Instantly, I had butterflies and felt I was going to throw up!

I didn’t need to even open the envelope. I just knew from the distinctive dirty brown coloured envelope, the splotchy heavily inked print and the off-white paper, the type that somewhat resembled the yellow tinge of aged old paper that it was from the Dept. of Work and Pensions.

Immediately, I my stomach churned, my gut tightened and I felt I was about to throw up. A shiver ran down my spine and my limbs trembled, panicked that this was it, the dreaded time, I have been worrying about ever since the work assessments began and ill people were being deemed fit for work, of being told that I am being taken off incapacity benefit and income support and must be assessed to determine if I am deemed fit for work, deemed fit for work with support or remain in the category deemed too ill to work.

oh Shit!

oh Shit!

how can a one-off assessment suffice to determine the former when my condition varies so much? I can be able to function reasonably one minute but shortly after lying stretched out in agony, temporarily paralysed!

Part of me wants to leave it unopened, throw it in the bin and pretend I never received it. But, at the same time, I knew the dreaded thing was not going to go away, even if I discarded the curs’d envelope. I also fleetingly wondered but what if I’m panicking over nothing and like all the letters from the DWP I had received in past year or two it had nothing to do with the Capacity to Work Assessment. It could be just telling me the amount of money I would receive each week for the coming Tax year, from April.

Unable to feel in control, till I know what is in the letter, I open it by the front door as Mona removes my shoes for me. It is to be sure the curs’d letter I have been dreading. My heart sinks, as I continue to read, all the time feeling ever more panicked. I need to remind myself to take deep, slow breathes, to stave off hyperventilation and a full-blown panic attack.

Typical, I thought, all the dreaded assessments would come at the same time, when I find it almost impossible to cope mentally with one at a time, even. This Tuesday, 12th March 2013, I am to have my ILF and Social Services care review and  I am dreading being told they have down-graded my level of need and so would be getting less support and worst still, what is to happen come March 2015 when ILF is dissolved? And the capacity to work assessment people are to phone within the next two weeks to verify I am truly who I say I am,  before posting out a thesis of a form, I must fill in immediately asking about my disabilities. But how can a conversation down the telephone be proof enough of me being who I say I am?

Oh, how I sometimes wish I could vanish into thin air, leaving absolutely no trace that I ever did exist to begin with, leaving this world and breaking free of all its unfairness, the greedy rich getting ever richer, with no guilt felt that the poor are getting poorer to maintain their privileged life of greed for the selected few including our govrnment!

Advertisements

feeling like the naughty school kid

Wednesday 30/01/13 – always something

“shit!” I just realised I’d left the broken denture back at the flat when we were not far from the dentist’s. How could I be so stupid when the broken denture was the reason for this latest visit? This is what never-ending nerve pain does to your brain – before the pain I was the one who always remembered birthdays but now I forget the most trivial of things.

I had only had the denture fitted a few hours when I dropped it and it broke in two. I was furious with myself. How was it that I have such ’butter-fingers’? I am so quick to fault myself as though I have some form of inherent flaw when what’s to blame is the nerve pain, making my hands tremble as I feel I am being zapped with a tazor gun from the inside.

I sit for almost an hour in the dentist’s waiting room. The wooden benches attached around the walls, might look rather chic but are so dame uncomfortable even for those not already plagued with pain. No matter which way or how much I shift my position the pain I feel in my lower back and right buttock shooting down along the leg into my foot is screaming out at me. I don’t want to stand up even though that is likely to make the pain a tiny bit more bearable.

I daren’t do so, as standing when seats are available tends to attract attention, people urged to enquire as why I am standing. Many seem perplexed when I suggest standing is less painful. People generally believe sitting is a way of resting our weary bodies when tired, in pain or ill. My standing and yet needing a walking stick seems to make people feel uneasy and I start worrying whether they see me as a fraud or trying to act tough. Standing up in front of an empty chair, brings me back to the classroom, made to stand by the teacher for being naughty, if I can’t lean on the back of the chair or a wall, as is the case in my dentist’s waiting room.

I feel my eyes getting droopy and I have to fight the urge of toppling to the floor, having passed out with the pain. Why couldn’t lying be the default and not sitting, when it comes to taking the weight of our feet?

True enough I am only allowed to have the denture repaired on the NHS. Well at least I won’t need come back in person and can have someone drop the broken denture at the surgery to be sent off to the lab. I just hope where they glue it back together is not left with a rough surface as this will feel like sandpaper rubbing my gum due to the hypersensitivity caused by nerve pain.

I get home and have no choice but to lie down and try to sleep for a bit if I was not to pass out. The pain is so in my face I can’t sleep despite trying my hardess to focus on the heat of the wheat-bag I have against my lower back and buttock. I wish someone would hit a blow to my head with a sledge hammer and knock me out cold, only coming round when the pain is that bit more bearable and I have regained some energy to cope with my parasite!