Posts Tagged ‘Health’


ripped from sleep’s desert
I punch air and leap
into the days pain
roll from dampened moss
that was our bed,
and the mechanics begin,
the automaton who has
fouled the grave, again,
rises as smoke out of fire
but there are no ashes to clear.
A new dawn, new sheets?
and planted on a towel erect
an overturned soda glass
within the sheets
to assure an arid place
in this mattress creek
for arms of understanding.

 

 

dwk


the edge of the bed

where hearts bled

help proffered, even comfort given

but the stain remains.

where vanity released,

partners pleased

and even time given

but the shame remains.

where time slows

and frames per second bend and bow

relief from weights given

but the life span remains.

where sunlight stripes

where smiles touch

looks and contact given

but the pain is sustained

 

and hours passed, time taken

on the edge of the bed

where this was written.

©dwk


. . . . how self-confidence, however rigorous, strong or embedded can be shredded by anxiety. I got MY letter today and read every word as it was not only an explanation of future matters but also a first point of contact. No one wrote or phone or emailed me to say this was coming and that I should prepare myself for a repetition of my humiliation by the ignorant to determine if I should be aided by Her Majesty’s Government. Appealing was an indignity, finally winning at Tribunal with specialists supporting me. The Department of Health & Security’s representative obviously having had the necessary papers thrown to him minutes before he sat down in front of a lawyer as chairman and a local Councillor and Trade Union representative. That told the whole story. When Neurologists and witnesses of my condition put ink on paper they cannot be mistrusted or brought into question by the DHS. I was made a lifetime decision. Because it took so long it cost HMG thousands of pounds in back payments with which I could repay my debts to good friends.

Already I hear the whisperings “but that’s my tax money”, well who helped pay for your grandfathers pension or hospitalisation? For your children’s education etc. etc. I did. After 2 World Wars after which the returning soldier or anyone who had a role in winning, were promised freedom, liberty and equality especially in medical and social matters, this Prime Minister has finally discarded some of the final threads of what his colleagues would call the “nanny state” in private of course. Soldiers literally, return from modern day battle with disabilities and are ignored, thrown aside. Sailors and Airmen after serving their country for many years are made redundant and then the government place an advertisement on the television for the Royal Marines??

Equality, – if you have enough money with which to try and destroy the world’s financial markets and oh by the way, make generous contributions to the Conservative or Republican party, which can now only be seen as corruption. Two to three years later how many financiers have been prosecuted, how many Executives have taken responsibility and how much non-paid tax has been gathered. I recently read that unpaid tax amounted to ten times the amount that could be possibly gathered from benefit fraud.

The very tone of MY letter is of constricted black and white alternatives, “You will” “It is important” the whole tone is that of you shall! or starve. Employment and Support Allowance (note the words of actual definition ‘Incapacity’ “Illness”, “Disability” and “Severe Disablement” have vanished from titles and text) and ‘lifetime decisions’ of the DHS Tribunal completely disappeared, no acknowledgement, nothing, no mention of appeal. The whole point of tribunal arrangements was to avoid the courts which were clogged up enough no doubt. This Prime Minister has played an ace card, it is not a court who made such decisions therefore, they count for nothing. So yet again I have to show that I do not have a wheelchair but still a big problem, however embarrassing, however hard I might try to pursue one day at time in some lucid form, I am required to…. well let me quote it:

“Customers will be considered and assessed for Employment and Support Allowance between 2010 and 2014”. I wonder what I am buying?

“We will send you a questionnaire” “We use the information to decide if you need to attend a Work Capability Assessment”, “A health care professional (a contractor has been employed to find and employ them) will assess you and advise Jobcentre Plus how your illness or disability affects you in your everyday life” This professional in most cases will be a doctor without a job, not a specialist Professor in Neurology and Neurosurgery whose clinic I have attended every 3 months for a very long time. They will, probably, not know the extent or possibility of harm complex partial seizures have and will do. Side effects of drugs or of the damage done by full seizure when I was younger.

“You may be required to attend a work-focused health-related assessment and work focused interviews” – oh boy, the bureaucrat is back in the saddle, despite amassing a bill at lunchtime (a recent scandal) larger than genuine benefit fraudsters create in one year. Yes, I believe that people out there are pretending because of sheer laziness or are just corrupt. Landlords claiming for dead tenants, people fully recovered but still claiming assistance. But I don’t believe that those who chase the sick have the clarity of thought that work should be created for the able-bodied and the cheater routed out in all places first. This week I heard British companies were advertising in foreign countries in the native language of those countries?.

“IF YOU DON’T YOUR BENEFIT MAY BE AFFECTED” (their capitals). “We then decide if you are entitled to Employment and Support Advice”. I now have a new Neurology Consultant who even expresses his concern at my being “unaccompanied” in a letter to my General Practitioner whose clinic I have to chase to get a medical prescription out of each month. This is for medicine I have taken for 25 years. This clinic is now run by a private company overseen by a medical Trust. 7 years ago it was run by a group of doctors and someone would call you, usually staff on doctor’s instructions, you would even know their name and say “you have forgotten your Prescription David, are you OK? Not now! The shifting of budget and medical referral responsibilities to the General Practitioner or the family doctor, a Urology Specialist once explained to me, was to slow down the money coming to medicine in general from central government.

I read and hear of the disabled, attending the above interviews and there is no access for wheel chairs! Mobility in the form of a car removed from a suffer of palsy, her husband worked part-time so they could afford their life and tipped the balance so no more going out. Others now taking their own lives rather than be immobilised or pushed into a lonely poverty, I understand, it is just too much. This letter lying before me now from Glasgow not a local Jobcentre, means I have travelled back in time to the mid 90’s, when self-employed I simply could not get people to pay me and so had nothing to eat or pay the rent and was epileptic too. A lowest point. The attitude then was ‘no wheelchair’ no disability, no assistance, until one asked about Disability Working Allowance and was asked to “wait a minute”.

All this instigated by a man who wheeled out his disabled son to meet the press, is now an overweight Prime Minister, who wants to hurt me for the accumulation of debt by the greedy?

dwk


Sometimes I wonder how much they really know? What is going on inside those tiny heads? You know, those little people who rush around with their skull deep between their shoulders staring at their feet with their thumbs jittering and chattering as if they spent a life picking tea leaves or getting the right bolt in the right hole before the thing, they don’t even know they are manufacturing, has moved down the line.

530Coolpix-00001

They bump into people, lampposts or post boxes, like little automatons, reminding me of a black and white documentary, so must have been a long time ago, of tiny little robots scuttling around so that scientists could convince themselves they were learning, the robots that is, that they were learning by rushing around like tiny spiders and colliding with walls or each other. The occasional object placed in their way to prove a heavily worked mathematical or statistical point. That through the experience of obstacles their tiny brains would learn at least some environmental behaviour.

Since silicone has become so expensive only the super-rich can afford any form of communications device which for years using simple laser surgery, have been placed within the ear, and even that is old fashioned as one company is actually growing comms into the shell of the ear itself. But who would have known that the repetitive behaviour of about ten decades would be so ingrained, the greys even step off walkways or pavements into traffic, are flattened by those lorries that carry about 20 containers, literally flattened, “pancaked” one old fella said. I must ask him what pancakes are? Cakes made in a pan perhaps? Anyhow, little grey people dying or badly injured, ghoulishly scuttling around, probably never even seeing the sky! And those nasty twitching digits. The old man said they all think they are playing a game, well, all I can say is I am glad I wasn’t born in a time when THAT was considered fun!


…. here I am at 12am
using boating metaphors again
writing to another darling
that isn’t exactly plain sailing.

Boats are good for describing fate
and in my poem, writing late:
the tossing of a craft in a storm
or the cutting adrift,
seconds
after we’re born !
Describe perfectly the voyage of life.
Adrift?
Waiting for some coming strife?
Winds blown by providence
with great effect for some.

Partners in life can be as sails
allowing us to pursue our trails
some big and billowing
allowing much tack or
others are for smaller ships
and sagging in ambition lack.

Becalmed, without choice
we wait for any movement
as in life we wait for improvement.
Currents can push us off set course
despite our mad paddling,
as if we could deter such force.

But, phrases such as: marooned,
castaway and high & dry
seem most used and appropriate
when there is no rope to tie.
No safe harbour, no protection
as the storm swirls and rages,

just loneliness, awaiting the next entry
in the log of destiny’s pages.

Phoenix1

dwk ‘86


In this field of positivity, there is a stone. It cannot be moved by the plough of knowledge, it cannot be moved by the pneumatic drill of progress, and on  it letters have faded to braille or have sharply chiselled serifs. Not Buddha, Jesus or Mohammed’s words, but text only understood by who finds it. The greatest obstacle to this throne stone?

Singularity.

There are many productive meadows, in which to create, re-model, re-design the future, but there are no roads to this fertile grassland and there are no paths on the range , only chest high harvests of realisation. Drifting so far from belief, logic or reason means many miles of life walking and  if we find the field the best one can do is cling to the perimeter fence.

Some do not have fences as natural clustering or gathering together helps in the climbing search. Assists in the struggles with daytime movement and fights off the nightmare with mutual security. Civility is draining away, helping without gain is not fashionable. If you are not in the now you are no one. Rather group in a dark pool of street corner limelight, in the new team, the new faith, the new circle, as natural gregariousness will persist. These will never find the field, their feet never leave, in all its irony, street stone.

Difficult enough to find in a swaying harvest,  one’s  stone has to be uncovered,  is cracked granite, or perhaps  polished marble, but heavily compressed  needs no test and will always be a cornerstone. That is our conscience or the still small voice.

dwk


Something that the now wide open door of communication leaves embedded are small carbon diamonds of connection beyond the everyday, impromptu, binary silicon handshakes. Our synapse log information, wanted or not.

Friends are found through intertwined threads forming the net. A subjective passage through idealistic spaces, not requiring the normally necessary unselfish tolerance of human faults or habits – for one may simply pull the plug and as eddies of bathwater, hours of contact conversation and enrichment spiral, swirl and vanish.

Stay inside your avatar shell. After hours of appreciation, interest and giving of ones golden self from within this untouchable wire cage, unless you are of stainless steel and can put reality aside. But most attachments remain as stains or delightful dye, which is so difficult to untie.

One is intoxicated with invoked, incomparable instances of incredible imagery, instigated initially by interaction with the internet. This is not a mere peripheral sighting. The woven web envelopes and is inclusive for those with the luxury of the fourth dimension – Time.

So is the web in place of: the lion slaying gladiator, the field or court sportsperson, the entertainer, the modern freak show? Even the culture of personality created by the unreal reality show? Even the writing and theatre of dissent all to keep the mob busy and quiet?

Then all this interconnection backfired and booted up the disorder .ini(tiation) file, on the streets of London and assisted spring rebellions. “Why”? asked a reporter of a London teenage girl “because they can”, she replied.


…..reading two separate, unrelated, articles in the weekend newspaper, the Saturday Times, one about a mother who went to a therapist for help with her relationship with her teenage son, the other an edited extract from a book called ‘You and Me: the Neuroscience of identity’ by Baroness Greenfield a Professor of Pharmacology, I noticed an overlapping of information.
The mother points out that her teenage son forgets everything all of the time and is almost told off by a therapist who specialises in family relationships:
“He is a teenager, his brain isn’t wired properly yet”. The therapist explains that at the heart of all parents problems with teenagers is that most don’t really understand the working of the teenage brain. She says there are enormous changes going on in the teenage brain. The brain is essentially becoming unwired, which means their decision-making skills go haywire and adult empathy levels are not there. She also points out that this “un-wiring”, where the brain disconnects from the frontal cortex, means that teenagers are genuinely forgetful and also tend to be more prone to taking risks.
Susan Greenfield writes: There is one alarm bell ringing which suggests that increasing two-dimensional screen existence may be having undesirable effects.
…..This could possibly be that if the young brain is exposed from the outset to a world of fast action-reaction, of instant new screen images flashing up with each press of a key, then such rapid interchange might lead to a shorter attention span….
…..The emphasis in most computer games is on the sensory laden thrill of the moment. An increase in physiological arousal can be linked to excessive release of the brain chemical dopamine. Could the screen experience be tilting the ancient balance in favour of the more infantile, senses-driven brain state. We also know that excessive recklessness is linked to the prefrontal cortex. This part of the brain only becomes mature in late teens or early twenties. When this area is damaged patients take a high degree of risk. We know too that dopamine suppresses the activity of neurons in the prefrontal cortex.
…..it is worrying that in a recent study from China of internet addicts there was a strong degree of correlation between months of addiction and significant atrophy in key parts of the brain. as revealed in scans. If we live perpetually in the present moment, could one stark and extreme possibility be that, in the end, such people may have simply no identity?
I apologise to the authors for the heavy editing but I wanted some of my friends to see this.