Why is it that whenever you call someone out on being ableist or downright nasty to someone due to disability, their answer will almost always be that they are disabled, or that someone close to them is disabled? You can be disabled and ableist. In just the same way that proclaiming to have a black best friend does not mean that you’re not also a racist. I’m as guilty as anyone of this ableist behaviour – though I do try and moderate myself. Today, I failed. In response to someone being a dick about disability, I called them a cretin. Not my proudest moment *slow clap to myself* I’m glad she called me out on it. I maintained that she is, however, a bag of dicks for her behaviour. She was. I hope her next shite is a hedgehog.
I checked my ableism and have made a mental note that words have meanings that we don’t always understand/consider. A lot of harmful words are ableist because the sad truth is that we see disabled people are lesser humans and a drain on society – except from when physically able people objectify them and use them as inspiration porn. People in my company will regularly use the word “retard” and immediately look like they want to die. Good. Next time, they might search their vocabulary for a less offensive word.
Did I mention that this person being a bully today was on a rabbit welfare Facebook page? I know I’ve spoken about it before, but some of the people on there are just… feral. I hope they are nicer to their bunnies than they are to other human beings. Please let them have some sort of goodness in their soul.
Anyway, back to reality.
I’ve been a bit rubbish at blogging lately. Life has been happening. I’ve been going to SO MANY doctors/hospital appointments. I’m still not fucking cured. However, these things have happened:
- My rheumatologist has referred me to The Royal National Orthopaedic Hospital who have a specialist, in-patient, hypermobility rehab facility with a combined pain clinic. NHS Scotland will have to pay NHS England for this service and I will fight tooth and nail if they try and make this difficult. My rheumy FINALLY admitted that he doesn’t really know what to do with me. I wish doctors would just admit this initially and cut out the year or two of bullshit while our bodies deteriorate.
- I am taking antidepressants. Following a chat with my GP, I decided that chronic illness is starting to mess with my noggin. When I’ve been depressed in the past, I’ve been the crying, desperate, distraught person who wants to rip their own skin off. This time, I just don’t care. I don’t want anything. I can’t seem to find pleasure in anything. It’s like knowing that there is the most amazing feast in front of you… but you can’t taste it. Then, beating yourself up about it… I’ve had issues with SSRIs in the past, so have tried an SSRNI called Venlafaxine, which is also sometimes prescribed to help with chronic pain. And d’ya know something? I think it’s helping, a little bit. The first couple of weeks were utter hell. I vomited daily for the first week and am STILL not sleeping well at all, but something in me is telling me to stick with them.
- I was seen again by the pain clinic. They are referring me to the acute pain team to try and sort out some kind of post-op magic for when they slice ‘n’ dice my septum/turbinates in the near future. Thankfully, the pain clinic prof understood that it’s not the pain from my nose that I’m worried about – however any additional pain does make it, y’know, hard to go on. I’m more concerned with the can of pain worms that is opened as soon as my body is forced to move/lie/exist in a position that puts stress on my joints and muscles. Sleeping sitting up for 5 days will wreck my neck, shoulders and lower back… I’m not sure why I haven’t been referred to them before now. Baffling.
- I got a letter from ENT saying they have failed to see me within the waiting time protocol. So, tough shit, basically.
- My gynaecologist left, I was due to be reviewed about my Decapeptyl injections at the start of May. So, I’m dealing with the start of the un-menopause and feel like a hormonal teenager and have no freakin’ idea about what happens next. FEELING SUPER POSITIVE ABOUT THIS ONE, TROOPS!!
- My Mum came and stayed for 3 weeks and we didn’t kill each other. It was actually quite nice having an ironing fairy. However, after 3 weeks of being up and dressed every day, I had a MAMMOTH crash. I was in a lot of spoon debt. I’m only just starting to feel more normal now. I really need to clean my bedroom.
So yes, lots has been going on… yet I’ve not been getting anywhere. Standard issue stuff. Now, I’m going to go and pretend to clean my bedroom, find something that I’ve not used in ages and get distracted.