Tuesday, May 31, 2011

We are supposedly a 'happy nation!'

not according to those looking after people with disabilities!
what a shocking indictment to us as a nation when we are faced with a documentary on the lack of services and the pain and suffering that is in our country, Holy Ireland.  I watched like many, 'Primetime' Monday 30th May, on RTE television.
it does not come as a surprise to all that work in the HSE, the community services and it does not come as a surprise to all effected by the drastic cutbacks on the most vulnerable, with cutting care, care packages, support, appliances and the list is endless.
I simply cannot fight the big agenda out there and yet i am told not to be so angry and blousy and tame the pain and hurt and rant.
tell me please how does one do this and also stay sane.
yesterday too, i received a letter from the HSE asking me to attend a Stress management course!
I rang up to ask who suggested i go on this and did they fully understand why i was so stressed out?
I reminded them of my position and that of my twin sister, who has received one hours home help a week after three years!
and my position of barely managing with my own difficulties.
so i am sent this letter...please tell me how can a stress management course help a stressed out person who doesnt even have adequate accommodation for a physically and psychologically compromised woman and where her twin with a physical disability has spent the past six months on my sofa with no resolution in sight!
Yes Primetime was a shocking programme and probably also for those just been diagnosed with a serious life threatening acquired condition, who has to not only adjust to this fact but try and come to terms that she/he may be one of the programme chosen few who will live out their lives in desperation and struggle.
we have no answers here in Ireland for the bigger picture of health decline and services but what we should tap is our position in the world as a people who do care.
But do we, or is this position of the land of christianity, green and luscious rolling hills with the Book of Kells in a dusty library and St Kevins bed in the most glorious scenery in the 'garden of ireland' a complete gloss on us as we really are? or what we have to offer.
We are penniless, broke and dependent on the EU.  we have the most beautiful scenic areas to exploit through tourism but we have little hovels of homes, sickness, Dickensian style prisons with no function whatsove ever.
i want the Irish, the people on the dole, the ones who really have the spirit of Ireland to think about the less able at home.
as an oldie now, disabled oldie i can say, "I did it, when i was on the dole and in college"  most did in the 70's and it was a lasting lifelong experience which actually made me see how others lived.  it left in me a spirit to strive to help others, at all times.
its the education of tomorrow and the present day.
take up your job skills for a few hours a day and loan it to those less able.
those whose skills are oratory and rant with purpose and effect, take up this cudgeon of a defunct, dysfunctional country and attempt to shame it into doing the right thing.
we are noted for that, helping less able ...that is not what i saw last night on Primetime (except the immediate care givers who love their own) and its not what i am experiencing right now as a disabled person, living with a disabled twin sister.
Wake up Ireland, you are in a bloody mess and people are really suffering.

Monday, May 16, 2011

yep, yikes did i swallow the words so quick!!

What was positiveness yesterday is negative tomorrow, and with the Queen coming an'all and ill prepared and ill.
hence the negs.  the twin in the Queens, literally Queens square neuro hospital and the Queen over here, you'd get mighty confused and as we say in the queen;s own language here, its mighty ironical.
thats what they say, ironical.
I am not positive, and you can sense it, I do!
i sense it, feel it and am it, the negative.
it was caused by sickness, yep and yike in that too.
i wasnt always so neg, more poss than neg i was indeed and you'd never know what i saw in the mirror. no.
my hands are on FIRE, my feet are on Fire, and so too my knees.
i feel sick as a parrot, that is 'i wanna get sick please pass the sick bowl, whoever has it.'
I hope its not the Queen for i wont be able to ask then.
tonight due to fright i have one sleeping chi on my elbow, which is debilitating and another licking her paws by my hip, there i feel a whisker against my skin, and the skin is exposed cos everything hurts so badly i cannot cover with sheet nor blankets.
it does get worse, if i elaborate, it does get worse.
and what else is news.
i asked those in the Irish Times, via the letters ed and if it gets published you will pinpoint where i am on the globe, on the map, in the province, of you know where, well i asked them did Mr. Grimm ever write a fairy tale about a little girl lost in the dark forest singing and crying for a real home, aka bricks and mortar, if so, did she get it, and if so How? for i wish to tap into the knowledge.
i guess both Grimm and girl are dead by now, and maybe that knowledge has gone down with the ship, for it sure ain't here.
In this house, the one called a Unit, its supposed to double up as a home, but its more like Alcatraz, or Elba, er, did i get that right? spelling? or even the bloody island in the film Papillon, which frightened the bloody life out of me, so i guess this is Papillon then cos this unit has the same effect.  but i am not in the humor to watch the waves and jump at the seventh one, i guess he went with it and ended god knows where, probably into netherland or heaven, whichever.
I have been stuck here for the past year, post shoot-out between an eleven year old girl and a defenseless sickie who shot with the camera and came up the pic of all pics only she is eleven, it cannot be published but she IS seen holding the gun.  I was, in effect target practise, as was my queens the chihauhaus.
I cannot release the body from this goddam awful social housing unit.
In a deep sick depression, the visit of the Queen and Obama and also the leader of the gov in England, no one is bothered and seemingly no one can afford to help.
it didnt seem to cross anyones mind of the amount the gov, our gov is spending on visits from the elite, whilst the disabled and sick have their disability pension slashed twice and an embargo on further housing options, well no options really as not one spill of ink has been made on a drawing board in county hall which will demarcate a square of a house plan for those in round wheels, aka wheelchairs and their ilke.
in the twenty first century, the visit from the Queen, the Leader of the world and the leader of our x-colonial enemy and we pomping up to be the modern ireland yet no one has drawn a square here, not one square for a circle, and the circle does defo not fit the rectangle it is presently in.  cos a circle cannot be conformed to a harsh corner.
there are many in the 'illegal' sense, 45sq metres is not legal but it doesnt say that in any rule book and sure doesnt say it at county hall.
did you know, that a single person, in full health, without the burden of a second person hanging on, with the need for one bedroom is legally obliged to be homed, privately or otherwise in an area space of 55sq metres, i come up short, very.
and in my very short metre space, its known for people to go insane, true, absolutely true, and thats what i feel like and its happening here and now.
why did they demarcate an area space of 55sq metres, cause the sanity evidence has been proven.
there will be another statistic added shortly, watch this space.
so the blog has become a wandering mass of words, of no real consequences but to the blogger who is feeling very sick.
we shall cut to the chase,
i am very sick, proven.
Please someone tell my gov, or the queen, or obama, or whatsit from London that this sickie needs to get a proper home to be at peace, she is in the dark forest of madness, insecurity and is a sickie and getting sickier by the day.
all boats are out on this one, many sank, are sinking and drowning down.
every single person on my map, it is albeit a small map, knows that this sickie is sinking, but alas we dont have movers or shakers for all the pomp we shall dish out in millions of euros, looking down drains, removing trash cans, banning cars (and adapted vans) and enlisting the entire army, navy and police to the cause in protecting one person, and two others.
so when the protecting is gone, watch your home for the burglaries, and the thieves, for you money is gone that way or by the taxes to support the visits.
so wham gone too is sense in this here small bankrupt country.
if they had that, they would ask the visitors to pay tourist visas to support the cause of the sunken ship, we need the hydraulics to raise the relic so put your money where your mouth is.
yep and yikes, hey ma'am, will you give us a copper please, we broke and there is a sickie heading to the lunatic asylum as well, for God's sake.

Sunday, May 15, 2011

To be Positive and Move on!

Believe it or not the Positiveness 'drive' came from two people this week, my dear friend Mags B and my Cous, Mary W, both instilled a feeling of 'worth,' the worthiness of going the long mile in Life.
Not to sit and chew the cud on the past and also both gave me the sense of it all being very worth in in the end - and to the end.
My cousin did not get re-elected to the Dail, but none of her party did, but still she is smiling on the top of a mountain, wind tossed and enjoying possibly the freedom.  I doubt her party was to blame at all at the downfall of the country.  No, that took years.
She is going back to Nature, on the trails of snails and other - and a lucky woman she is now, and i bet, far the happier for it.
When you see that so quickly one can get back to a solid path of what life is really about is astounding, but is it?
No, this is Positive Thinking and literally 'moving on' in Direction of Plans for what is called 'Blessed Life' tis that.
Mags B, comes beaming into my abode, small though it is.
she takes a strong, direct eye at the coffee machine, but i had already started it up.
we talk about 'forever homes' and we then toss about on my 'metadating and house keeping' a very serious business there i have to say.
we are praised for the metadating, even though 2stars were found amongst the 3stars and one actually is a FOUR star having appeared in 'Waggy Tail' the mags for 'Irish Therapy Dogs.' well thats my twin's actually, four star pic.
testing folders to view future metadating we came across some good images, the word 'Exhibition' came up.
'Gud Ann, you should have an Exhibition' and we talked some.
yes, thats the future way to go.
And i am energised and positive-iszed along the way.
Mags B went on her merry way (she got the strong black, no sugar coffee) as i had to deliver a poo specimen and give my blood at the GP surgery.
she promised me that she would meet at the hopeful 'forever home' in the Noggin.
True to her word she came.  I was SO pleased to have that support on a day i was hoping to get rid of more money than i ever had, all in the space of a minute.
No criticism of high hedging, just wandering with me and talking about ability and disability.
and since Ann is positive but now, also wondering why the vendor has not said yeh or naw to my offer.

A trip then to the Interior Design Show at the RDS was another thing altogether.
the above, take into account - nature and creativity.
the idea of the second being - hard sell to go the way of the mighty designers when in fact, one at my level and increasingly most can hope and do no more.  But the style in the 'would be' customers was Style with a big S, and the S in dollars followed the flow of their flowing garb for sure, and their beautiful designer children.
a luxury cushion for the cost of E50, well thats the esb bill gone unpaid.
the fantastical lighting, and sweeping curves of table legs, going where no man ever went before were astounding feats of carpentry etc.
to go all 'retro' and do the fake and cost us an absolute fortune rather defeats the idea of creativity.
once one design agency goes Retro, then everyone else does too.
we are now looking at Repo Retro and probably not as beautifully and tastefully as the real thing.
where is all this leading - cost and lack of incentive and lack of creativity.
One amazingly well cut with a Jig-Saw electric, shelving of chipboard, recycling is our day now, cost over 1,000k and its compressed chipboard! ah we fools or wha, it looked fantastic but cost so too.
In my cous's new endeavour, the air and the bugs are free.
in Mags B enthusiasm there are possibilities that may indeed cause half the ESB to be forfeited for a few months anyway but hopefully one sale at a fraction of the cost of a Repo Retro will fill that gap and i can shine on thanks so much.
Awnyah would not be Awnyah if she does not revert to her own specialised hobby-horse.
that is on the Agenda of the Day for one so, is the one so for many so's or sods, whatever.
the person in the extra wheels, that is two below the bottom or two extra wee ones just ahead of the steering.
the ones of us who use scooters and wheelchairs, of the electrified variety.
At the Interior design show a wee, just talking babe was taken out of her push chair and ran toward me with outstretch hand shouting 'what is THAT?" pointing to my mobility scooter, "ah that, i say, this is Special, and there is only ONE in the world, I am lucky eh?' she stands agog, 'would you like to press my elephant ears and hear the noise?  I have a horn who asks politely for people to part the way, or be careful and its a plastic elephant's head with a big hooter.
she did and ran back to mama.
Oh and the mamas were So mortified.  the horn is never needed as once seen we have a red sea situation. honest.
now back to my hobby horse.
Ireland - no disability social housing - i have to buy one myself and it ain't really that assessable.
no "Trive" as in Trive.uk and the Occupational therapist hasn't a foggiest idea how i will mow the lawn. I tell her, there are these wee buzzy robots and you place them on the grass and they whirr, as they whir they bump against the edging and whir the other way, in the process each blade of grass is sliced.
what you do with the sliced up is anyone's guess cos a robot has not been thought to brush up and put on the compost heap!
And the 'hedge' she moans, Ah the hedge,yes the hedge. Any suggestions, you haven't seen a hedge like this!
now we have - the no accessible home for the disabled, with that, no help for finding a suitable one either for the wonky footed.
you are on your own with Myhome.ie and Daft.ie
and all the OT's and specialists can say, we will keep our eyes open on Daft.ie and Myhome.ie which is a waste of time for there are four eyes already doing that day and night.
what about accessible gardening for people in wheelchairs?  where is the creativity or the will to learn on this one, not here, but can be accessed via www.com and other, especially TRIVE who BELIEVE in gardening - er, twenty minutes of gardening a day makes you happier and healthier, proven.
where is the accessibility in Nature for us.
Once belonging to BirdWatch Ireland and the Dublin Naturalist Field club, also all the wildlife organizations there were and possibly still are, i cannot partake in practise only in principle.
How many love nature equally to the cous and the birders, many i say in the wheelchairs.
and when little is provided for those with wheels under their bottoms we sit rather glazed out the double glazed winda's and the bird table near enough for the shortsighted.
I WANT to get to know my mushrooms and my millipedes, especially the arsonic type.
but i cannot do that half way up a mountain, alas, and i never shall see the top of the sugar loaf again, alas.
but surely there IS flat trails or gentle sloping land in Ireland, or has the volcano gone and shaken the style of the land too?
My nature is not pontoons from which to fish, steadfastly with the breaks on, for some but not this one.
i want a windy, windy wobbly way with a view and the lush of the wild under (or beside) the wheels that help me see.
No housing.
No cushions
No nature
No trails
No, ah no, not so Ann is hopeful and all will be provided either from her own hands or other.
watch this space, and maybe we will have a bird trail or a nature trail and an idea materializing, i shall watch too for while i hope my mind is on the matter of putting a roof over two heads, but two heads of others can get together and rattle the ideas thus providing what is there for the able bodied, can and should be done by the not so able bodied.
Hope is a Living thing.
We shall live - lets hope all equal.

Sunday, May 8, 2011

To Bat and to Beat

Do NOT face up to a ten year old, er he may actually be younger.
Do not even attempt to beat him once!
it will require and you do not want this, a wrench so bad we will have a 'ball and socket dislocation,' indeed, we may have a ball and socket relocation as i see the who arm flying on tendons and muscles i have not really used in er, at least five years.
as you hit you miss, of course.
and you take a swipe at a fast coming ball, on a whosh of batted air you then do other things to that body of yours.
your head jerks sideways to avoid the lethal. the back arches backwards and now we have two separate muscle groups in protests.
we may have also a whip lash and a lower back pain requiring at least a massage.
You learch about on two pins which are welded about three feet apart, welded to the grass and ground for fear that a lunge on your part will have you flat on the face.
this is violance personified, the young boy marvels at his skills to thrash his auntie, actually he is in training for some 'eye to hand combat.'
He is loverly though, this young lad in a stripey for some gaa team i guess.
whilst the marvel is with the kiddie who is gentle and soft like his dad was at that age, you are not so marveling at, burst lungs and pain only three minutes of batting at 'swing-ball' )and missing each time) has given you.
I tried, eggit i am.
A relative, Henry, was over from Canada.
Well, he is a relative of my dad by means of a very confusing generation time line, i shall have to ask my brother to explain.
He showed strong signs of my own Dad for sure.
there i saw it in the bushy eye brows, the way he looked at you, the hand on his chin in a contemplative manner, even the hands, lovely hands.
I remember telling my dad i thought he had really beautiful hands, strong, long and work worn, garden work worn to feed his children.
Dad admired my hands many times too.  he would take them and stroke them. 'beautiful long fingers my dear' he would say.  that is a sign of royalty he would also say.
Oh how i miss my Dad.
anyway `Henry was over and he had bought a bag of goodies.  they were sort of wee talismen of understanding from the american/canadian Indians.
I chose 'Creativity' and its 'logo' for want of not remembering what the correct term is, a Raven, from the Haita tribe.  oh i am pleased i chose it.
It is the Raven of 'Creativity'
Mags was not at this celebration when the Royal Albert China was taken out, so i chose for her, i hope she is pleased "Strength."
At first i chose 'courage' but i felt that she had that in abundance after her return to a rocky Ireland welcome from the Land of the thousand welcomes.  She got about one or two there, nothing more than that and many just a weak smile and a cuppa, but not from the Royal Alberts, for at this celeb it was the first i saw of it.  The Royal China that is.
Alas she needs the strength to come home and face it all, again...an attempt to fulfill her 40yr dream of coming 'Home.'   she has been on my sitting room sofa for the past four months.
I felt alone there i have to say.
It is hard to connect with the family anymore.
Hard to be actually accepted.
There is no small ways of forgiveness, Royals wont do that, as in Royal fashion a mis-behaviour is never forgiven, not even a small error of judgement, as in my case is cause for turning the other and moving on again.
we never did move on, i guess as a family.
very disjointed and dislocated.
we were all maybe amputees or clones from the past dysfunctionals in the clan.
i did face up to the youngest in my tribe, wee R.
she is a ROYAL, she is, tiny and delicate, soft and gentle, like her dad, who is in every way like his own dad, very gentle and very kind.
I love little Royal and I love her King Dad as well, as i do King Dad's brothers, John and Gerald.
We played a game once, in the looney.
a line, and not a line dance.
all were asked in the group who was the saddest there, and asked to place themselves beside one who was less sad.
who was/is the saddest, I was..and i cried when i saw that more of them placed themselves on higher happiness stakes than I.
nothing much has changed.
I was sad there yesterday, love is in short supply, i guess when your grandfather had twenty children by three different wives, it would be, or bred into you to spread the love about.
not a lot came to my line of the family.
and even less was spread to the end of the line in my generation, that is twino and I.
we are superflous in the general scheme of things.
and thats how i felt yesterday.
alienated, i drove home mute and with tears about to rupture.
the gentle smile of Royal, the beautiful smile of the delicate gymnast and the roguish smile of the ball-on-a-string belter.
after the snaps we departed.
i was wrecked and the head was buzzing.  absolutely.
straight away on Google for a 'forever home'
brief words with the twin and a crash out i welcomed, sleep with a headache and profound buzzing.
again i wake and it is now 7.30am.  I do not want to face another bloody day of it.