I wasn’t sure I’d write any more posts in this blog. It seemed as though it would be a good time to stop when I moved out of London, leaving the WordPress blog gated by the time when I moved to Tottenham through to the time when I left Islington, and now that I’m at the seaside and trying to write something longer the book-ending of the last two phases of my London life is complete. However, if this is the last post, it will come up first, and then any future readers will understand why it stops so abruptly. Of course, I am writing this now, and I’m not in London, so maybe the whole idea of not writing is a sort of conceit in itself.
I’ve never been a disability blogger as such. Most people who have read here know that I have ‘something up’ and one time I blogged every day for migraine awareness. Which just about killed me.
As it is I’m fighting against decisions made on two different benefits – one a basic one where they have decided I am suddenly well enough to work despite there being no new innovations in treating any of my conditions, and the other where they have decided I no longer need care, but do now need some money for transport, again despite no change in my condition, so I’ve already been through one tribunal over that one and am now waiting to hear if I will go to another tribunal over it.
The move went okay, this flat is brilliant and moving out of London was definitely right for me. However, I’d waited a long time to get an NHS referral to a clinic where I could get the Botox treatment for free (I’d been paying £500 a quarter for it at the National Migraine Centre) and the appointment came up just before the move. If I wanted Botox, they said, I’d have to go on a list to wait for it, whereas I could try an experimental gizmo for free and get that now. I went for it, since I know that if you don’t get the Botox in a timely fashion then what happens is you fall off a cliff of pain, and then even when you do get it it takes some time to be as effective as if it had been done on time. I thought perhaps I could try the TMS gizmo while I waited on a list. Sadly this is not how the NHS works, and while I ramped up the doses of the machine and then waited to see if it was effective at the recommended dose and discovered that it was not all that helpful, I was also moving house and going to medicals and tribunals, and now I have told them that it’s not that great for me I am sitting on a list waiting and waiting to be allowed the one thing that makes a difference to me, and ramping up the triptans and the codeine as well, and not firing on the few cylinders I normally scrape by on, so it wasn’t great when the dog started to get really bad problems with her joints. She had a fall and the vets thought the X ray was showing fractures on top of fractures, but they decided that wasn’t it at all, the arthritis is so bad that’s just what it looks like.
So, this is how come I’m sitting writing to you right now. I’m passing time while I wait for a friend to give us a lift to the vet’s (again) because they’ve worked on one leg so now the other leg is taking all the strain and she dinked it this morning and not only has spent all day in pain shivering and unwilling to leave the bed, but also hasn’t eaten, pooed or peed.
I’ve put my heated blanket over her so she is currently snoring away which is at least something, but my hope for her to live out a long retirement here is fading a bit. Maybe I’m overreacting because she is *my dog* or maybe I’m just being realistic about revising my expectations knowing her joints have disintegrated to a point where that surprisingly long lived staffie thing is unlikely to happen.
I was expecting change and endings, but this isn’t one I’d imagined being likely to be sooner rather than later. The vet wouldn’t do the work on the less worse leg that he did on the first one because it degenerates the joint as it supports, and he says the localised injection can work it’s way through the whole system if you give it a couple of weeks and it isn’t that long yet, but the ‘good’ leg got as bad as the ‘bad’ leg as soon as the ‘bad’ leg got stronger, and I’m no expert, I just know that this is not like earlier injuries – it’s not really an injury as such at all.
We know, when we take animals on, that they are mortal. Indeed we want them to die before us, we factor it in. Their mortality nevertheless wounds us. Impending or actual. I find my own suffering a trial, but hers is a heartbreak.
Here she is in an earlier, blissful, moment. But yes, she is getting old.