Post 348: From haircuts to a work health-check.
Coming back from a haircut next door was the highlight of the day — and led to my Darling following me into the hairdresser’s chair in a timely swap.
There was a bit of preparation I needed to do for the afternoon meeting at work, and I needed to read this PW1 form through myself so I could get the best advice from HR about proceeding back to work.
The PW1 form is a form that needs to be filled in if you are on the ESA benefit (for not being able to work) but want to work up to £200 or 16 hours.
That seems extraordinary, I know. I can hear your minds whirring away, asking yourselves, “Surely you’ve got to be one or the other — working or sick?” But I can tell you that I would do anything to get back to work a few hours a week. But it could never be construed as even part-time employment.
The feeling is rooted in me wasting away, not being able to help them use my experience, as much as anything. I’m unable to go back full time — or anything like it — but I can help out and lift the weight of teaching off the shoulders of the guys who want to be working away, rather than trying to do the two things at once —working and teaching.
I’m not sure I could do more than two hours a day, on the days I’m well of course. But the process of filling in this form is complicated, so I’ve passed it over for HR to tell me what’s possible.
They certainly want me back. So do the lads I worked with — and so do I.
I just don’t want to upset the wee dribble of money coming from the ESA to me every fortnight, of course.
I’ll find out soon, and decisions could then be made.
It might not work out — who knows. But I want to try and get back to some normal life, if I can.
⸻
The printed pages done, I went to relax in bed. The cleaner was downstairs cleaning and dancing around the house, and there was no room down there to relax right now, so I joined the cat, Mr Vicious, in my bed he had already claimed.
He’s normally not allowed upstairs, but being a sneaky cat, of course he snuck up while no one was looking.
Within minutes, my Darling had come back from the hairdressers next door, and I hadn’t realised I had snoozed for an hour and a half.
Perhaps yesterday’s three-mile walk was more than I could take. Perhaps I’ll stay here a little bit more.
My Darling said she would bring up lunch.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“Stilton and pickle sandwich, please,” I replied, as she took the stairs past the stairlift I had left unfurled, which was in her way.
⸻
I set an extra alarm an hour before the afternoon meeting, just in case I dozed off again.
Which I did.
I had enough time to get everything ready for the meeting. I’ve become used to these now, and because we are all pushing the same way, the issues around the PW1 form will be brought up.
The meeting was easy, as I thought.
After the usual personal chats, we parted with Easter greetings with a promise to figure out the (PW1) form.
The lads were next to come over and say hello, which was fantastic.
We had so many laughs, and I caught up with all the gossip.
By the time the two hours had passed, across both chats, I had barely enough strength to stand up — let alone get into “Big Bro,” which they were all admiring.
Eventually I got in and away, and left them to their last late shift they would work before the Easter break.
By the time I got home, I was feeling a bit of pain — especially when I walked.
⸻
I got in and plonked myself where the cat was, holding my seat to ransom with an evil look in his eye. But I picked him up — bravely — and I sat down quickly, in his place.
Dinner followed, and I grew weary.
My Darling asked if I had taken any morphine (which I hadn’t), and being a total idiot, I left it at that.
I watched the prey get caught in a confusing game show I didn’t have the stamina for, and eventually called it a day at 9pm.
I tried to give my Darling a peck on the cheek while I tried to stand up properly — but that was beyond me, so she pecked me.
By the time I had struggled into the stairlift, I was in so much pain I was crying. I hid it from my Darling — she was better off enjoying her show, which was nearing an end anyway.
I pushed the lever, and the whirring started to pull me upwards to the first floor. There is no second floor — unless you count the loft, of course.
By the time I got off, I was really struggling with pain and emotion. I threw my clothes off, grabbed some morphine, and crashed into bed.
I didn’t wake until 01:30, when it was time for more morphine.
⸻
And so ended a day that should have had promise, but crashed and burned — perhaps due to an uncomfortable seat at work.
Big Sis and her hubby are coming over for the usual Friday meet-up but this is going to be a special one because her hubby is making the picnic for us.
I hope to be in top form tomorrow because I have a special request to make to my Big Sis.
———
Where’s the pain now?
There’s so much pain I can’t really tell where the worst of it is.
—
At the moment — it’s in my eyes…
Good night.
PS
i hate this prostate cancer that teases me with a great day only to find a terrible day the next.
Why do we have to put up with so much pain.
Why does the pain come and go.
When will I be able to hold my Darlings hand two days running — all day.
Why can’t we all get a day off…
