Category Archives: Work and Studying

Jun 09 2014
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Work and Studying

The Fickle Finger Of Fate

pink hardhatOnce upon a time, my career path was set.

Then along came the dastardly Evil Bosses who cast me out into the wilderness for daring to bring MS to the boardroom table.

Step forward the Good Fairy Goblin Wizard, my best friend, who swiftly put me on his payroll and offered me a job with his construction company, giving me breathing space to find a new one.

One and a half years later, I’m still working with him. I love my job. I adore it. It’s flexible, fun and challenging. This friend held my hand all the way through the MS diagnostic process and beyond so probably knows more about MS than I do, thanks to my late-night outpourings of anguish, tears and ridiculous rage against the world.

Sure, when I’m on site (trying to look important and clued up), he sniggers when I trip over a solitary wood-shaving or kick something over for the umpteenth time. He laughs when my bacon buttie suddenly drops from my hand, and he directs me discreetly to a quiet corner when my yawning starts to spread to the labourers. I like that.

We’ve just taken on a huge project, so my job is secure for at least another year, or however long the boss can put up with me (hope he’s not reading this). We’re tying up loose ends on other jobs before we commit fully to it.

Last week, I was with him on a kitchen conversion. My main tasks were to measure up, jot down materials we needed and work out the logistics. Oh, and order a Portaloo for the big job (a very funny conversation with the lovely Emma in Bristol). We work well together, so without thinking, the boss called out, ‘there, no there, yup there, watch your step’, and ‘pick that blinking cable up before you lassoo your foot in it, you dweeb.’

My work is different every single day. And if I’m having a bad day, I make up for it another time. There’s no office politics (a huge positive after the vicious back-stabbing in my last job), no set working times and the men I work with are brilliant. They’re old enough to be my sons (eeeeeeeek), so I am a surrogate Agony Aunt/Mother. The Teenager has unwittingly given me plenty of experience.

So, yes, my career has certainly not panned out the way I envisaged. Not even close. That fickle finger of fate. But my job has given me the space to also do what I love most, writing, which is why I signed up for a Masters in creative writing. The best of both worlds. What more could I wish for?

p.s. I really do have a pink hardhat….

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May 27 2014
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Work and Studying

What Have I Done?

scooby snackWell, my MS-versary passed without major incident. I ended a very pleasant evening out still talking fairly intelligently to my friends rather than random trees or street signs (it has been known).

Life was looking good. I was in a good place, feeling, um, good.

Until an email pinged on my phone. A weighty document from the university, detailing a reading list, term dates, rules, regulations, how to get a student ID card (yay!) and plagiarism warnings.

Oops.

Have I been a bit too hasty in signing up for an MA? Will my brain have the last laugh? I scanned the book list, the phrases ‘developing effective analysis and argument’, ‘critical thinking skills’, ‘Harvard referencing’ leaping out at me. Assignments include a 6,000 word novel chapter, a 3,000 short story and a 10,000 word dissertation.

Perhaps my expectations have been a little on the low-expectation side. I imagined Creative Writing to be, well, creative and artistic. I had a vision of myself scribbling important thoughts in a battered notebook with a lilac pen. I would be sitting in a dingy cafe wearing fingerless gloves and studenty clothes. Me and The Teenager would cook beans on toast and lentil curry on alternate nights, warmed by the glow of our last candle. Perhaps we would visit the market at the end of the day to pick up plums and turnips that had fallen on the floor.

The last time I critically analysed anything, it was a letter from my neurologist detailing the sorry state of my brain, and even then I had to Google the long words. This course would be a whole different brain-game. Am I really up to it?

In a bid to calm down, I listened to my ‘You Are Intelligent and You Can Do It!’ relaxation thingie. Unfortunately this left me more stressed as I couldn’t count down my Stairway To Success without losing track of where I was. And when the American voice told me I was a worthy and special being, all I heard was ‘you are a special bean’. I snorted with laughter and missed the next bit about creating compartments in my mind where I could store important information. Gah.

In a fit of optimism,  I ordered everything from my reading list and I have a pot of freshly-sharpened pencils on my desk. Am I ready for September? About as ready as I was for my lumbar puncture….

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Feb 25 2014
6 Comments
Work and Studying

The Trouble With Men…..

Peppa PigI love working with men.

The way they just point and snigger when I trip over and then shout out, ‘yeah, mind the step love, eh?’

And when they ask ‘is the leccy off? Can’t see the kettle on?’

I love that they can talk animatedly about cars for hours. Or motorbikes. Or the quickest way from A to B (very, very heated arguments).

What I’m not so enamoured with is their total disregard for their health:

‘Boss, what’s wrong?’

‘Oh nothing. Just that neuralgia on my face back again. And I’m soooooo tired. Do you want that last piece of chocolate twist?’

‘Really??? Have you been to the doctor?’

‘Ha! Like, no. Mind you, I’m totally spaced out on the painkillers. Neurofen are the best. Nice.’

‘Meh.’

(I then gear up for full-on nagging mode) ‘You do know, don’t you, you’re 8 years off 50. 50!!! You can’t take these things for granted….’

‘Yeah, yeah, whatever. Are you having that last bit or not?’

I love my boss. Not in that way. We’ve known each other for almost a decade. We get on brilliantly. But I worry about him. I’m probably healthier than he is. He said to me this morning. ‘it’s bonkers, it’s as if I just have to get home, have to lie down, and nothing else matters but lying down on the sofa.’. Um, yeah, I’m with you on that one.

So what should I do? I’ve already been with him to hospital the last time he had the nerve pain. This time round, his eye is shutting and he can’t open it properly. He looks worn out. I’ve emailed him the NHS guidelines about neuralgia. When I left him at work today, he was exhausted, turning on the cement mixer to finish the brick-work.

My lovely twitter friend has started a hashtag, #Boss2Dr – if he listens, I will buy him a Peppa Pig Easter egg (don’t laugh, he adores that pig).

As for me, I’m back in work tomorrow…

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Jan 10 2014
12 Comments
Work and Studying

Plots And Plans

world dominationWhen I was first diagnosed with MS, a trusted health professional asked me, ‘so when will you be giving up work then?’

An outdated concept perhaps, but it got worse.

By the end of the fateful day I disclosed my MS at work, plans were underway to get rid of me as quickly as possible.

Just over a year later, and after not taking the very obvious hints, I was unceremoniously sacked on a dreary Monday morning.

Work and MS. It hasn’t really been a great story for me so far. On the bright side though, my friend has been employing me for over a year now while I look for a new job. The downside is he doesn’t run a cool cafe or bijoux boutique, but a construction company.

I normally work from home doing boring thrilling admin (pyjamas, toast and cat – hope the boss isn’t reading), but sometimes, if I promise to behave, he allows me on site. This week, I was let out to drive a mini dumper truck. Basically sitting down all day, tootling up a lane and back. Not that different from sitting down all day tootling to the kitchen and back, except I had an emergency stop button and the coffee was lousy.

I was given a quick lesson first, ‘this is stop, this is go and this is a steering wheel.’ Yup, got it. Woolly hat on and I was ready to go. To cut a long story short, it’s not that exciting after the first couple of goes. The highlight of my day was waving to a toddler who was peering through the window shouting ‘Bob! It’s Bob the Builder! But mummy, it’s a girl!’

Anyway, as I was tootling along, I realised I really should get a proper job. I’ve tried, I really have. I’m signed up to all the job sites, I scroll through pages and pages of thrilling career opportunities but still there is nothing out there. I’ve moved seamlessly from being restricted by childcare commitments to being restricted by MS.

I know I’m lucky. I couldn’t ask for a better boss, I’ve learned a huge amount and can now read architectural plans like a pro. I even have my own pink drill (honestly). But plans are afoot. I can’t go far in the construction world when I can’t even go up a ladder.

But you know what? I’ll miss the bacon sarnies, the camaraderie and the filthy jokes. What other job can offer all that? Answers on a postcard….

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Nov 28 2013
38 Comments
Work and Studying

I Did It. *faints*

fainting with shockI check my emails most mornings while I wait for the kettle to boil.

Nestled among the offers to give me £100,000 if only I hand over my bank details to a very polite and sincere gentleman in The Gambia, lay the email I had been waiting for.

‘Degree classification notice – please accept and confirm’.

My finger hovered over the email. The moment of truth, the culmination of six years study. I took a deep breath and clicked.

Then I laughed. And hiccuped. Rushing to the printer to see actual proof before the email magically disappeared, I did a high five (ok, a very low two, but you know what I mean).

I am now the proud owner of a Bachelor of Science degree (with Honours, yay). An upper Second Class. A 2:1. Still can’t believe it. Thinking about it, I have studied for the last 10 years out of 11, my first qualification being a degree equivalent in Homeopathy (long story). My Glaswegian auntie, on seeing the letters I was eligible to use for that course (RSHom), said, ‘oh dear, if you say that out loud with a Scottish accent, it sounds a wee bit rude, doesn’t it?).

Well, now I’m a Bachelor(ette), which is rather fitting, given my present singledom. I’m supposed to attend a graduation ceremony next May, donning a cap and gown and walking up to a stage to accept a bit of paper tied nicely with a ribbon. I’ll sign up, but the logistics of doing this in front of hundreds of people will be left for another time.

It sounds weird, but this achievement is the positive culmination of a terrible couple of years. The last two years of the degree were excruciating. My brain died a slow death, slinking out of the room without a backwards glance or apology. I struggled with every single aspect of the course. I came so, so close to giving it all up. What was once fairly easy for me (I’m an unabashed girly swot), became unintelligible nonsense. Essays were torture. In tutorials, I sat with a slightly astonished look on my face.

But I didn’t give up and I’m proud of myself. I didn’t give up during the diagnostic process, during the legal proceedings against my ex-employer who sacked me for the heinous crime of having MS, during two lots of Campath treatment and their after effects. I did it. I actually did it.

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