Hi, I'm Stripes... and I have anxiety

I haven't posted in a while again. My bad.
But what with it being Christmas less than a week ago, I'm sure you'll forgive me.

As I'm sure most people can attest to, the weeks leading up to Christmas can be really hectic, with a lot to organise and book and generally sort out. The same is true of our household.
Moreso because both Lil Monster and I travel to go and see our respective fathers over the season, as well as celebrate at home. That's on top of seeing extended family, friends, Christmas shopping, cooking... It's making me yawn just thinking about it all.

Since I turned fifteen or so, when we moved to Birmingham, I can't think of a Christmas that wasn't stressful in some way, shape or form. Part of it is the general seasonal stuff. You know, choosing gifts for people, wrapping and hiding them, all of the associated cooking, the travel, booking people in for a festive meet and greet.
Part of it is a more personal issue.
You see, about two and a half weeks ago, I was officially diagnosed with anxiety.

Looking back, it's probably something that has been present since I was a young teen, maybe even a little younger. This little voice in the back of my head that tells me that I'm not ready for something, that I'm forgetting something important. I had never been able to quiet it, and had in fact accepted it as the way my mind worked.
It got worse when I started learning how to drive. I took lessons for almost two years, spending each lesson drenched in sweat, with my heart in my throat, terrified that I was going to kill someone, or myself, or wreck my instructors car. When I tried to talk about how I felt, I couldn't seem to find any words to describe it, other than 'It stresses me out.'. Because I couldn't work out how to put it into words, I couldn't get the help that I needed at the time.
After three failed tests, I stopped with the lessons, deciding that I needed to get help with my mental health before I picked it back up again.
I tried for months to get an appointment. Unfortunately, with the health care system being as stretched as it was, there just weren't appointments to spare. Those that were available were - rightly- kept aside for children, the elderly, disabled people and pregnant women. I understand that this needed to be the case. But it did mean that I just had to struggle on.

When we moved in August, we registered at a new doctors surgery. It took a while for all of our information to transfer over, but when it finally did, I decided to book an appointment.
So, I fought my way through inches of snow and ice (my appointment fell during that snowstorm we had in mid December) to get to the surgery to speak to a doctor.
When I sat down to talk, to tell her the issue, my whole mouth dried up, my teeth sticking to my lips.
This is ridiculous. There's nothing actually wrong with you. Clearly, you just can't cope. There are thousands of people out there who have it harder than you, who get by just fine without needing to go and whine about it. You're wasting time, time that might be needed for something real.
I told her that I was worried, about everything, all the time. Some of it may feel rational, but I can't always differentiate between a legitimate concern and an anxious thought. There isn't a specific pattern to that feeling. There are a few triggers that I can pinpoint- driving, large gatherings, my extended family in particular. It's just this kind of... constant feeling of wrongness. I felt as though I was constantly waiting for something to go wrong. When it did, that voice was vindicated. When it didn't, I would feel as though I was going mad, because who thinks like that?

She listened to me talk, asked me a few questions about my eating and sleeping. I spoke to her about the disordered eating I'd suffered when taking my GCSE's. She nodded a few times, and told me that it sounded like I have anxiety. I remember feeling so shocked. I'd suspected it for a while. I described myself as an anxious person. But to hear someone tell me that I wasn't mad, that there was a cause, and that there was something they could do to help? Mind = blown.
She prescribed me 20mg of Citalopram, with the intention of increasing my dose once she was sure it agreed with me. She has put me forward for CBT, to help me change the way that I think.

We had a review just before Christmas, to check that I was OK taking the tablets. I have another in a few days, because she's leaving the surgery, and I'll be passed on to another doctor.
In all honesty, I can't say that I've felt a major difference, but I know the tablets take two to four weeks to start working.
But I do feel better for finally talking to someone, for finally reaching out and accepting the help that I need. I feel better for taking what feels like a giant step towards taking better care of myself, which I have to remember is important for my sake, and Wheelz's.

Let's get inked...

First of all, I suppose I should apologize for not blogging since the start of November. There are a whole host of reasons, none of which I'll get into now. Perhaps my New Years resolution will be to blog at least once a week or something.


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Anyway.
This time last week, Wheelz and I were getting tattoos, our Christmas present to one another. It's something we've been meaning to set up since... well, last Christmas, actually. We bought each other a voucher for Christmas last year, and tried to set up our appointment's in February, around the time of Wheelz's birthday. But the studio that we'd bought the vouchers on ended up messing us around, and then there was everything with our home situation, and Lil Monster and... it didn't happen.

So this year, we were determined to make it happen, even if it meant we had to go before Christmas. Especially if we had to go before Christmas, because it meant we could be sure that Lil Monster wouldn't be around.
So after looking around online, we bought each other a one hour session at Cannock Ink. Both Wheelz and I have plans for bigger, lengthier tattoos than can be completed in an hour, but we didn't know the studio that well, and decided to err on the side of caution.

A day or two after we'd bought the vouchers, I called up to get us booked in. I don't love making phone calls, but this was fine.
As I always do, I made sure to ask about parking and disabled access. The lady I spoke to on the phone said that there was parking nearby, and she'd have to check the disabled access.
I messaged her on Facebook later that day, to confirm our designs and get the info about the disabled access. In her reply, she said that they had an upstairs room, but they had a space downstairs that they could get us into. I said that I'd appreciate it, and as far as I was concerned, we were good to go.

Fast forward to last Tuesday, then. Our appointments were booked for 10:00, so we left out at quarter past nine, after a quick stop off elsewhere to sort something else out. Cannock is only, according to google, thirty minutes or so away, but we wanted to leave time to get lost and figure out parking.
We got to Cannock, and spotted the studio, just before ten. But I couldn't see any parking, apart from at the Aldi down the road. We ended up parked in the Aldi car park, as the only other parking we could see was up a hill, and neither of us fancied trying to get the wheelchair up that later.
In the end, we didn't actually take the wheelchair in. The door wasn't wide enough for it to fit, and there wouldn't have been room for it in the waiting room/ barber shop. Unfortunately, that meant that Wheelz had to walk all the way from the car park to the studio, only for the receptionist to warn us that the chairs sometimes pulled away from the wall and probably wouldn't be safe for Wheelz to sit on. She wandered off upstairs to collect a computer chair. I felt awful for not thinking to check on that before Wheelz came up to the shop.

Eventually, Wheelz was able to take a seat and have a drink before we had to fill in all the forms.
In the past, when I've gotten tattoos, I've been asked to bring in reference images, for the artist to work on. When I got in touch to confirm our appointments, I asked if they needed anything else from us, and they said no. This meant that quite some time was spent hanging around whilst Alex, our artist, trundled up and down the stairs to get images for us to approve before he made the stencils for us. Around an hour and a half after we'd arrived, it was finally time for me to go downstairs and get my ink.

When they'd told us that there was space downstairs, they neglected to mention that they were in the process of moving everything downstairs. That ended up happening whilst I was downstairs getting my tattoo, and Wheelz waited upstairs.
Now, all credit to Alex. He was fantastic. He was incredibly thorough throughout the whole process. I got the chance to check the stencil before he started, twisting my arm this way and that to ensure that I didn't mind the warping. He was a very careful worker, tracing the curves of my design before actually tattooing them, to ensure that they were the right shape. He made sure I got a proper look at it once it was finished before wrapping me up in cling film. He even went so far as to tell me to get in touch if it faded at all, or looked off once it had healed, and that he'd book me in for a free touch up if that was the case. I cannot fault him at all, he was absolutely fab.

Once I'd had a chance to sit for a minute and have a drink, it was time for Wheelz to come downstairs and get her tattoo done. I stayed at her side, having stolen one of the tattooists chairs to perch on, and chatted with Alex whilst he worked. The whole time we were down there, they were moving in furniture, personal fixings and all sorts. It was a bit distracting, truth be known.

Some forty minutes later, Wheelz was done. She loved her art as well, and was told the same by Alex- to just get in touch if there was anything she was unhappy with, and he'd sort it for her. This was an unfamiliar, but much appreciated, practice, which we both appreciated.
We tipped him for the great work, and drove home.


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Unfortunately, I'd happily go back to Cannock Ink if I could guarantee that I'd get Alex again, but Wheelz wouldn't be able to come with me. Despite checking beforehand, there were just too many factors against it. The parking, or lack thereof. There were people who just parked on the double yellows outside, but knowing our luck, we'd be the poor sods who got a ticket for it. Aldi was just too far for Wheelz to walk, and as I said earlier, the wheelchair wasn't a viable option. The set up inside was odd, too. Weird chairs, that you have to warn people about, probably shouldn't be in waiting rooms- just a thought.
If Alex just worked somewhere on level ground, with parking nearby, I could easily see him becoming a go to artist for me; I'm that happy with the piece I got done, and I think Wheelz agrees.

So, with one Christmas present down, and just under two weeks to go... Bring on Christmas!

Bartram's

Buckle in, this might be a bit of a long one.
So, I alluded to an incident involving the mobility company, Bartram's, in my recent post about our trip to the NEC. I've been in touch with them twice since, and fortunately, the situation is as good as resolved.

A week before our trip to the NEC, I visited their 'disabled access' page, and booked a mobility scooter for Wheelz to use. We've used Bartram's in the past, and found them to be a great resource when visiting such a site as the NEC.
Fast forward to Sunday. We followed the sat-nav directions to the parking at the NEC. We found ourselves around the back of hall 17. Upon asking the parking director, we were given directions to the parking outside the atrium, halls 17 and 18. We parked close to the door, and used the wheelchair to get inside. Having used the service in the past, we knew that there was a mobility stall just inside the doors, so we headed there. However, there was no one there. The door was locked, the shutters were down, and there wasn't so much as a sign to tell us when they'd be back. There was a scooter parked outside, with a phone number on the back, which I tried calling. I've since learnt that the phone service isn't manned over the weekend.
At a bit of a loss as to what to do, we sent my aunt and Lil Monster around the corner to find the next mobility stall. I received a call from my aunt not long after they left. The lady- I didn't catch her name- manning that stall informed us that we needed to go around to the next stall in order to collect a scooter.
If you're like me, you'll be thinking, what? You, the able bodied attendant, would like my disabled mother to come to you? 
Apparently, she was serious, so we made our way around to the next mobility stall.
Once there, I showed her the confirmation email that I had, stating that I had indeed booked and paid for a scooter, and which show we were using it for. She read the email, nodded, and informed us that we needed to travel through the NEC, to get to the piazza outside hall 1, which was where the pet show was being held.
We pointed out the obvious- namely, that the whole point of booking a scooter was that Wheelz wouldn't need to wheel her way around the place, she should be able to use the scooter.
It became clear that the lady we were speaking to had no real idea how the NEC was set up, nor how the stall was run.
 I later found out that she was from a temping agency, and had no real training on how to handle the situation.
After some back and forth, and getting the official number from Bartram's so that we could complain, she agreed to give us a scooter to use.

As I said before, Wheelz then had her scooter, and we were able to enjoy our trip to the Pet Show.

On Monday, I got in touch with Bartram's about the whole fiasco. There were a few different issues that I wanted dealing with.
The National Pet Show was being held in hall 1. It stands to reason that we'd collect the scooter from near that hall, right? Except we went to the disabled parking that we were directed to. Our tickets didn't state which hall we were in, so we had no way of knowing where we were supposed to be. The booking form for Bartram's asks you which show you are using the scooter for, but gives no information about which mobility stall you're supposed to collect your scooter from.

So, I got in touch, and spoke to a gentleman from Bartram's- I believe his name was Jack. I explained the situation to Jack, who was reasonably sympathetic in response. He told me that, once a booking has been made, it should show up on a list that all of the mobility stalls have, and the lady shouldn't have argued with us about the collection of the scooter. He apologized about the booking system, but stated that that was just how it was. When it became clear to him that I wasn't going to be fobbed off with that's just the way it is, he offered to take my details and give them to his manager, so that I could discuss the situation with them. I agreed, and he told me they'd be in touch today (Wednesday).

Fast forward again to today. I waited for them to get in touch with me. I waited until around two thirty, which I felt gave them ample time to get in touch with me. I was put through to the event coordinator, Marie. Again, I explained the situation to her, and she helped me clear up a few matters.

Apparently, the parking attendant should have checked which show we were attending. We ended up parked just about as far away from the piazza as it's possible to get, because we followed his directions.
She was unimpressed when I informed her that the stall nearest the doors was unmanned, as apparently, there should have been someone there who could help up.
She agreed with Jack, in that the booking system doesn't give any indication as to where to collect the scooters from, and told me that ideally, disabled patrons should be able to park close to their event, and find the relevant stall from there. When I queried this (what are disabled patrons supposed to do, then, if they can't park particularly close? Hope for the best, and grit their teeth against any pain and discomfort caused by wandering around trying to find their scooter?), she told me that there is supposed to be an allocated person to help with this situation; they were clearly absent during our visit.
She disagreed with Jack about the list that the stalls have. When you book your scooter, it asks you which show you're attending. The assumption is that the ticket you have for your show will tell you which hall you're in, and therefore you'll park nearby and go to the correct stall in the first place. When I explained that our Groupon tickets didn't have this stated anywhere, she told me that she'd get in touch with the NEC and ask them about revising this. She's also going to get in touch with the NEC about the directions given by the parking attendants, because the directions he gave us were what started off the whole sorry charade.
I have to commend Marie for her kindness and helpfulness over the phone today. She issued an apology to myself and passed one on to Wheelz. She has refunded us for the cost of the scooter booking for the weekend, as she said that Wheelz shouldn't have been put out like that in the first place. As I said earlier, she's also going to get in touch with the NEC about a few procedures they have in place with regards to their parking attendants, and ticket layout.
She was, all in all, wonderful in dealing with this situation. The whole experience, prior to talking to her today, had kind of put me off using Bartram's in the future, which would have been a shame.

I was worried about how this post was going to turn out. I think that Bartram's do great work, and don't want to sound as though I don't appreciate what they do. I think there were some issues this weekend that needed resolving, and I'm glad that we were about to sort it all out in the end.
I was also worried about making both phone calls. I don't much like phone calls as a matter of course; it's too easy for conversations to be taken the wrong way, or to be misheard. Despite the fact that I was making a complaint, I didn't want to come across as rude or nasty. However, I also didn't want to sound wet, or be shot down because I wasn't assertive enough.

It didn't help that I spoke to my dad yesterday, and mentioned the situation. I mentioned to him that I was going to get back in touch and complain. He laughed at me! When I asked him what was so funny, he told me that he'd heard my negotiating and complaining before, and he essentially said that I was unlikely to achieve anything, going about it my way. I mentioned my concern about sounding rude, and he told me that that was my problem; I was complaining, and I needed to be clear that I wasn't going to accept being brushed off.

It would be fair to say that making the phone call this afternoon was a bit of a 'fuck you' to my dad. I wasn't going to be brushed off, but I didn't need to be rude or bolshy to make that happen. I'm aware that he still sees me as I was at fifteen, when I moved away from him- a bit timid, a bit... weak.
But that's not the case anymore.
I'm not saying it's easy to do. But I think complaining about the things that go wrong is the best thing you can do. You don't have to be rude about it, you don't have to shout down the phone at anyone.
Things can't change if people don't know what they're doing wrong.
Life is hard enough, being the carer for a disabled person. Going out can be hard, not know what Wheelz is going to be up against and trying to help her with all of that. If me making a complaint today means that our next visit, or the visit of another disabled patron, goes smoother than it did on Sunday, then it was more than worth the discomfort of that phone call.

Cake show and Pet show and Bartrams... oh my!

As Wheelz mentioned in her last post, we had a very busy weekend recently. Namely, the Cake International Show and the National Pet Show, both hosted at the NEC.

Cake International was my thing. In another life, I trained for three years in professional bakery, cake decoration and sugar flowers. So, once a year, I enter a competition at Cake International, in which I go head to head with hundreds of other incredible artists, to try and show off what we can do.
Last year, I entered the wedding cake competition, and came home with a certificate of merit.
This year, I thought I'd try my hand at a relatively new competition; fantasy flowers. I've had a love of sugar flowers since my very first lesson, and this felt like the right class for me. After all, my college lecturer was always telling me that my pieces were more fantasy than botanically correct.
So in August/September, I started work on my entry. On Friday morning, Wheelz very kindly got up at six am to drive me to the NEC so that I could place my entry and begin the anxious wait for results.
For those of you interested, this was my entry.

This year, I wasn't lucky enough to win any certificates or prizes. In fact, my piece was apparently not to specification, and I found myself disqualified. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to find out where I went wrong with my entry either.
As disappointing as this was, I'm still glad I entered. Creating work like this remains a passion of mine, and you'd best believe I'll be back at the NEC next year with something new.

We also had tickets booked for the National Pet show; something Wheelz in particular was really looking forward to.
I went online, a week or so before the event, and used the NEC- recommended Bartrams to hire a mobility scooter, so that Wheelz could get around easily.

The Pet Show itself was amazing, although I will note that they were somewhat deficient in cat related things. Lil Monster got to hold snakes, birds, and I myself made friends with a charming looking alpaca- not an experience I was expecting, but lovely nonetheless. We were able to see all sorts of stalls, from pet food stalls to rescue centres looking for sponsorship. The event wasn't exactly what I thought it would be; I wasn't expecting all of the exotic animals, for one. But it was a really fun day, which was something I think we really needed after the stress of last month.

Unfortunately, the fun was somewhat marred by our poor experience with the scooter-hire people, Bartrams. But I'll be posting about that after Wednesday, when I've spoken to the manager and they've been given a chance to make amends...

October - whoops!

Well, that month went by quickly!!

Some of the lack of posting is down to ill health - I haven't been having the best of times. Some of it is down to laziness, and some of it is not knowing what to say.

We didn't manage to sort out our Floatation tank experience which is a shame. But we did manage to take care of our nails for the whole month - including nail gels, moisturising them daily, and basically growing them so long that they're a slight danger to the cats!

One tough part of October was the news that my PiP triburnal was set for 30th October. So I spent a lot of time worrying myself into the ground about whether or not I should go ahead with it. For those of you who don't know, after you receive your original result when you apply for PiP, you ask for a mandatory reconsideration if you don't agree with the decision. If you are still unhappy, you apply for a triburnal where you get to meet a Dr, a member of your peers and anothe person who question you and make the final decision. However, they can decide to take any award you have received away from you.

So imagine, you are applying for PiP for mental health issues such as anxiety. Imagine the DWP have already said no to you twice. You then get a chance to speak on your own behalf. But to do so, you have to sit in a room and discuss all of the things that make you anxious, how badly they impact on your life, how much help you need.

Imagine what this does to a person who is already suffering from anxiety. And that is why so many triburnal don't go ahead. Because it's an impossible situation - if you say the wrong thing, come across as too confident, don't meet their criteria, not only can they say no to adding to your award, you can lose what you already have.

Suffice it to say that after about 20 days of not sleeping properly, nightmares including waking nightmares, and all that is entailed, I decided that I couldn't go through with the triburnal. Not helped by the last time I attended one being warned quite strongly by the 'judge'  that they could take away the award I already had. Even my advisor from the local council said that was a very strange thing for her to have emphasised quite so much - almost threatening.

So I have an award that lasts until 2021 and I will reapply then, taking into account any deterioration. And I'll see how that goes.  Only three years to psyche myself up for that one!

In other news, I have Quingo coming round tomorrow to show me one of their scooters. I did explain to them that I don't have the finances at the moment but they said no pressure, and it would be great to see if it can fit into the back of the car, etc so if I do manage to save some money I know what I want to get.

And I wrote part of a story so my Muse has awoken,

November's task? The International Cake Festival that Stripes has entered and the Pet Show which is just an excuse to feed my insane desire for yet another furry beastie!

Showcase Cinema- please don't ever change

No, really. Don't. Please.

Anyone who deals with any level of disability knows how difficult it can be to get out and about. You'll know how hard it can be to find places that will accommodate a wheelchair easily, with no issues with flooring and so on. One of the few places that Wheelz and I have found is Showcase cinemas.

There are two near us; Walsall and Dudley.

We visited Walsall at the start of the summer, with Lil Monster in tow.
The trip was not a success. The disabled doors weren't clearly marked, which meant that Wheelz had to wander about until a kindly gentleman pointed it out for her.. The carpet joins were raised, meaning that she couldn't just wheel over them, and meet us in the theatre. The girl at the kiosk wasn't clear about how the tickets worked, so we had to sit at the back, in the premier seats, and hope like hell that they didn't come along and ask us to move.

Suffice it to say, we were concerned about our next trip to the cinema.

But it seems we needn't have worried. Last week, Wheelz and I took ourselves off to Dudley, to go and see the new Kingsman movie (which, by the way, we highly recommend).
The disabled parking behind the cinema is really close to the doors. The doors open wide enough for Wheelz's chair to fit through with minimal problems. We arrived slightly early for the screening we wanted, but this just gave us time to stop by the toilets before heading to our pre-booked seats.
Wheelz was able to stay in her chair for the cinema, with me sat beside her. There is a slope to get into the actual theater, but as issues go, it's not insurmountable.
We were actually able to enjoy ourselves. There was legroom, where we were sat. We were close to the exit, in case we'd needed to leave. It was a fantastic experience.

We'll go back to Showcase Dudley, for sure. Perhaps not to the X-Plus room, which boasts surround sound and a multiple dimension film experience or something. All that meant to Wheelz and I was that we left with a mild headache.
But it's so fantastic to know that, despite dealing with Wheelz's physical disability, we can still do normal things like go out and see and film. It doesn't have to be a palaver. We can just go out and have a laugh, have some fun.

We're planning on visiting again, as there are plenty of films we want to see. Thor: Ragnarok, Justice League, Jumanji. Roll on, November...

Never Have I Ever......

...had a pedicure. I don't like my feet. Stripes doesn't like her feet. The most we've done for them is the whole footner thing (can recommend if only to watch sheets of skin falling off of your feet).

But being pre-diabetic has made me more aware of my extremities and needing to take care of them. I think I read somewhere about bad circulation and dry skin being one of the symptoms? I could be completely wrong.

So with Lil Monster at school, Stripes and I decided to visit a local salon and have a pedicure, as previously frequented and recommended by my Mother.  We called up the day before and booked ourselves in, made sure to get the cash out and prepared ourselves for a little luxury.

Hmmm, not sure that's quite what happened. Firstly, parking was a nightmare! Don't you hate it when there's a small parking section outside shops with room for maybe three cars and two cars decide they need to stretch out? Yep, right outside the salon with no way I was getting our behemoth into the small space between the two vehicles. I don't drive as much as I used to - stress, anxiety, pain, etc - and my parking skills have deteriorated. Reversing into spaces - heck yeah, I can do that. Parallel parking - well that takes a few deep breaths and a decent space.

So we drove around the block until we found a space that was relatively close and parked up. Cue the fun of getting the wheelchair out of the car and trundling over the uneven footpath to get to the shop. Stripes went ahead to check that there was room for my wheelchair and was told yeah, sure, they'd open the door wide to make sure I could get the wheelchair in.

This is a small salon - I got the wheelchair in fine, but it basically took up most of the shop floor.  I took a seat to get my breath back. The owner of the store was busy on the phone;  staff member one was threading the eyebrows of a client and staff member two was for us. Guess we should have confirmed that we would be having the pedicures at the same time.

I'm not sure what I was expecting - maybe I watch too much TV - but basically, Stripes sat in a salon chair whilst one of those feet massager things (that you can get from JML etc) was filled with boiling water from a kettle. Then staff member 2 added some cold water and asked Stripes to confirm the temperature was alright.  In went the footsies plus some bubble bath (no word of a lie, I'm pretty sure it was just bubble bath) and the buttons were pressed so the little machine could do it's thing.

I was sat trying to make myself and the wheelchair as small as possible (mission impossible) whilst slowly roasting because they had a gas-heater turned on in the corner of the room, throwing out chunks of heat.  Every time the door opened, I found myself apologising as people stumbled getting in to the salon (obviously not expecting a whacking great wheelchair to be taking up space) and were whipped in and out of the chairs at great speed. Eyebrow tinting, threading, chin waxing - you name it, it was performed as I sat alternating between watching Stripes squirming in her chair as her feet were massaged and creamed and seeing a slew of women being de-haired.

To be honest, I spent most of the time on my phone checking Facebook and trying not to feel like a blockage.  And worrying. Because every time Stripes had to take her feet out of the foot-spa thing, she had to lift them onto the lady's lap. And I wasn't sure I'd be able to do that. I have some mobility, but lifting and lowering my legs willy-nilly is a bit of a recipe for disaster for me - when I get tired, my feet start to drag and my legs feel like they weigh an absolute tonne (hence needing the wheelchair) so I was dreading having to perform leg lifts. 

We brought in our own nail varnish in case we didn't like any of their colours - good job too as the shelf with all of their nail varnishes on was in the corner of the store which I couldn't have got to unless I had my crutches with me and had been prepared to hobble around. After being slathered in all sort of creams and being lightly pumiced, Stripes was all done with pretty green toes looking rather spiffy. 

My turn. 

We realised there was no way I could get into the salon chair safely so decided to do the whole thing in my wheelchair.  Pulling up a chair, staff member realised I was too high up for her to do what she needed to do. She looked at me, I looked at her, and I realised she expected me to either slouch or find some way to lower myself to the right level for her.  Stripes and I shared a few speaking glances, then I realised that removing the seat pad in my wheelchair would bring me lower so that sorted that out.

I have really ticklish feet – part of the reason why I don’t like people touching them – so, when she started working on my foot, I started giggling. A touch embarrassing but I sort of expected it. She asked me if I was aware of how dry my feet were and I said yes. Staff member one peered over and said something to our worker in their own language, then turned to me and said I should try moisturising them every day as they were very dry. I said I understood and yes, that was part of why we were here – to help me start taking care of my feet. She then turned to her colleague and said something about a razor – colleague said no, that my feet were too sensitive – at which point she walked away. I felt a bit embarrassed (who the heck needs a razor to yank off the hard skin on their feet?!) but more was to come.

She returned, pulled up a chair, and proceeded to talk to her colleague, making suggestions as she worked on me, and encouraging her to use the razor numerous times instead of the metal pumice file. So I sat, squirmed, shifted around, did leg lifts taking my feet out of the water, back into the water, all the while they made comments about the mess I was making because I knocked the foot spa thing, and dead skin etc. was all over the floor. I wanted said floor to open up and swallow me whole.

I got cramp a couple of times from holding my legs up for her to work on my heel, and then, yuck, I fainted. It happens – sometimes it like my brain needs to reset, the world starts spinning and I blank out for a bit. Stripes is used to it – makes sure she’s the first thing I see, reassures me that I’m fine, reminds me where I am, that sort of thing. They were understandably worried – apparently, from outside it can be quite scary to see as ambulances get mentioned and people tend to wring their hands as they wonder what they can do to help – and offered me water or tea. No thanks – I just wanted this over and done with. More awkward shifting around in the chair and foot placement to enable her to paint my toenails. More comments about how dry my feet were, how much mess was caused soaking up the overspill of water from the spa, etc. Obviously I didn’t understand every single thing they said as I don’t speak their language. But some words are the same, and the few comments made directly to us made it perfectly plain what they were saying. I felt like an inconvenience – instead of being a pampering experience, I was exhausted, in pain, and generally feeling like if I never saw that salon again it would be too soon.

I know I can be over-sensitive. Hello, morbidly obese disabled woman used to being stared at, laughed at, ignored, etc. – of course I’m over-sensitive. But I expected more from the experience. I wouldn’t actually have minded the cut-price foot spa if we weren’t basically sat in the middle of the shop floor, with no privacy as people walked in and out of the store. I wouldn’t have minded the same tools being used on me as they were on Stripes if I had been able to see them being washed in between times. I could care less about them speaking to each other in their own language – I used to have manicures done in a small salon where I communicated with my stylist by pointing at what I wanted, nodding, grinning or shaking my head. I just hated feeling so completely out of place. I hated feeling like an inconvenience. Like parts of me – that admittedly aren’t pretty – were such a freak show that they needed to be commented on continuously.

So. Yes to having a pedicure again. No to having one done there again. My feet looked great – skin was smooth (or as smooth as the soles of my feet get); my toenails looked pretty with the blood-red nail varnish I chose. But I didn’t enjoy the experience and it certainly didn’t feel like the pampering it was meant to be.

Saying all of that, I did pop into that salon and have my eyebrows tinted – quick, painless, no extraneous comments made. Maybe I really do just have freaky feet?!

Did I mention, I bought me and Stripes a floatation tank experience from Groupon? Yeah, we might need to get cracking on booking that!

The summer of yes- even though it's already autumn...

Part of the summer of yes was supposed to be trying new things, taking as many opportunities as were presented to us.
Something that I'm told a lot as a carer is that I need something that's just for me. You know, a hobby or an activity that I do that's just for me. Quite how this works long term, considering the whole 'caring responsibilities' thing, I'm not sure.

But I decided to take this advice. At the end of August, I was given a voucher for aerial classes, as it was something I'd always loved the idea of trying.
I had my first lesson on Monday, and, well. For starters, walking into a class like that, when you're anxious and on your own, is a lot. Like, a LOT. I'm a fairly anxious person anyway, and new situations stress me out. My heart starts pounding, I start sweating. It's not a pretty sight.
But I walked in there anyway.
The lesson I went to- and will continue to go to, for the next five weeks- is held in a large hall. Suspended from the ceiling were aerial silks, a giant rope for Spanish web, trapezes, aerial hoops and straps. If I'm honest, they looked more like torture devices than something to have fun with.
I wasn't the only person there- I think there were about twelve of us- but I was definitely the most unexperienced. Whilst there, I learnt how to create a foot lock with the aerial silks, and how to hold a pose they call 'swan'. I learnt how to haul myself up onto the trapeze, and hang upside down without falling. I learnt how to turn myself in circles using only two straps suspended from the ceiling. My abs didn't thank me for learning that one, let me tell you.
I was surprised to realise, at the end of the session, that despite my fear, I'd had a lot of fun. So much so, that I'm actually kind of looking forward to the next session.

My next lesson is this coming Monday. I'm looking forward to it, although I'm not relishing the aching muscles that followed the day after. I'm not sure I'll keep going to these specific classes, or even aerial circus, after this voucher runs out. But I'm glad for the opportunity to try it, to give it a go and have some fun with it. That's what the summer of yes was supposed to be about, after all...

The Summer of Yes - and yes, I know it's practically Autumn!

As discussed with my Counsellor, this is the start of our new blog. Disabled access has become more important to us over the course of the last year.

Stripes has officially become Carer, although to be honest she's been doing that job for far longer than the records say. And Wheelz has accepted that following a TIA incident last March and a diagnosis of osteoarthritis in both knees that 'disabled' is a label that fits.

So, how friendly is the world to a disabled person who needs a wheelchair for 'long' distances, and a Carer trying to make life as normal as possible? Add to which, Stripes is quite a slender young lady and Wheelz is - well, ahem, politely put, Wheelz is morbidly obese and outweighs Stripes by quite a margin!  So pushing the wheelchair in itself becomes a feat of endurance, strength and trying to ignore the nice people who think she needs a hand!

Sleep apnea was diagnosed last November, which means a CPAP machine - not great when sometimes claustrophobia is a problem. But me and the machine are getting on a bit better now. It helps when I can't catch my breath, or when hayfever makes me a sneeze machine.

To top it all off, we also have the challenge of a new teenager who has spent the last eight years acting out. Like, seriously acting out. We're talking violence, tantrums, wetting incidents - family support, CAMHS, TAF meetings at school - yeah, just loads.

So over the course of the summer, lots of things changed.

We moved from a second floor high rise flat to a ground floor, low rise flat in a different area. Major change for us - being stuck on the second floor when the lifts aren't working can lead to mega feelings of isolation, adds to depression plus the noise made it very easy to fall into a space where I just didn't want to exist. Fortunately, the house move has made a difference already - now if I could just sleep!


And finally, I decided to give the keto diet another try. I did Atkins years ago (didn't everyone?!) but it fell by the wayside for reasons I can't recollect now. But I haven't found myself able to stick to 5:2, despite finding some very handy products from Asda, and I NEED to do something about my weight.

Saturday 16th September is the start date. And we had fun with the following slicer that Stripes bought making a salad for lunch so as soon as I'm hungry it's ready.

Onions and mushrooms sliced and diced almost instantly made it fun and quick, so even if Stripes is out and about, I can do myself something to eat. I do have a dining chair in the kitchen that I sit on to do this stuff - I can't stand up for long periods of time without feeling dizzy and in pain. Am going to try to do this clean i.e. no fake-bake to start with, just keeping it simple by keeping my carb intake below 25grams per day. We shall see.

So it's taken months to actually get as far as doing a first post for here. We have also finally used a photo of one of our cats for the header - personalisation is the plan  but it might take time. Here goes nothing!