A confession

[Anonymouse]

Okay. It’s time I stopped putting this off.
I have a confession to make. Recently I considered my situation - something, ironically, which I have all the time in the world for - and I came to a profound realisation.
I’m like Picard in the first episode of Picard: as he was, I am not living. I am waiting to die.

To explain:

I had a stroke on 5th May, 2022. Trust me, if you check you’ll find it was a Thursday. This was about 7:30am.
I’d arranged with the DWP to attend a PPT course (if you don’t know, that’s Pedestrian Pallet Truck, a sort of cut-down version of a forklift) the following week. I figured PPT work was relatively easy, and I’d used FLT in the past, so it couldn’t be too different.
Then I awoke in utter panic. I was completely disoriented. I had double vision, my eyes wouldn’t track and the right side of my face felt...well, it wasn’t (and isn’t) numb per se, it had and has some sensation, but it felt and feels...taut. Not right at all.
(And...I've no idea how, as I suspect nerve damage, but I'm sure it's slowly getting worse.)
I had no idea what was happening. I only knew something was badly wrong with me, and I was scared. Oddly, there was no pain.
For some reason, a passage from E.C. Tubb’s Dumarest Saga, #16 (Haven Of Darkness), ran through my mind. For various complicated reasons the protagonist, Earl Dumarest, has temporarily taken over the body of a crew member, and in this body he fights his enemies to the death, and kills them. But in the process he suffers a severe wound. The fact that Chagney, whom he’s taken over, is already dying is hardly a help.

From Haven Of Darkness:

It wasn’t just the wound. The beam had missed the bone and he had staunched the blood, but too much had been lost already and he was too weak. His heart pounded like a bursting engine and the lights appeared to dim as he fought for air. The tips of his fingers felt cold and, he knew, death was close.
Too close and too soon (if he died, he would awaken in his own body - which would be catastrophic because it was still bound and helpless. He'd be a sitting duck).
He fought it, gritting his teeth, concentrating on the single act of breathing and, slowly, the immediate danger passed.

That was all I could think of. Never mind what was happening. Never mind what time it was. Never mind that I was, for all I knew, dying.

Just...

bloody...

breathe.

I did. I now believe this ensured my brain received enough oxygen, and that was the only reason I survived. Had I passed out I might not have come to.

Somehow I rang 999, despite seeing double. No idea how. Gave the operator my address, which I could barely articulate.
I made it to the front door, to unlock it and take the chain off, so the ambulance crew could get in without breaking down the door. Again, no idea how. When they entered, they found me on the floor of my bedroom, unable to move, and helped me up. Getting into the wheelchair was an effort, but I managed that, too.

I haven’t worked since then. I was laid up for a month. I did 8 weeks of stroke therapy in Great Lever (was it? I can’t remember. I think so. Or maybe it was Bury).

Once I visited my half-sister in hospital (she had cancer, later died of it). She had been a manager before her retirement - a good one, rare though that is. I asked her if she would take me on, given my condition. She told me frankly that she wouldn’t - the liability would be far too high. I agreed. She gave me the impression that looking for work would be a waste of time.

Again I agreed...but the DWP does not. I’ve been assessed twice. Both times (neither in person - once via a form, once over the phone) they’ve reached the same wrong answer. They reckon I am, and I quote, “fit for some sort of work”.

Never at any point have they said or even hinted what sort. But because of this, I have to waste my time looking and applying for jobs, so as to be a good little boy and not lose my UC. The fact that, via my stroke carer c/o Bolton At Home, I put in for and got PIP seems neither here nor there.

The last 2 fit notes I put in were rejected. The only way they'll accept one is if it specifically says I've gone worse. I'm baffled as to how desk jockeys know better than a doctor, but that's the DWP for you.

A summary of my current state:

I am unsteady on my feet, and I tend towards dizziness. This is a known side-effect of Ramipril, which I take for my high blood pressure (when the doctor suggested it, I said, knowing that high BP is a stroke risk factor, “If it’s a choice between another stroke and being unsteady on my feet, I know which bet I’ll take!”).
But being unsteady means I’m unsafe. Someone pointed out that if I’m unsafe at work, I’m unsafe at home. Quite true. However, at home I am responsible for the health & safety of one and only one person: me. At work, under the Health & Safety At Work Act (1974), I would be responsible for H & S for everyone in my workplace, not just me. For myself, I accept the risk. For others...no. I caused an accident back when I was fit, which was why AO.com dismissed me. What would happen now, I wonder?

My right hand is almost useless owing to arthritis. Not sure if it’s due to the stroke or if it just happened. But I can’t grip, or even make a fist. So I can’t do the fetching and carrying which is such a huge part of warehouse work. But here’s the kicker: I’ve never done any other sort of work. I have no idea what, if anything, I can do. FLT and PPT are totally out - they’re exclusively right-handed (back before the arthritis this wasn’t a problem), and I can’t use my right hand. And there is, trust me, no such thing in mainstream work as a left-handed forklift or PPT.
Even if there was, you’re standing in a PPT for hours on end - and I can’t.

More, I’m on medication, which precludes me from certain activities. I take beta-blockers for my glaucoma, to stop it from getting any worse, which I believe rules out FLT. All praise to Norman Clough’s, whose thorough exam of me caught it in its early stages. I was in fact too young (they thought) to get it at all. It doesn’t affect me ATM. I take the eyedrops to keep it that way. Thus far it seems to be working; I had a test recently, and they said to carry on my eyedrop regime.
But I take so many pills and things now, it’s a wonder I don’t rattle when I walk/stagger/lurch. Years ago, purely for convenience (and so I wouldn’t forget, as I did too often), I got a pre-payment certificate for my prescription, on direct debit. Originally it was offsetting expense against convenience (and I was employed anyway, so I could afford it).

But now, with Ramipril, atorvastatin, clopidogrel and lanzoprasole (I only know what the first of those is for, no idea about the others!) plus Travatan and 2 lots of Azarga (why 2 I don’t know, 1 is enough), it’s highly cost-effective. Instead of 7 x £9.90 per month, i.e. £69.30, or £831.60 per year, I’m only paying £110 or so per year. Well worth it.

I get very tired, very easily, very quickly. Such a simple task as walking (lurching? Staggering? Either might be more accurate) to my local Lidl, just 200 yards or so, does me in for an hour. Travelling to the town centre, less than half a mile away, and I’m done for the day. If such minimal exertion is an effort, imagine what I’d be like at work. How could I meet KPIs if I had to keep stopping for a break? How could, and why should, my fellow staff put up with that? My lagging behind would mean they’d have to pick up the slack, which is unfair to them and to me - especially as I know this beforehand.
Nor does an employer want someone who can’t keep up. With my increased age, I find I can see things as much from a manager’s POV as my own.

Which is why, during the two interviews I've had (both in '25), I told the interviewer what they'd be in for. Legally this covers me in the unlikely event of them being daft enough to take me on.
In fact they both agreed with me. On paper I was ideal for both jobs; I know because they were kind enough to say so. But in practice, just being on medication told against me. If I get a third interview (unlikely, but you never know) and they turn me down, I intend to apply a third time to the DWP to be reclassified as Unfit For Work, because 3 will hopefully give me a case. I hope to get them to see it from an employer's POV.
(In fact I think they, unofficially, already do - I haven't been hassled yet about a course or whatever, to "improve my employability". I was, back in '23 - or was it '22? - but I went through that and didn't get a single interview in 6 months.)

Plus...having had one stroke, the odds of having another are increased. True, anyone can suffer a stroke, at any time. But for me it’s more likely. Thus I am, in effect, living on borrowed time.

If you can call it living.

Once I’ve answered Careline’s 9am call to ensure I’m okay (I got it on my carer’s advice, seemed a sensible precaution since I didn't and don't want a live-in carer), and once I’ve done my (useless) job search, I spend my days reading, writing, playing games, browsing, listening to music, watching DVDs...and pretty much nothing else. I used to build models. Can’t now. Ironically the original reason for stopping - my cataracts - no longer applies since I had 'em done, and now I can see perfectly well what I’m doing. I just can’t do it, what with my useless right hand.

I’d like to take up archery again, if only for something to do. Impossible. You need stamina and both hands. I have neither.

No more traipsing to the Lodge to admire and photograph the local wildlife. I just can’t face it. No more cycling. Apart from being far too unsteady (I was off my bike far too often when I was fit!), I get too tired. I could never manage a hill now. I’m debating selling the bike, as it’s of no use to me.

There are things I should do in my flat. Some time ago (I can’t even recall how long it’s been), a bookshelf fell over, and the books fell all over my bedroom. I should pick them up, restack the bookshelf.

But I can’t. I just can’t summon the wherewithal. Too tired.

There’s some cleaning and tidying to do in the flat. Again, I just can’t.

Which is why I’m waiting to die.

Look, let’s get something straight. It’s not that I don’t want to work. I do, if only to earn enough credits to qualify for a state pension, plus paying into the private pension I own (and because a purposeless existence is driving me to distraction). The idea of retiring is laughable; I can’t afford it. I try not to think what’s going to happen when I reach retirement age...which looks a lot closer now than it did even 10 years ago. I want to, but to be realistic, I can’t.

I'm not looking for pity (well, maybe I am a bit ).
I doubt the Samaritans or whoever will be of any use. Being counselled is all very well, but it doesn't, can't, solve my problem.

I’m not going to fall into the trap of drink or drugs. <cynical>If only because I have no idea where or how to get drugs, and booze is one of three things I’ve cut out of my diet completely (along with caffeine and chocolate) because of heartburn.</cynical> I know that once I came down, the same problems would still be there, still unsolved. So I’m not going to be that stupid. “Master Of Puppets” gives a very accurate picture.

"Master! Master!
Where's the dreams that I've been after?
Master! Master!
You promised only lies!"

"I will occupy!
I will help you die!
I will run through you!
Now I rule you too!"

"Master of Puppets, I'm pulling your strings
Twisting your mind and smashing your dreams
Blinded by me, you can't see a thing
Just call my name and I'll hear you scream!"

Ahem. But you get the point. Drugs are no answer, no escape, no solution.
Couldn't afford that c**p anyway.

Similarly, I’m not hoping for a miracle either. I am perfectly well aware that things will only change if I make them change.

But any such endeavour will involve effort (as, I freely admit, it should and must), and I just can’t summon it up.

This, in sum, is my problem: only I can change things, but I can’t make myself do it.

So...what do I do?

[thenry]

Can AI summarise this

Your wit is only matched by your empathy…

[thenry]

You should treat everybody equally Hugh