I am quite clearly disabled. I walk with a stick, move like a glacier in reverse gear and am clearly in substantial pain at times. I want to try to be as independent and able to get around as possible but there are times when pulling myself on a train or bus that I appear to become invisible. I’ve probably encountered more disabled bags taking up seats in the last few months than I’ve seen in my previous non-disabled life and loads of people think their seat is more worthy of a seat than someone walking like I do with a stick, or pregnant women, or anyone is obvious distress at having to stand when seats designed for the likes of us are taken up by someone’s shopping or laptop bag.
Every fucker seems to do it.
Of course it isn’t everyone, but if you’ve woken up after a bad night, the painkillers aren’t doing their normal job & all you want to do is get to work ASAP it is a pain in the fucking arse to struggle onto a train/bus to find someone so engrossed in their phone, or holding their poorly bag/enormous pursething tightly on the seat next to them.
What I’m asking for is basic humanity not to mention some awareness of what exactly is going on around them. Essentially don’t be a prick and give folk like me the seats intended for us. It actually means a lot and can help make my day a wee bit better so thanks if you do, got to hell if you don’t.
Have a nice weekend all…
A year ago I was given a cautious nod that I was fit enough to travel and my cancer was nearly in remission. Today, just over a year later I’m in Glasgow having moved up from Bristol, have a job and my own place again. I’m also still recovering after sort of fooling myself that I’m just peachy when in fact I’m still not with the post-stroke recovery being something that’ll never end and my remission something dangling with a Damoclean sword hanging over me.
So with this cheery air of pessimism hanging over me I chipped off to the Beatson today for another check and to ensure my neck is still healing. I needed not to worry though a word of caution has been thrown my way in regards blood pressure, iron levels (I’m slightly anaemic), calcium levels, and whether I’ve taken on more than I can chew. This is actually a pretty good outcome as I’ve learned to go into these appointments expecting to come out diagnosed with Ebola or the plague.
The next appointment is January, but til then I’ve to just make sure I don’t do anything stupid which is easier said than done!
I’ve been waiting to get test results back which has put me somewhat on edge the last few days, and the results are in! I have anaemia. This for someone still essentially recovering from a stroke is not good, so here comes the science bit.
Anaemia for most folk isn’t a huge problem. It’s easily treated by changing diet, or taking supplements, but I’ve had a stroke, and I’m recovering from that and thyroid cancer so not only is my body fighting all that, it now has this to deal with. What anaemia does is make the blood ‘sticky’, which essentially makes my blood more likely to clot and that isn’t good for someone like me who as I get older would be at more at risk of having a stroke anyhow. So I’ve leaped from medium to low risk back to high risk and now have to pump iron into my body like Popeye on crack.
So back to the doctor in a couple of weeks to see if things have changed. If it looks like it hasn’t then we’ll get to that step when it comes, but right now I will at one with my greens to try to push me back over the line into relative safety.
Today was a trip to the doctors on a damp bank holiday Monday, and rather than walking out into the shining pathway of joy and happiness, I’ve taken the ‘hmm, there’s something potentially scary at the end of this path‘ route.
So I’m now playing a waiting game for various tests to come back, and as has been the case since having my stroke, I await results with the eagerness of someone opening a council tax letter, or cleaning a cat’s litter tray after they’ve eaten a curry.
I’m hoping this is all a bit of a fright rather than a blip or worse but remember, things could be worse. I could be locked in a room with Nigel Farage and a bucket of sewage, though to be fair, me and the sewage would just be fine after we’ve beaten the crap out of Farage…
Since starting back at work I’m getting used to the daily commute, and not just that, getting used to a commute in a city (Glasgow) I’ve not done a commute in simply decades, and for years in both Bristol and Leicester I’ve lived within walking distance of work so things have changed. Not for the best either as negotiating on and off trains at Queen Street station is essentially like this.
Though with less lunatic Glaswegian cannibal punks trying to kill you.
Kill or be killed seems to be the mantra. Having spent so long in the terminally blasé setting of Bristol it will take some time to adjust to Glasgow’s more energised lifestyle as long as the cannibal punks don’t get me first…
For those of you not familiar with the world of Star Trek and especially the fine acting career of William Shatner, this is a Kobayashi Maru.
Since having a stroke in February of 2016, life has felt like a ‘no-win’ scenario especially with the cancer, slipped disc and Scotland’s men’s football team proving that no matter how hard you knock one problem down, there’s always another dropping out of warp to fire their photon torpedoes at you.
Yet, like Captain Kirk I don’t especially like to lose, even when everything seems to be folding back against you so with some trepidation it has to be said it does seem like my ‘no-win scenario’ is at least for the rest of my natural lifespan (however long that is now), over and a slow rebuilding of my life continues as carefully as possible. Yes, my empire of comics is on hold (mainly because I’m offline or at Glastonbury when it comes to booking tables at conventions. Bugger) but short steps.
All I need to do now is continue listening to my doctor, don’t do anything stupid and watch out for those pesky Kilingons….
This is a short companion to my story of brutal murder. As I’ve mentioned I’ve started a new job, but because of the stroke recovery my walking pace makes glaciers look like The Flash which can mean walking is painfully boring, or a chance to take in things others rushing to get from A to B quicker than a Donald Trump lie.
One of the nicer things I’ve registered is I’ve walked past Killermont Street every day, which for those of us of a certain age means a certain Roddy Frame/Aztec Camera song going through my head…
There could be far worse things stuck in my head, but because Glasgow has changed so much since I last lived here it didn’t actually dawn on me I was walking through Killermont Street til this morning where this song stuck. I hope I can share this with you and do the same because the song is one of Frame’s lost wee classics…