A Quick thought part 2

So that (A Quick thought part 1) reminds me about the downside of my physical disability. Everybody has had "a bad back" too; so unless I go through the whole rigmarole each time explaining how the discs are crumbling away from the bottom up, (3 at the last count), and that arthritis is taking their place and compressing the spinal cord confusing the nerves and causing permanent Sciatica and various other complications that come and go; they think I'm talking about the way they feel after they've done a pile of ironing.

Before the DDD was diagnosed the same (not my current) GP who told me "be prepared not to work for a very long time" based on the whole range of my symptoms insisted on writing "Sciatica" on my medical certificates because that was the one thing he was sure of.

I remember a personnel officer phoning me and saying "Sciatica, I get that after I play tennis and it doesn't stop me working" I asked him if he also felt it from buttock to toe tips down both legs and whether this meant he had to stop after every third step and crouch down like a frog to get some relief. Perfect when you're walking around the supermarket and can pretend you are checking out the bottom shelf. Not so good when your holding up the post office Q or are afraid to overtake the little old lady with the shopping trolley who's moving marginally slower than you are because you doubt you have the acceleration and, even if you do, you will have to crouch as soon as you pass her and she will bang you with her trolley as she overtakes you tutting. And then the dilemma 15 minutes later when you catch her up again.

Anyway, the personnel officer thought I was describing something "much worse" than sciatica. When I told the Gp this he just wrote SCIATICA on the next certificate claiming the personnel officer should learn that sciatica of itself can be disabling. Without any further input from me he began to add "acute back pain" on subsequent certificates, this seemed to do the job for personnel but still drew me some weird looks from the worlds "bad backers" whenever I gave this as reason for not working.

Eventually I was told I might never walk unaided again and that I should give up work. As they could not offer a different prognosis whether I worked or I didn't I found a job (Lecturing in Further Education) that I would be able to do from a wheelchair if and when that day ever came.

It still has not come, but I was forced to cease working three years ago when, following the death of my Father, and other losses, I suffered my eighth episode of acute depression.

As I've been visited by depression approximately every five years of my adult life (and before that I believe) I had, especially with the Poggle's help, become quite good at handling it and had only needed medical intervention on three occasions. This time is very different and, probably because the background physical pain I suffer is recognised as a precipitating factor to depression in itself, I seem to be unable to shake of the depression or the medication or the anxiety or the inadequacy etc etc.

More of that later, I promised some poems. I wrote the following poem two years ago when my mobility became impaired to the point I was afraid to have a bath when there was no-one here (I live alone) in case I "fell in" or "fell out". I contacted Social Services from where the wonderful Jenny came up with the idea of the electric chair in the poem.

Freedom

With the freedom of a child re-grown Today I took a bath alone

Free from fear, without a care Into the tub with no-one there

I even reached my distant feet With the help of my new plastic seat

And with waste still running to the drain I filled it up and went again.

The plastic seat rides up and down (Not far enough for me to drown)

So I no longer need to shout For help to come and get me out

No more floundering like a big beached Whale I’m told my plastic seat can’t fail

It will refuse to take me down If it can’t get me up again.

I have forgotten, just can’t tell The last time that I felt this well

A time to reclaim some of the cost To happiness when skills are lost

Freedom to choose when to lie and soak With fags, the radio, Southern Comfort and Coke

To choose such moments on a whim Without needing to bring my loved ones in.

No more wondering how I smell I’ve not bathed, can others tell?

No more planning what to cook, specially fry So the smell doesn’t linger on me for days

No more need to stand in the pouring rain So I’ll feel properly clean again

And no more odour of sweaty feet I think I’ll like my plastic seat.

Sometimes I’d think back and I’d laugh At the child who so resisted baths

Oh Brian if you’d only known What awaited you once you had grown

But I’d think these thoughts with no regret I’d rather remember and feel, than hide and forget

And with my plastic ride I’ll have such fun Disability Nil, Brian One.

© Bri 2006