Aw Diddums

A guiding light that shines in the night
Heaven’s gift to me
You are so beautiful to me

It’s been in my head the past couple of days.

Sharky wasn’t improving as rapidly as we hoped and we took him back to the vet. He was kept overnight on a drip and returned to me today… along with renal cat kibble and tablets.

He seems brighter – his eyes have cleared.

There was black ice today; looks like tomorrow will be the same. At least it’s not raining any more. The rain yesterday did excuse me from walking Thundercloud, which I was grateful for. I felt shell-shocked about Sharky, having just left him at the vet, and though I could have accepted a dog walk if the day had been bright, I couldn’t face one in the lashing sleet. I would have caught whatever Marianne got in Sense and Sensibility. A case of the fainting Willoughbies.

Last night there was nothing on TV so while Mum watched something, I was reading Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe. In it was a chapter about someone very ill achieving her greatest wish. I’d been feeling numb up to that point, but that was just too much – and I hadn’t even finished the story. Mum was in the next chair and I didn’t want to get all teary and whimpery while she was there. Escaping quietly was a huge struggle. Upstairs I hid in my dark cubby hole and mopped my eyes, which just got wet again.

When I returned to the book and finished the chapter, there was a twist to the story that made me giggle – it wasn’t at all what I thought it was.

But I was so tired.

The next morning we received ‘more optimistic’ news from the vet over the phone, but I was still bushed and rather moody. We met my sister in a coffee shop in town, and (having struggled to find somewhere to put my shopping trolley) I whipped the conversational notebook out.

Me: ♦♦This is ridiculous – there should be more room – you wonder what happened to the DDA.
Mum: ♦The DDA?
Me: ♦♦Disability Discrimination Act.

Pause while the girl came and served our coffee and hot chocolate.

Me: ♦♦I think the only coffee I like now is mocha – everything else tastes like liquid sawdust.
Mum: ♦You often drink liquid sawdust?
Me: ♦♦Here and in Starbucks.
Mum: ♦Is everything wrong this morning? Chilblains? Headache? Blue-tinted specs?
Me: ♦♦Non-pink clothes and sickly 10-year-old cats. And horrible TV with the same shows over and over.
Mum: ♦What’s that about pink clothes? You’ve lost me.
Me: ♦♦I think something red was washed with them and turned them muddy.
Mum: ♦Red with pink means pinker.
Me: ♦♦Not rust red.
Mum: ♦Big Sister says would we like a trip to Fuddyduddytown?
Me: ♦♦I suppose – Fuddyduddytown is not my numero uno town. How can Thingy live there?
Mum: ♦People get stuck in places. It’s not the worst. Remember Yobtown?
Me: ♦♦Not really. When did we go there? I remember Thingyside Leisure Centre as being stuck in a bubble of stark. Probably because they wouldn’t let them build it anywhere nice (can’t blame them).
Mum: ♦Yobtown had most of the shops at either end of the town boarded up. Graffiti everywhere.
Me (distracted): That dark photo of the poppy… it’s like a puddle of thick paint that my eyes have got stuck in. When I pull them away with a *squelch*, it leaves that pattern there.

You get the picture. I shouldn’t blog in this sort of humour.

I’m not usually stuck for words.

Normally I’m overflowing with observations, discoveries and commentary. There’s something discouraging about the word ‘disablism’ – something slippery and out of reach. It’s as though I don’t have access to it even as a word. In my mind’s eye it has a pale green glass surface and hovers coldly above me.

It can’t possibly have anything to do with me – it’s such a stark and unforgiving word, and I’m only me – daughter, sister, friend, neighbour. A real person with two cats and a mortgage.

I used to be 4, sitting on a boat in the sun. I drew pictures of fish, houses and trees, and played with Matchbox cars and Lego. When I was 6, I was in the Brownies – my favourite game was ‘Traffic Lights’. When I was 8 I had a tortoiseshell kitten called Bluebell. When I was 15 or 16, my favourite pop groups were UB40 and OMD. In High School I was top of my class in English – people raised their eyebrows and told me deaf people were usually better at Maths. That didn’t make sense to me and still doesn’t. I scored an A in Higher Latin – the class only had four pupils and we got on really well with the teacher.

After leaving school I attended university and landed a Joint Honours degree, yet somehow I’ve been out of steady work for nearly 8 years. I’m only called for interview if I don’t let on that I have a profound hearing loss. It’s funny how quick they call me – suddenly I sound employable!

On one occasion they lacked caution and told me I couldn’t have the job (working with computer files) because I was unable to answer the phone – even though this wasn’t mentioned in the advertisement. I thought it was only about data input and filing, which would have been fine for me, if rather dull.

My sister tried for a job where she was told (at interview) that people were rotating the tasks. This meant she would occasionally end up manning the desk and dealing with the public. This was not what she applied to do, and she wouldn’t have managed it as well as the others. So no job for her.

I was not taught sign language as a child and would probably be described as oral deaf, but that does not mean I find conversation easy – rather the reverse. Over the years I received negative vibes (from outside the family) about writing notes or using simple body language if communication became difficult. I eventually lost my courage, and mostly I don’t expect it from anybody now. I let them talk, and move on.

About ten years ago I developed agoraphobia, which I suspect was caused by communication difficulties and stress. I learned how to handle it, but it adds to the difficulty of obtaining work. Every time my sister shows me a job advertisement, it says “you must be bright, breezy and confident.”
“That rules me out, then,” I say. “I can’t possibly apply for that!”
“It’s just employer burblespeak,” says E, prosaically.

Maybe, but for a long time now I’ve been thinking there’s discrimination against introverts. Don’t get me started on that.

Sometimes I wonder which is really me – the person sitting quietly in a group situation, unable to join in properly and feeling a total prat, or the person full of talk (like here)? My own frustration and dismay tells me the answer to that. Like it or not, disablism does concern me. Much of it subtle and unintended, everyday stuff, shrug-off and get-on-with-your-life stuff – but it affects, shapes and restricts me all the same.

There are over 100 blogs and podcasts dealing with this difficult subject today – to find the others, visit Diary of a Goldfish. Her own piece is excellent.