Moon River

Some of you already know that my dad’s very ill and isn’t going to get better. He’s been like it for a couple of years now and it’s a surprise to everybody that he’s still alive - alive but not living. Laying on a bed, not knowing where he is, who his wife is, who I am, or being able to feed himself or control his bowels is not living. Surviving yes, but not living.

If I’m honest, I’ve never had a good relationship with my dad. Without going into detail, I can say that he’s a been very selfish man, but it was only once I was old enough to understand certain things that I realised what he was really like. As a young girl, I thought he was great. Why? Because he was funny when he was drunk (which he was twice a day, every day) and he taught me to dance.

I used to love dancing with Dad. I can’t have been more than about four when he taught me to waltz at the social club we used to go to at weekends. Then came the foxtrot, the quick step and a few others, but the waltz was always ‘our’ dance. And even when I got older and ‘played out’ with the other kids rather than hanging in the club, I always made sure I was back in the hall for the last waltz because that belonged to me and Dad.

I don’t really have anything special that reminds me of dad but a week or so ago I came across this on eBay.




It’s the sheet music to ‘Moon River’, the song he taught me to waltz to and one I can remember dancing with him to on so many occasions, including at my wedding. I’m going to put it in a black frame and hang it on the living room wall because although we didn’t get along too well, those dances ARE good memories, and hearing the song nowadays makes me both smile and cry.

Sharon J xx

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Was It The Fog?

As most of you know, LM and I were supposed to be heading for Malta on the afternoon of Saturday 29th November. We were at the airport bright and early and thought all would be fine and dandy - as you do.

The first problem I encountered was that I had to pay for two of my three boxes of medical supplies. Granted, they’re rather large boxes but they’re vitally important and I can’t travel without them yet even though I told the check-in clerk that I’d been able to take them free of charge last time I’d flown with EasyJet and that when I booked I informed the lady on the phone that there were three of them and she told me they’d be carried free, still I had to pay. Apparently, they’ll only carry one box free. Granted it was only £12 a box but even so, I really don’t think I ought to have been made to pay when I wasn’t informed beforehand. Had I been, then I’d have had my home-care company pack everything into one box.

Anyway, that out of the way, we made our way to the gate and along with a couple of hundred other passengers, we looked forward to sunshine and warmth. Boarding time came and went… no plane. Delayed because of fog, apparently. Strange considering other flights were coming and going but we figured it wouldn’t be long. Wrong! Several hours later we finally got on a plane only to be told by the crew that they’d had to land in Leeds (this was in Manchester) because they hadn’t had enough fuel to circle while they waited for a pocket in the fog. The delay meant they’d be going into overtime and while they’d agreed to follow the flight anyway, for an extra £100 each, EasyJet had declined, offering them a measly £30 each instead. Needless to say, they’d refused.

We were then told that a new crew would be waiting at Gatwick where we’d land for a crew change before finally heading for Malta. Fair enough - we could deal with that. Did it happen, though? Did it heck! Apparently they couldn’t raise a crew that were trained on that particular aircraft so off we got again only to be told that the flight had been cancelled and we’d have to spend the night in an airport hotel.

Now that doesn’t sound too bad on the face of it, but for me it meant not being able to feed and that again means no fluids. I can eat and drink until I’m blue in the face y’see and it doesn’t do a blind bit of good. My nutrition and liquids have to be pumped directly into my veins. And we all know that flying dehydrates us, don’t we? I’d already be dehydrated before I boarded the plane so I can’t say it was a flight I was looking forward to. But I was determined to get to Malta - I needed that sun for a vitamin D top up as well as actually getting away from freezing for a while (I feel the cold something horrendous due to my condition) so we were up before five the next morning and checking in at six for a flight leaving just before eight.

Eight o’clock came and went - still no plane at the gate. Things were looking decidedly dodgy. Then, about half an hour later, as if by some miracle, a plane emerged out of the fog….




Having only had a few hours sleep and feeling decidedly dehydrated, when we finally got the hotel I just zonked out on the bed and didn’t wake up again until it was dark. LM and I jumped in the hire car and off we went, round Valletta and out into the countryside, taking tiny narrow lanes and having no clue where we were or where we were going. We enjoyed it and although poor LM had caught that dreadful bug that’s been going round and had her holiday somewhat ruined by it, she soldiered on and we had a good week.



I shall be contacting EasyJet to complain though. According to a lawyer who was on our flight, we’re entitled to compensation but whether or not we’ll get any is a different matter. It’s worth a try though.

Sharon J xx

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Malta Tomorrow

For the first time this year, I’m going away ‘properly’. No jaunting down to London (anybody remember The Tomorrow People?) for a mad dash around what’s probably my most hated place on earth or a week or three courtesy of the NHS - oh no, this time I’m actually going on holiday!

Back in August I wrote a post outlining my financial goals, one of which was to save £500 for a bonding holiday with my younger daughter. Well I managed to get there (well, almost - after emptying the coin jar I was £20 off) so LM and I are off to Malta tomorrow for a whole week of doing nothing other than what we want to do. Bliss!

We booked it about a month ago. I found a cheap deal online through EasyJet that included flights, hotel accommodation and car hire for the week for just £200 so off we're jolly well going.

I’ve flown with EasyJet before and been really satisfied. They make no fuss about carrying my extra 30kgs of medical stuff free of charge and offer wheelchair assistance from the check-in desk to the gate. I still have to book parking and for an extra tenner I can have them meet us by the terminal to take the car to the car-park and then bring it back to the terminal again when we return. For me, who has difficulty walking and carrying anything heavy, it's more than worth the extra ten pounds.

Having a hire care for the week means I can easily get around. We both drive so if I’m having a bad day and just want to stay at the hotel, LM can still go out and do things on her own. She’ll also be able to take over the driving should I feel ill while we’re out and about. It’s just a little car but then that’s all we need and I certainly don’t want to be spitting out more co2 than necessary. It’s enough to have to take a plane and hire a car, without increasing the problem unnecessarily. Not that I could afford anything bigger, but that’s besides the point.

The hotel’s nothing spectacular but that doesn’t bother me. As long as the bed’s reasonably comfortable and the kettle works, I’ll be happy. It's just a base, after all :)

Anyway, I’ll catch up with you all when I get back. In the meantime I've been lucky enough to have some of my favourite bloggers write guest posts that are scheduled for publication while I'm gone. If there’s an Internet café nearby or the hotel has access, I may even pop in and post something myself, you just never know.

Oh, and I'll be borrowing one of LM's cameras so expect some photos when I get back.

Look after the place for me :)

Sharon J

UPDATE: Richard has kindly offered to drive us to the airport so that'll be both easier, and save a bit of money that can be better spent enjoying Malta. Thanks, Richard.

And thanks to Sam too for offering to look after my pets while we're away. What would I do without friends?

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Image Credit: Kriskae

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Yesterday

First of all, let me apologise for what happened in the comments section of yesterday’s post. Those of you who read it are no doubt aware now that Richard and I have parted. It wasn’t a mutual decision, it was something I felt I needed to do. Of course Richard’s hurt, but I had no intention of mentioning this on the blog and certainly wouldn’t have been running him down. He’s been good to me in many, many ways but we simply aren’t in harmony, a fact I’ve long recognised but have hoped, as so many of us do, that things would improve.

Nothing would have been better than for our relationship to have worked - he’s a kind man who I have no doubt truly cares about me, but we were far from soul mates. Our values differ far too much, as does our outlook on how to live life. That doesn’t necessarily make him worse than me, just different.

Sometimes, no matter how painful it is, we have to accept that things simply weren’t meant to be.

I believe that people come into our lives for a reason and stay until they’ve performed their task. Sometimes that could just be a few minutes of conversation at a bus stop, other times it may be a few years, occasionally it’s a lifetime. All of those people have been, and still are, valuable in their own ways, but that doesn’t mean we have to hang on to them when being with them no longer feels comfortable. Our instincts tell us when it’s time to let go.

Again, I’m sorry that you had to be subjected to this. It wasn’t my intention but I felt I had to say something after yesterday’s exchange of comments. Maybe I should have just deleted them, but I have a policy to not delete comments on the blog unless they’re abusive. Richard wasn’t abusive - he was merely telling the truth as he sees it. And there’s always more than one truth.

Sharon J

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Illness Conversations

One of the comments left on yesterday’s post got me thinking about my attitude to ‘talking about illness’. Unlike some people who seem happy to chat away about every ailment they have (and even some they don’t have), I very rarely have a conversation about mine.

Yes, it gets mentioned at times because it HAS to get mentioned - I have to explain why I can’t do something or why I do have to do something, and sometimes people are curious and ask about it, but I rarely go in depth and very few people know the true scale of my health problems.

When I originally fell ill and spent several months in a special unit in Manchester, I became quite close to some of the other patients. We were all sharing more or less the same experience, some of us complete newbies to tackling the problems that would unavoidably become part of our lives, some with years of experience who could help and advise the rest of us. They were mostly good people and I enjoyed their company. However, apart from their names being on my Christmas card list, I haven’t kept up contact. Yes, there were promises of visits and the such, and at the time I meant it, but it didn’t happen.

It sounds mean I guess but the one and only reason I didn’t keep up contact with them is because of our shared problems. Yes, there would be a certain degree of support in having them as part of my life but I knew I just wouldn’t be able to handle the inevitable ’illness talk’. For me, it’s enough having to live with these things without having to talk about it too. It’s there, it’s not going away, and no amount of talking about it is going to change that.

I even got to know a lady who lives here in Crewe during my last stint in hospital. I really liked her and under other circumstances would have loved to have met up with her ‘on the outside’ but I didn’t ask her for her number and she didn’t ask for mine. Maybe she feels the same way.

There are already enough reminders of these things in my every day life as it is. The things I can no longer do, the things I have to do that I’d rather not, the pain, the knowledge that your life is in the hands of others… they’re enough without having to be reminded through conversation. I already do what I can to keep everything medical out of eyesight so as not to have it in my face the whole time so I’m sure I don’t need somebody rambling on about it whenever I meet them. And it’d happen, I’m certain of that.

Some would say I’m still in denial, that I should talk about it more and let it become a natural part of my life. Well if that’s they way they would deal with it then that’s great, just don’t expect me to be the same. I’m not in denial, I can assure you I KNOW exactly what’s happened to me, what the consequences are likely to be, and how it effects my daily life. I don’t need to talk about it to understand that. There are zillions of subjects that are far more interesting.

Since starting this blog I’ve been asked several times whether I could post more about what happened to me but I haven’t. I don’t want to. It doesn’t interest me. It gets mentioned when it needs to be, but that’s the extent of it.


Sharon J

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Begging

Image: Sky Mitch

I’m still on the subject of poverty here. I know it was only meant to be for one day and I’m sorry if you’re getting bored now but it’s an important subject and if just one person stops and thinks a little more because of what I’ve written, it’ll have been worth boring all the others.

On the Blog Action Day website there’s a list of 88 ways to take action against poverty. I wouldn’t agree that all of the suggestions are ‘action AGAINST poverty’ as such, but they’re undoubtedly actions that would at least make the individual better understand just what poverty is and what it might feel like. One suggestion is: on one day only, eat food that you have asked someone for directly or for the money you need to buy it. Pay attention to the feelings.

I know the feelings.

About eight years ago I left my ex partner for a while (I stayed with a friend) before returning to the house after his departure from it. When I returned I was penniless. Because I had sole responsibility for Paul, my special needs son, I’d had to give up my job when I’d initially left and wasn’t able to go back to work. I applied for benefits.

Now you’d think that would be pretty straight forward wouldn’t you, but no… not in this country! I waited and waited but nothing happened. I had to borrow friends’ telephones to call the benefits agency (no money for a telephone of my own or to use in a phone box) but all I was ever told was that my application was being processed. A month passed, two months passed and still I had nothing but child benefit to survive on. I think that was about £25 per week for my 2 children back then - I was receiving nothing for my son as he was an adult and as I hadn’t NEEDED to previously apply for money from the social fund for him before, I hadn’t bothered. I didn’t believe in taking out of the communal pot just ‘because you can’.

It stands to reason that the small income I had didn’t cover our costs. Our meals were inadequate (I’ve no idea how many times I went without food in order to let the kids eat), the children needed shoes that I couldn’t afford and the rent wasn’t being paid. Most nights we sat without electricity and heating was a luxury we could only dream of at the time. We tried to make it fun by telling stories around candles (I remember getting a huge pack of nasty green ones for £1) and pretending we were camping under our duvets but life was, to say the least, pretty miserable.

Clearly, I couldn’t manage on such a small income and there were times when I had to go to friends with my hat in my hands and ask for money or/and food. God, was that embarrassing. Unless you’ve been in that position, you’ve no idea how humiliating it feels. I’d put it off for as long as I could but sometimes I had no choice, it was either that or let my kids go without a meal again (yes, there were days when none of us ate anything other than cheap bread). There was a point where I seriously considered taking the bus to Manchester to sit on the street and beg. Thankfully, I never had to actually do that but I can understand why some people do. Sometimes you just do what you have to do.

Luckily my housing officer (I was living in a housing association - the same one as now but a different house in a different area) was really good and understood my position. The eviction threats kept coming from head office but she told me to ignore them, that she’d deal with it. You still worry about it though.

It took six months before my giro eventually arrived. Sure, I got a hefty back-pay but what did that help while we were struggling? It didn’t make us any less hungry during those six months, it didn’t put new shoes on my children’s feet or winter jackets on their backs and it didn’t keep us warm on cold winter nights.

I hope I never experience such a situation again and that none of you ever will. Poverty is soul destroying and in a world of plenty, it needn’t exist.

Sharon J

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My Personal Experience of Homelessness

Yesterday’s blog action posts really made me think. There were so many interesting and valid subjects and several have made me see things in a different light.

One thing I’d like to share with you is my own experience of homelessness. I’ve never had it anywhere near as bad as some, but I’ve tasted what it can be like and I hope and pray that neither my family or I ever have to experience anything like it again.

My experience of homelessness happened about 10 years ago now, maybe a little longer. Our family - that’s me, my ex and my three children - had moved to England in order to be closer to my mum. We rented a house on the south coast and set about finding jobs. That wasn’t too difficult, although my ex was on a minimum wage and, due to Paul’s special needs, I was only able to work part-time from home. The money we had coming in just wasn’t enough to keep up with the pressure of high rents in the south, food costs, transport, energy and everything else and as we‘d been out of the country for too long, we weren‘t entitled to benefits. After six months or so we realised that we couldn’t manage and would have to go back ‘home’ to Norway.

With the last of our money we booked our place on the ferry and with just a car laden with our personal possessions (only those that were important to us), we headed back, not knowing where we’d go or what we’d do. The dog and Lise’s pet rat came with us - the rabies tests etc were extra expenses we could have done without but we couldn’t leave them behind - they were part of the family and we figured this was going to be tough enough for the kids as it was, without having to lose their pets too.

The following couples of months were spent on friends’ sofas, in various cheap and ill equipped cabins (one was about 10 square meters and saw five of us in two very narrow bunk beds with nothing other than a two-ring burner and a very hard ‘sofa’ - no running water, nowhere to store anything and nowhere to move) and several nights spent sleeping in the car. Believe me, a small car laden with possessions is NOT comfortable when five are sharing with a dog and a rat! By the time we finally got out of the car and into yet another cabin, we were all so tired that I’m surprised we made it over the mountains in one piece. Some nights were spent in the forest, some on the beach - we kipped wherever we could.

The children took the whole experience surprisingly well. We lived on cheap (and not particularly nutritious) food but they didn’t seem to mind, and when they look back now, they say they didn’t realise just how serious the situation was and that to them it was just another adventure; they met lots of new people and did things that other kids didn’t normally do. Fair enough. But would they have felt the same way if the situation had continued for months or even years? At least we weren’t ‘on the street’, but plenty of children are, and will be for most if not all of their lives.

When we eventually found a house we could afford to rent (the social had come through with financial help for us by this point), it was way up in the mountains and pretty much a tumble-down shack but that didn’t matter - it was a roof over our heads and we could stay as long as we needed to. As it turned out, those six months spent living at Bontveit were some of the best of my life - the people on the mountain were incredibly friendly and the nature…. well, you’d have to see the place to believe it. Who wouldn’t want to go swimming in a natural pool at the foot of a huge waterfall whenever the sun shone (and it did that year - a lot!)? Who wouldn’t want to eat breakfast on the veranda whilst looking out across the valley where an eagle flew across every morning? I’d swap it again for town life any day! We still didn’t have much in the way of material possessions - just a few bits of second-hand furniture we’d manage to find at the local Sally Army shop - but we had each other and we were immensely happy. Until my ex got sick that is… then things went pear-shaped again and we headed off back to England. And here we still are, minus the ex but with experience that has helped shape us.

Being homeless and broke was tough, there’s absolutely no doubt about that. You worry constantly about where the next meal’s coming from, where you’re going to put your head down for the night, how the children are going to be effected by it all, what it might do to your health and much, much more. For the sake of the children we had to try to hide the severity of the situation, but it isn’t easy when everything around you seems bleak and you’ve no idea what the future might bring. You try to stay optimistic and find the little things that still make life good, but for every night you spent sleepless, worrying, it becomes increasingly difficult. And although you don’t want to feel bitter, when you see people spending money on luxuries that they take back to their huge, expensive homes, it’s difficult not to be.

NOBODY should have to experience homelessness EVER. If we all shared the resources we have more equally, it would never need to happen. Basic shelter, food and clothing are surely HUMAN RIGHTS?

Sharon J

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To find out more about homelessness in England and Scotland, please visit Shelter. You can also make a donation on the site to help eradicate homelessness and help the many who are experiencing our government's failure to provide adequate housing for those who are in need of it most.

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