when a chance to say a word, or two is paralleled with a prompt and paralympics and a debacle as an adaption grant application for a disabled person all come together - on one day, on one page, the story is Hot and getting hotter.
Ann has Rage, once prompted by injustice, decades of it, Rage is a response to abuse, neglect, abuse, dismissal and now a shell of a home. In the name of disability grants for the disabled.
We (I) got a grant for adaptions that are not needed in this moment in time.
yet some manager, somewhere, here, i have not met nor even know its gender or medical qualifications.
I have been told a disabled bathroom for a person with paraplegia or quadraplegia is my requirement (i walk, even if badly). My request for adaptations covered the gammut that are my disability. The inability to sustain walking when my legs have atrophied, are in pain, coupled with chronic fatigue brought on by neuro-degeneration and many autoimmune diseases.
I have a spanking bathroom whether i like it or not.
i have a ramping of concrete practically encircling my new bungalow costing over E1,000 whether i like it or not.
I have, due to inability to cover the rest of my need, floor space for wheelchair because i have had to biff out a bedroom (planned for in-home care) and this leaves me with a shell, of a usable home for a wheelchair but no storage, no floor covering, no paint inside and out, no bedroom for a carer, a tiny add on extension to give more room around the bed but mostly cos of the massive bathroom that THEY said i needed.
a meeting - red letter day, we had on para day on a photo shoot day-a bloodletting day of curdling proportions.
Tears and no understanding that three men, one professional, one disabled professional and one disabled, all trying to justify a stance that leave the red blooded roarer in the wheelchair in tears as none of the ruddy work that has now been planned completes for me a home that is actually a home for a disabled woman!
we will have a concrete moate, minus the flowers so magnificent the estate i am in think in wonder of the wee little woman who put it there now deceased and a whacking great bathroom and no money left to even put on paint or floor covering.
my red rose day of red roaring ruptured soul and spit and men in trousers dictating and a woman with a clipboard.
oh and i know about the clip board bit.
the one who tells me she doesn't remember what i had spoken about when moving here and applying for an adaption grant and then did it matter anyway because some Manager somewhere had decided before i ever arrived.
Also the Liberation of paras worldwide, in an age of enlightenment sees a paralympics sponsored by an organisation that has been co-opted to lop off 50,000 english disabled persons from any grant or living allowances they were entitled to and made them all go back to work, even if you are on dialysis they can say this, and that one person i know of died within a year of losing all her support grants.
that crowd is floating on the wisdom of newton and coloured umbrellas with singers in prison overalls, co-oped to sing the national anthem to the Queen of all Queens overseeing the overhauling of cuts on an olympian scale who according to the anthem will uphold its laws of the land.
can i cope.
well who cares, who asks and who bothers.
colour - umbrellas, wisdom, newton and aesthetics.
One thing for absolute sure, the message was uplifting, the show was dynamic, better by far the fumes of slavery and the industrial age.
but it is sickening overshadowed by the underworld of heavies in our society who are determined that every disabled person on the planet will have life made just about as hard as they can make it without discrimination, realisation or even asking or inquiring do they mind or do i mind.
I do, mr. umbrella of wisdom, newton and hic or whatever they wonderously discovered recently.
it wasn't humanity and that i do know.
Anyway sorry. Thats considered a Rant to able bodied minds.
its considered the truth to a disabled body and beautiful mind of an intelligent woman.
To prove the beautiful bit and what Red can do, remember folks the red rose of tears, on the days that was in it, in the bushes crying at Harold's Cross, Rehab and Hospice after a consultant - (male), had informed me, in no einstein experiment of medical examination that my muscle wasting was due to inactivity and lack of exercise - yep, did he ask me my lifestyle, nope, but he deduced it.
yep, by seeing the mobility scooter by my bedside, for which he clarifies his diagnosis on, again the red rose blood bellied froth of anger at another abuse of power who abused his power by telling me that i am lazy and my muscles had died because of it.
This my friend, despite it been proven, medically, in another country, that i had a condition of muscle wasting that was consistent with disease not laziness.
we have an enlightened age for disability, especially when it rains ...or even if it doesnt, the colours go up anyway.
wise eh, well, just in case.
i will ask my friends who own colour of any hue of place, emotion or other, say it, share it and it will be a better more colourful place by far.
i thank http://www.travelsupermarket.com/c/holidays/capture-the-colour/ for sparking in me a written response that sparked a creative response coupled with imagery on the road rather not travelled today, the red road to the lion of sparkling grey tin of utter ignorance of stuffing.
Not even wanting to be any different either.
Sarah Henderson, Chrissy MacNeill, Margaret Brown, Doreen Kennedy, Keith Hern and Michelle O'Neill, all magnificent photographers, all with either an illness or disability or vulnerability who want to change a world by making a difference through creativity. Share and copy,
I am on the RED letter Roaring day.
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