We're starting to laugh at this now (well, I am), but The Girl and I have just had one hell of a twenty-four hours...
We had somehow managed to fit in getting me to church, having lunch with a friend of hers and then going to see my baby niece (aww, Flo), even though neither of us was feeling very good - migraines abound in this house at the moment - if one of us doesn't have one, the other will. Anyway, we had been at my sister's (in Reading - an hour-and-a-half's drive away) for a while and were thinking about heading home, when TG started going funny colours. She suggested that we got out of there quick as she was having signs of a bad tummy bug. We set off, and made it five minutes down the road - where, fortunately, there was a hotel - before there was puking in the car park of a very nice establishment. We persuaded them to give us a room - they weren't keen on the idea, for some reason - which was fortunate, as she needed to be near a toilet for the next sixteen hours.
On account of not getting much sleep (although I got a lot more than TG did), I woke up at quarter to nine this morning and realised I really wasn't going to make it into work for 9.30, especially since TG was still very unwell, and I wasn't feeling great. (But work is a whole other issue that I may ask for advice on sometime. It is not going all that well. Hmph.) So I called in sick - third time in two months. I then rang NHS Direct, who gave us the excellent advice of giving TG some Migraleve, the anti-nausea ingredient allowing her to drive us home before she was bedridden again. Neither of us is likely to be leaving bed again today, which is a bit of a problem as I told my PA not to come (on account of how we weren't at home) - the flat looks like a bomb hit it, I doubt we're going to get any dinner, and it's taking all my energy just to make sure we both have enough water. If I could be bothered to explain things to my flatmate I'm sure she'd help, but I seriously don't feel up to talking, TG even less so. Tomorrow I have a care review from my social worker (ha ha - at least he'll see what things look like around here when it all goes very wrong), followed by a visit from the community physiotherapist who is assessing me for crutches etc (because I really can't walk anywhere at the moment. At least I can give them a solid reason *why* now. Might help). I may be too tired for either. We shall see.
Some better things that have gone on recently:
- At my Disability Living Allowance tribunal I was awarded higher rate care, and my higher rate mobility was confirmed. This was something of a shock which I am still getting over, but I'm awfully pleased. The back-pay will go a long way towards helping me to afford to do a course next year. (I'm thinking of doing an MA - yes, another one - in either Equality and Diversity or Disability Studies. In Leeds, where they do these things. It's something I've wanted to do since about 1997 but never got round to. And it's not like I'm interrupting a stunning career at the moment, or anything.)
- I have a fabulous new wheelchair. She is called Luna (we went through about seven Harry Potter names before settling on that). I can't use her completely independently, but because she's very good (and was quite expensive), I can get a lot further in her than I thought I'd be able to in a manual. The terrible evil that is Access to Work bought her for me. I'm still trying to decide if that makes up for the ongoing, utterly appalling levels of stress that organization is putting me through. I'm not sure.
Does anyone on my f-list know of anyone who might want to help me out next week while my PA is on holiday? (I, being deathly afraid of care agencies after the last time, have not bothered to register with one. Hmm.) There are eight hours of work available over as many days, and it's quite straightforward stuff like helping me with shopping. £10 an hour (negotiable if I get desperate. Heh).
Right, I'll stop rambling now.
We had somehow managed to fit in getting me to church, having lunch with a friend of hers and then going to see my baby niece (aww, Flo), even though neither of us was feeling very good - migraines abound in this house at the moment - if one of us doesn't have one, the other will. Anyway, we had been at my sister's (in Reading - an hour-and-a-half's drive away) for a while and were thinking about heading home, when TG started going funny colours. She suggested that we got out of there quick as she was having signs of a bad tummy bug. We set off, and made it five minutes down the road - where, fortunately, there was a hotel - before there was puking in the car park of a very nice establishment. We persuaded them to give us a room - they weren't keen on the idea, for some reason - which was fortunate, as she needed to be near a toilet for the next sixteen hours.
On account of not getting much sleep (although I got a lot more than TG did), I woke up at quarter to nine this morning and realised I really wasn't going to make it into work for 9.30, especially since TG was still very unwell, and I wasn't feeling great. (But work is a whole other issue that I may ask for advice on sometime. It is not going all that well. Hmph.) So I called in sick - third time in two months. I then rang NHS Direct, who gave us the excellent advice of giving TG some Migraleve, the anti-nausea ingredient allowing her to drive us home before she was bedridden again. Neither of us is likely to be leaving bed again today, which is a bit of a problem as I told my PA not to come (on account of how we weren't at home) - the flat looks like a bomb hit it, I doubt we're going to get any dinner, and it's taking all my energy just to make sure we both have enough water. If I could be bothered to explain things to my flatmate I'm sure she'd help, but I seriously don't feel up to talking, TG even less so. Tomorrow I have a care review from my social worker (ha ha - at least he'll see what things look like around here when it all goes very wrong), followed by a visit from the community physiotherapist who is assessing me for crutches etc (because I really can't walk anywhere at the moment. At least I can give them a solid reason *why* now. Might help). I may be too tired for either. We shall see.
Some better things that have gone on recently:
- At my Disability Living Allowance tribunal I was awarded higher rate care, and my higher rate mobility was confirmed. This was something of a shock which I am still getting over, but I'm awfully pleased. The back-pay will go a long way towards helping me to afford to do a course next year. (I'm thinking of doing an MA - yes, another one - in either Equality and Diversity or Disability Studies. In Leeds, where they do these things. It's something I've wanted to do since about 1997 but never got round to. And it's not like I'm interrupting a stunning career at the moment, or anything.)
- I have a fabulous new wheelchair. She is called Luna (we went through about seven Harry Potter names before settling on that). I can't use her completely independently, but because she's very good (and was quite expensive), I can get a lot further in her than I thought I'd be able to in a manual. The terrible evil that is Access to Work bought her for me. I'm still trying to decide if that makes up for the ongoing, utterly appalling levels of stress that organization is putting me through. I'm not sure.
Does anyone on my f-list know of anyone who might want to help me out next week while my PA is on holiday? (I, being deathly afraid of care agencies after the last time, have not bothered to register with one. Hmm.) There are eight hours of work available over as many days, and it's quite straightforward stuff like helping me with shopping. £10 an hour (negotiable if I get desperate. Heh).
Right, I'll stop rambling now.
feeling:
ugh.
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