Tuesday, February 15, 2011

i was sad today

it started with hearing the howls outside, the blowing through of cold air, curtains billowing inward and the disgust of self and the loathing of a new day.
a new day of pretty much the same...feeling ghastly, feeling unwell and never fully understanding and knowing that it will be a hung-day.
when i say a hung day, it means pretty much the same as the day before and the day before that.
sitting, waiting.  waiting.
what will be the rest of my life...for this isnt.
suspended animation.
there has been a distinct lack of care, a distinct lack of contact from any in social services for my twin and i.
we sit here, no calls, no hope of calls, no hope of help and no hope of a quick resolution.
for me the day was spent first lying on the sofa in particularly bad pain, swallowing more painkillers on top of other stuff.
and there sat my twin by the window, watching the rain dribble down like tears on a sad yard, on a sad day with two women trapped together in anxiety, fears and bewilderment.
not a lot was said between us, in fact so little it was painfully quiet.
i lay, she sat.
she tapped - into - her lap-top.
and i tapped - into - mine....
we connected with the silent world of others doing the same as us - to connect.
we made a stab at getting the help - a bit - here and to no avail.
'can it be so, ann,' my twin asked once.
'can what be so?'
'that there is only one social worker for adults in this catchment area.'
'we are lucky twino, i did a sit-down protest at the local hospital for the social worker.
and i believe i am the only non child, non over 65 to have one!'
that drew the breath and stopped the pensive clatter, all was silent again.
she signed in disbelief.
i sighed in weariness and pain.
my sister will be on the floor again tonight.
when will it ever end.
when will my sister with parkinsons sleep on a bed here in ireland, again.
her cat is in one place, her dog in another, her belongings in three places and her body on the floor.
even the cat and the dog are in comfort of a bed they are used to.
my sister isnt.
i am not allowed protest.
the protest brought me profound alienation from all i had known in my life, the disbelief that any could turn away from their own kind, that is holy catholic ireland ethos.
the vein hope of a trier to muster help.
well the balloon of silence is bursting as the wait and the effort is proving too much for my spirit and my brain and my own body.
no doubt the twin is experiencing all of this too, of course she is.
she is suffering and in pain and anxiety.
she is wondering all the 'whys' as i am but doesnt say so or verbalize it.
she internalizes it and tries to make sense of her homecoming to basically - very little.
what made it a bit better for me was seeing her smiling face as she came into me this morning, i was sitting up in semi darkness, i had fed the dogs put them out to pee, brought them in and got back into bed, i had not fed myself.
there was my shining twin with a huge smile on her face.
she left when i gave a weak smile back and inside i screamed, 'god i love my twin!'
and tonight i drove her down to sandycove harbour, and we sat there with both windows open, it was chilling and blustery, the air was damp, it was dark, we heard the sea whoosh wildly as it slapped the sand we dug when children of very minor kinds.
we sat again in silence.
'tis lovely, innit?' she asked.
'I love this sound' i said, as i placed my head near to her shoulder on my seat rest, my eyes closed, listening.
'are you ready to go' i ask.
yep, she replies, i turned the key in the ignition.
i hear her say, 'that was a precious few minutes eh?'
'it sure was,' and it was.
ha, then on the next turn we saw the skips and slowed.
'what is that mags, that blue thing there?"
'tis a plastic covered mattress,' she replied.
oh, we laughed.
oh is right.
then another skip past the house of a man who now started putting up notices and artwork screaming his pain for his abuse in childhood, and a holy person saying to me of this man that he was 'lowering the tone, devaluing the property here' and who would buy beside that.
and i remember disgust at my holy jo friend.
we are in christian ireland, let it be known.
we had a cuppa when we came home.
we bought some biscuits too, she her jaffa cakes, trying to slim, me my ceoliac biscuits trying to improve my wheat intake after christmas.
we then parted, she to organising a conference for working with abused and i to the bed, to organise a proposal for a tv programme.
we are tired.
another day over, two doctors appointments for me tomorrow, and one yesterday.
a lesson tomorrow to bring me hope that i can reconnect or keep connected to creativity.
no phone calls for help were answered and no help hoped for tomorrow as i fork out E150 a piece for my consultants.
dont get me angry when i think of that, a person fully entitled to public health care and whose disability pension has been slashed twice in recent budgets.
dont get me angry when i think too of the amount of consultants i see and the monthly amount i pay for my medication.
it was E13 this month.
how can we all keep this up!
how can my twin and i keep this up, day after day after day.
and it will be another long night and then an early drive to a hospital for posh, when you feel nothing near it, nothing near the gentile of money and lush but full of the sickness and none of the benefits.
i am sick of it all

No comments: