The One With...

How a society treats its disabled is the true measure of a civilization.

My dad is disabled. I've only become more open about this in the last few years.
For a long while I just didn't see anything was different. Then one of the first people I talked to about it made horrible comments so it became something I didn't mention.

Dads disability was a hidden one for many years. I suppose in a way it still is. He has never had a real, solid diagnosis and we're coming up to twelve years. Can you imagine that? Being in pain day in, day out for 12 years. I live with him and some days I can't even believe he can stand it. We've had doctors tell him that it's this, it's that and most insultingly "it's all in his head" and my mother panders to him and makes it worse. Now they play with his medication, sign it off and he's on his way. The doctors he's seen have reached the consensus that they can't figure it out so from now on the best they will do is try to help with the pain.

Pain pills is the biggest argument inducing headache of the household. It's not unusual to be summoned just to be asked "have I taken my pills today?" "err yes." "shit." He's on so much medication that there are times when I think that if you shook him he'd rattle but it's the pill changes that are the worst.
The mixture kills his appetite stone dead which after all this time we're quite used to. However guests are not. Going out to eat is just a nightmare. He'll either order and barely touch it, eat like he's been starved or not order at all. The first time we went out with a friend he decided not to order and go for a wander instead, this obviously confused our guest so she asked if he was eating. My response of "No, he can have a bourbon biscuit or two later" didn't help matters. His diet does consist of bourbons, sausage rolls, oat and raisin cookies and beans. I've met toddlers that eat more.

Going out is a stress anyway. The last bonding experience we had was seeing batman at the cinema. We have to do reccie's for comfort before handing over money otherwise we'd be leaving half way through. Many mainstream cinemas have stairs and uncomfortable seats so finding a local cinema with sofas was a godsend.  He still ended up stood up at the side inevitably being mistaken for an employee.

I'm still proud of him. I don't know anyone else who endures that kind of pain on a daily basis. This is why the governments overhaul of the benefits system upsets me quite so much. Unless you are disabled or live with someone who is, you don't know the power of "The Brown Envelope" which contains the dreaded ATOS form or an invite to one of their follow up interviews. As I mentioned Dad is never getting better, well baring a miracle or divine intervention, however they don't see it that way. He's been called for the interview/examination twice already this year. It's not a quick, clean and easy process. You get the initial letter, have to fill in quite a probing form, send it off and wait. There is a lot of waiting. In this time, people who don't know you from a stranger in the street are deciding your fate, deciding whether to give you your lifeline, the money keeping you afloat, the money that buys you necessities or in our case, the money that pays for the hundreds of pills he needs to get through the week.

Finally, a little story. I was once hailed a cab and got in, I mentioned I couldn't find the seat belt and the driver couldn't leave until I had it on. "No, the cabbie said, I wouldn't want that incase we have an accident and you end up like one of those cripples. I think they should all be shot. I mean, what good are they doing for the world." He seemed surprised when I unbuckled my belt, told him that my father was disabled and that he most definitely deserved to be alive because me and my family loved and wanted him there and got out. This moment is seared into my memory. A lot needs to be done to change god-awful opinions like his and I think that the paralympics has started to see a shift in attitude. I just hope that it continues.

Our dead are never dead to us, until we have forgotten them.

The elderly of our family seem to die in groups, usually on someones birthday.

I lost my grandmother only a few months ago and it was one of the worst times of my life as we were particularly close. I still catch myself thinking about her as if she's alive.

Granddad died today, on my mothers birthday. He wasn't a very stable influence, coming in and out of our lives on a whim and upsetting Nan. It's hard to mourn for someone you barely knew.

I'm not great at funerals.It's a mix of an avid dislike of crying and my fondness for that slightly dark humour that is generally disapproved of.

My grandmother died after a long battle with cancer and other diseases. Her funeral was a grand two day affair so whilst at The Job From Hell I needed to request these two days off. Most of my bosses were confused as to why I needed both days. I do not recommend using the phrase "Well, she hung around for ages after she was told she was meant to die. We thought we might as well eke out the funeral too" Apparently you get a reputation for being heartless. (I'm not, she would've thoroughly appreciated the sentiment)

In my household death inevitably leads to a discussion on how we'd like to be buried. The general consensus  is that my family are not the type to be buried.
Mum wants to be cremated. There's a dress code but it's not just any dress code. She's amending her will to add that I must rock at least 4" leopard print stilettos even if I'm 80.
Dad informed us as a family he would like to be burn above a bonfire that every guest brings a log to help build. Most people assume this means at a stake like a witch. You'd be wrong; he would like to be strapped to a rocking chair with a device that makes his arm wave. He better start an AXA fund now.

I have terrible luck with job interviews, I hope it's not me, but it's possible.

Since my departure from the Job From Hell I have been doing pretty well getting job interviews which in itself is good. However, I have been getting some very odd people on the other end of the phone.
A few weeks a go I missed a call from a very nice man so I thought I'd give him a ring on the way to my bus.
First mistake.
We were just getting into the important details when he suddenly says
"Are you on a tractor?"
cue stunned silence.
"Errm, no, why?"
"Oh, I thought that was how people from the country got around"
Odd comment aside, I barreled on ahead like a trooper. We got past the normal questions and he asked me about my hobbies which are baking, knitting and snowboarding, just the normal. He took definite interest in this asking me where I go for my knitting supplies as he has a friend and she sells wool. Somehow we got from this to how to knit a floating boat cosy, a bit like a tea-cosy for a barge.I wouldn't recommend getting this far off topic in an interview, you become known as "the knitted boat lady" and remain jobless.

It doesn't get much better in person. I recently went for an interview for a very small company. I was ushered into a very big, white room and told to sit. I sat and waited... and waited... and waited a bit more. The interviewer bustled in, introduced himself and proceeded to say "Now, tell me about your childhood?" I'm not used to thinking that far back so I start to explain my qualifications and early career. He stops me and says "Tell me about your early years.. Were you encouraged? Were your parents good? Were your teachers?"
Now, I don't get flustered easily but this is not what I expected. I nod enthusiastically and agree hoping that will carry things on. No such luck. "I see, now how did you study as a child. Did you like to study as a child? Did your parents help you?" Imagine 45 minutes of questions in a similar vein, followed by one token question about my last job and after one quick handshake I high tailed it out of there. I didn't get the job. I feel like I did get a free psychiatric assessment but I think I failed.

The scouts were right, always be prepared, especially for the unexpected.


So, in summary, a list of what to do for interviews.

1. Go somewhere quiet. Make sure you don't encounter any tractors.
2. Be prepared for odd questions.
3. When faced with an odd question, don't say anything stupid.
4. If you do say anything stupid... please blog about it.
and finally.
5. If they ask you about your childhood, leave. It won't get any better, I assure you.