Monthly Archives: October 2012

Just Hook Me Up

I am living on coffee and stress so why am I putting on weight? I want to be one of these people who sheds pounds when they’re dashing around like a demented chicken, pumped up with stress and an unfair dismissal.

My mind is racing, but it seems my body isn’t. It’s just over a week since I was sacked for having MS. There is too much to do, apart from the everyday routine, the Christmas planning, the taxi service for The Teenager. Throw in all the ubiquitous health appointments, blood tests, a newly-diagnosed day and a fatigue management course and I’m up against it.

So the thought of launching a legal case is filling me with fear, and coffee. I (think) I am a nice person. I don’t like fighting. At school, I gave my lunch money to the bullies without a word. But this scenario, the one I am facing right now, is out of my league.

The bullying in work was horrendous enough. A year of loathing myself for not standing up to them, whilst battling to come to terms with my diagnosis and what it means for my future. Perhaps there is a tipping point. By dismissing me on the spot, expecting me to clear my desk and leave straight away has made me angry. I would hate myself more for walking away.

What have I got to lose? I have had incredible support. My healthcare professionals have risen up in outrage and anger, my friends have rallied round and my forum buddies have carried me along on a wave of advice and soothing words. One of them pointed out that I would only ever have to do this once. Excellent point.

I have to do this.

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The Teenager is Back

After three days of peace and quiet, The Teenager is back. I missed him like crazy, but being an off-duty parent has been bliss.

I cleaned the house from top to bottom on Friday and it’s stayed just the same. The towels are still hanging up, the loo roll doesn’t disappear quite so fast (does he eat it?) and the washing machine is taking a well-deserved break. I don’t walk through clouds of Lynx. There’s been no homework supervision, driving to rugby games or food shopping for an army.

On his way back home though, the texts came thick and fast:

Can I have a sleepover? No.

Can I have a tenner for the cinema, and bus fair? Maybe.

Has anyone been in my bedroom? Yes, me. Emptying your bin.

Did the cat miss me? Um, I guess so.

At the supermarket earlier, I made the mistake of calling him to ask what he wanted for a welcome home tea.

‘Pizza. But it has to be Chicago Town’.

‘Ok, wait til I get to the freezer cabinet. Right, which one?’

‘Cheese, but not the four cheese one.’

‘They don’t have that. Pepperoni?’

‘No.’

‘Duck? Sloppy Joe? Beef? Mexican?’

‘Nah. Just cheese.’

‘They. Don’t. Have. That’.

‘I suppose I’ll have to have the pepperoni then.’

I get to the checkout. The Teenager calls. He’s changed his mind, he’ll have the four cheese one. The freezer cabinet is at the other end of the store. I buy the Pepperoni.

There’s no such thing as an off-duty parent, is there?

 

 

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A Friend Comes to the Rescue

The Teenager was away for the weekend and after the week I had just been through, I would have been quite happy to have locked my front door, closed the curtains and set up a standing order with Domino’s.

One of my good friends had different ideas though. He scooped me up on Friday night and delivered me back on Sunday afternoon, rested, all talked out and ready to take on a fresh week. On Friday, he had booked tickets for a live comedy show. We turned up, got settled with wine to break my catatonia and waited for the crowd in the bar to pick up. It didn’t. We checked. There were over a hundred seats in the venue and only 29 tickets sold.

I just couldn’t watch a comedian die on stage, so we decided to go drinking instead. Excellent plan. On Saturday he bundled me into his car and took me back to his place where I lay sprawled on the sofa all evening, watching ‘One Day’ again and putting away chocolate at an alarming rate. Finally, on Sunday, he booked us in to see ‘Skyfall’ in the Gallery at the local Odeon, where we scoffed tortilla chips, Quality Street and popcorn before we even sat down to watch the film. Nothing like a Bond film to put things in perspective.

Friends are great, aren’t they? He listened while I ranted and raved and swore far too much. He calmly put some excellent points forward and gave me an A3 pad so I could write down everything that had happened, in proper, chronological order. So the weekend ended on a high. I kind of know where I am now, compared to the mess I was in on Friday. I don’t feel so alone.

As an added bonus, I don’t have to go to The Office of Doom any more, so I didn’t have that awful Sunday night feeling. Every cloud…

 

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A Recipe for Changing Your Life

happy housewifeThis is best for the novice cook – the less experience you have, the better. But do make sure you choose your ingredients carefully!

Ingredients

  • A good few relapses – drop into mixing bowl, one after the other in rapid succession.
  • One firm diagnosis of multiple sclerosis – this could take you a while to obtain, so be patient.
  • Two evil bosses. If these are difficult to find, check under stones, where they are fond of crawling out from.
  • A liberal sprinkling of heavy-grade bullying at work, of the nastier  and more vicious variety.
  • For added panache, throw in an unfair dismissal along with a copy of the Disability Discrimination Act.
  • Finally, a good dash of steroids, MRIs and a lumbar puncture.

Method

  • Mix all the ingredients together well. You are aiming for a gloopy, gungy consistency
  • Simmer at the highest temperature for just over a year.

Best served with

This recipe can be hard to stomach so make sure you have the following:

  • The best friends you can find (you know who you are)
  • A darn good support network – http://shift.ms/ and http://www.msrc.co.uk/  are amongst the finest
  • Copious amounts of wine, chocolate and laughter

After digesting, pick yourself up, dust yourself down and get out of the kitchen. There’s a bright, shiny new world waiting for you…

 

 

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Phew…

After waiting a whole morning, the memory stick is shoved through my letter box in a plain envelope. The boss knew I was in but couldn’t be bothered/wasn’t polite enough to knock the door and have a civil conversation. No acknowledgement of my letter, of dropping my ID card off, clearing my stuff from the office. No ‘hey, thanks for working for us for two years’.

I can quite honestly say that I have never, ever been treated so shabbily in my whole life. Being sacked for having multiple sclerosis is bad enough without all this game-playing on top of it. At least I have been polite, left without a squeak, but in my own way I have kicked ass. I defended myself in the boardroom when I was unexpectedly sacked on Monday, when the two bosses had so obviously been planning it for weeks.

I specifically told them I should have representation but was turned down. I negotiated two months grace. I calmly collected my belongings. I kept in touch and was blanked.

This has been a humdinger of a week. I am an emotional wreck, high on coffee and stress. After a year of bullying, they got me out. I am angry, sad, grieving, furious, melancholic, all in equal measure. I need to calm down, think rationally and create a new plan. I am struggling not to take it personally. How can I not?

Maybe the writing was on the wall when I spent a week in hospital for MS treatment over the summer, and was on sick leave for three weeks (statutory sick pay, the bare minimum). Not a Get Well Card, not a phone call or visit. No communication whatsoever.

It’s the small things that hurt the most. In our little office, we buy chocolate eclairs when there is a celebration. Guess what I found in the fridge on Thursday when I was clearing out my stuff? A big box of them. Wonder what they were celebrating?

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