care Plan so that I can get some more mental health. I suppose that being a person that thinks all the time has it’s good points and bad points. Probably being a thinker is not necessarily good in terms of mental health. But I have always been a thinker, even before I remember being depressed and anxious. One good thing though is that in having such a constant variety of thought threads in my mind, inevitably sometimes they are considering the hows and whys of me. And this has allowed me to identify some stuff that is harmful and not helpful. Things I did not necessarily make connections about before. I don’t know if it’s “repressing stuff” or if it just took that long for me to figure shit out. But either way, having identified that certain things have left me damaged in ways that I don’t necessarily have to be, I was able to work myself towards seeking some help to deal with that shit.

It’s the working towards things that’s the hard part. The first was asking for the MHCP. The doctor told me to take it to a place called headspace. I’ve heard of it before, seen ads maybe. it took me a few weeks to build up to ringing them up. So I explained that I had the Care Plan and I wanted to see someone and the lady made an appointment and then started taking some of my personal details for their records. And that was where it went wrong. Because she asked my date of birth and when I told her she informed me that I could not go there to get help because I am too old. They only deal with people between 18 and 25 years old.

Because you should have your fucking shit sorted out by the time you’re 36, you crazy bitch.

Well. That fucked shit right up and I went back to zero. Negative zero. It was a problem and I had worked up to the immense effort required in reaching out and basically walked into a solid wall. I still had the plan but I did not know if I could use it somewhere else or if I had to go back to the doctor and get another one. I did not know where else I potentially could use it. I did not have the energy to figure these things out. So it was on my desk. Waiting. Existing.

I don’t know how long it was, but I had to take one of the kids to the doctor for something. And by some miracle of celestial alignment, magnetic fields, tea leaves and atmospheric pressure.. I was able to casually ask him, on the way out. “Hey, that thing you wrote me last time. They didn’t want me. Can I try somewhere else or do I need to get a new one?” And he told me I could just take it somewhere else.

So my somewhere else was the Adult side of the place that Stephanie got referred to after she was de-diagnosed with CRPS. It took me time, again. To work up to the asking. I had the paper in my bag lots of times we went there. Until I decided I was definitely going to ask this time. Last week. And I told Stephanie, so that I would have to do it. So at the reception I said I had the MHCP and referral from my doctor, what was the process for getting uncrazified? Well they didn’t even fucking know what to do. Could not quite wrap their minds around the fact that I had the referral from the doctor rather than the doctor having sent it straight to them. They searched for me in their computer. Shockingly, there was no referral in it. That’s because I’m crazy, not a fucking dimwit. It was so unprecedented a situation that they had to all ask each other what to do and then call the assessment team to ask them what to do. Eventually they told me to wait and I waited and after a while a guy came and asked me to go in so he could have me explain all of my various issues. It sounds so simple to say that but it isn’t. It’s really fucking hard. Feeling and living things is hard enough. When you’re just trying to push it away far enough that you can manage to get through each day. When you actually have to grasp it and hang onto it and look at it and touch it enough to be able to articulate it to someone else. It hurts. It is exhausting. It is worse than being naked. It is worse than getting a pap smear. And a mammogram.

So he took notes and asked questions. And then explained that they have their group meeting conference things where they discuss each person who has come into the service so that they can decide the best way to help them. But he also gave me a list of psychiatrists and psychologists who bulk-bill or take the MHCP things. And he told me that someone would contact me on Thursday after they’d had the meeting. Come Thursday, 14:30. On my way to pick Kristian up from school. Phone rings. You would think that university educated people would be smart enough to think that two thirty in the fucking afternoon is not the best time to call a person that you know has kids. So I didn’t answer, because that is illegal. And they call from private numbers so it’s not like I could have called back. Even if it wasn’t a private number I probably wouldn’t call back anyway, ’cause, you know, crazy. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do then. Were they going to call me again or was that the end of it? How long should I wonder and worry about this for?

A bit over a day. Friday, quarter past five. Some lady calls. Wants to check on me and see how I am going since I saw the guy the other day. I fucking said I was fine, because what the fucking fuck does she think I am going to say? YOU ALREADY KNOW THAT I AM NOT FINE AND I AM TRYING TO ASK FOR HELP TO BE CLOSER TO ACTUALLY BEING FINE. So she asks if I have made an appointment with one of the people from the list the guy gave me. I said no and she basically started interrogating me as to why not. Um, because I didn’t know I was supposed to? Because he said that they were going to talk and decide what the best plan for me was and then let me know? She huffed and sighed in a really exasperated way and asked if I could do it by Monday, then. Stupidly, I was honest and said I didn’t know. More sighing, wanting to know why. And that’s where I got kind of pissed off and exploded a bit and said that it’s not exactly EASY to do this you know, and it’s especially hard given the fact that you’re now the second place that has told me that you can’t/won’t help me because I don’t fit in your fucking niche target demographic of crazy people. I didn’t actually swear at her. And I didn’t use the word “crazy” because people tend to frown on it. She didn’t have anything to say to that really. She asked me when I had first seen my GP, to get the plan. I’m like, WTF, IDK, relevance? May, I think. May? Sighing and huffing. Well, you really need to make an appointment with one of those people and I will call you on Monday to make sure you have done it.

Because treating you like a delinquent toddler is a long established, effective technique to get results in the field of mental health.

So I had to stop this so I could have some lunch, go to the supermarket and pick people up from school. This cow rang as we were leaving the shops. It fucking blows my mind that these people can work in mental health and yet be so brusque and pushy. Well, you know, ANYONE working in health care should be qualified with a big load of compassion and caring, but especially so when you’re in the specific field of working with thoughts and emotions. I told her I’d sent an email inquiry to a psychologist, and she was clearly not happy with that because email. I hadn’t had a response at that stage. So she said she would call back again at 4 to check if I had. Thank fucking fuck she didn’t. I don’t like to be rude to people. I am good at being mad and swearing about people in private but I don’t actually often do it to their face because it’s rude. But there does reach a certain point where it’s just really fucking difficult to keep using manners and being nice when you aren’t getting that same consideration. And I’m seriously fucking confused at the modus operandi here. Like. We don’t want to treat you, but we will nag and berate you until you find somewhere else that will.

Turned out the one I emailed doesn’t do bulk billing despite it coming up for one of the names off the list and that person being mentioned on their website. In the end I gave up and asked Daniel to call one of the numbers for me. Their appointment making person was already gone (don’t know who was answering the phone, then) so they have to call him back tomorrow.

naughty crazy

unexpected things 

It is the unexpected things that really hit me hard. I started this out thinking I was just saying something about my body and muscles and bones but I realised that it really kind of applies to my mind as well. But anyway. Yesterday I did a thing, which ai thought was a productive thing to do on a Saturday afternoon, and instead it turned out to be a stupidly ill advised thing which I am still paying for more than 24 hours later. The thing was washing some windows. A while back we got one of those things you attach to the hose to wash windows but we didn’t get around to doing it and I took my curtains down to wash and noticed the windows were a bit dirty so I thought I would do that. In hindsight, I can see exactly how it was a bad idea. Second storey windows means holding the bottle of stuff with the hose up high over your head to aim it at the windows and then continuinung to hold the hose up in order to rinse it all. Anything that involves uneven usage between the sides of my body is a big mistake. Strangely enough, though it is often the case, the muscles protesting in tightly knotted pain are the ones up and down the left side of me, but it was my right hand and arm I was using to do the window washing.

But obviously I did not have the benefit of the hindsight before I did this and it seems like such a simple and innocuous task to do, not one that will leave you in such pain that you look at yourself in the mirror as you are washing your hands after going to the toilet and find yourself thinking about people with the “suicide disease” and wondering if this is how they  (Because the connected muscles have tensed up all the was from below my scapula, up through my neck, across my scalp and down into my cheek.) I know that this will settle down in a couple of days, though unfortunately I know it will also happen again despite my best efforts to not do wonky things. Sometimes it just happens with no apparent triggering activity. Sometimes it’s not my back-shoulders-neck-head-face but the muscles right in the lower back and around my hips. This seems pretty common from what people say in a fb group I joined. Also from that group I have come to the conclusion that as shite as I sometimes feel, what I am experiencing is quite mild compared to many others. Sometimes people share the x-rays and MRI pictures of their spines, and some of them are really fucking horrifying. And this is all for a condition that many sources still list as causing little to no pain. And lots of doctors are telling people they shouldn’t be in pain from Scheuermann’s Disease and essentially telling them that they are wasting time. How any somewhat sane person could look at the imaging of these bones and expect a person should have no health deficit due to their condition is beyond me. In one that I saw, the lady’s spine was so curved that it was almost U shaped. 

I feel like I shouldn’t be complaining when there are people worse off than me. Though logically I know that the suffering of others does not negate mine, there’s that entrenched mindset we have been taught that we should not complain about our lot if there would be people who’d be happy to take it on because of how much of an improvement it would be for them. Only the poorest and sickest can ever feel sorry for themselves. The rest of us should just be grateful because “it could be worse.” Like those two things must be mutually exclusive. I am glad that I’m not more curved but that doesn’t mean I don’t imagine what it would be like to have a spine that holds you up the way it is supposed to, doesn’t make you look like a freak, and muscles that are not so over-tired that it takes very little to make them knot up.

unexpected things