Post 264: More Forms, Fewer Fears
My dancing fingers and aching shoulder are both here to stay but, on the whole, I’m feeling ok.
When it comes down to it, you sometimes forget to realise things could be a whole lot worse, and the fact that I’m able to listen to the winter birds screaming and screeching from my morning bed is truly a blessing I should remember. The gulls and starlings are in abundance and even if they are an unpleasant noise at times, it’s still nature in action — I could be inside without any natural sounds at all.
I also have to be grateful that the Christmas Day backflip hasn’t done any long term harm, which is, on the face of it, amazing. I still can’t believe I did it. What was I doing?
It scares me when I think back but I only had a few bruises to show for it.
This overall reflection on my health heads nicely towards the form filling. I think I’ve got my head around the system after weeks of thinking about whether I should be able to claim them.
I’ve been a long while without getting any help along this pathway, apart from a local free parking permit for the hospital and free prescriptions. The company I “work” for has no sick pay, so my salary fell considerably the moment I needed help the most. The early chemo days were a trial, and the whole exercise in platinum-based treatments was a disaster from my Darling’s and my point of view. However, it seems lately I’m feeling more noticed and less experimented on.
My three-month sabbatical is now ticking over much better, but a month has gone already since I asked for a break. The 4th December feels so distant — where did the time go?
It makes me consider the next meeting with Dr S, my oncologist, on the 29th January as a potential push for the three-month follow-up appointment (that’s not organised yet). This first meeting will discuss whether HT can be a thing of the past — something that might help me gain some strength and a bit of respect for myself, which is sadly lacking.
But as it’ll be nearly two months into my break, I guess I need to start thinking about the following three months too. Lots to think about, and hopefully more time away from the clinical pestering.
Going back to the new man I’m becoming, and the acceptance of asking for help — firstly with a Blue Badge, which I put to good use today in a runaround in the car, and secondly this ESA sick-pay continuation which is already paying me a benefit even though all the paperwork isn’t yet complete has started to pay out.
The ESA money is already making a big difference to my financial outlook, which was very dull. So the PIP could really make me smile and feel a bit more comfortable paying my bills. Brilliant if it happens.
The whole process has been made clearer — maybe even more active and helpful — by today’s administrative leap forward. I’ve been signed up for an SR1 form, which will change everything.
My mood lift today, due to this sad but essential change, is — for me — a happy thing. With tomorrow’s counselling at the local hospice looming in my head, I’m choosing to see this progressive step positively, not negatively.
I know I’ll need tissues and comfort when I try to explain the workings of my complicated mind. I’ll be packing away the recent changes with my interactions with the benefits system, which can and will affect my mental health but which I’m very new to.
On the way back from our half-day out, we popped into Timpsons (other shops are available) to get a digital photo for a passport renewal. This is probably a positive move rather than a definite plan, but as my old passport runs out in June ’26, I’d better spend the £94 to prolong the thought of world travel. The money is a bit in one hand, out with the other — but having a passport is necessary for visiting my Darling’s homeland, even if the “special relationship” should mean it’s not needed. Still, it’s something positive, except for the gruesome photo, which honestly looks like it’s straight out of the FBI files.
But Tenerife is one step closer — when and if I get it back, of course.
Well that’s enough of daily life,
And no rhyming of my daily strife.
Oops.
I couldn’t resist.
Good night.
