I cried in physio today. I hardly ever cry. And today I cried so much that I couldn't get my words out.
The tears came out of nowhere. I was in the local hospital for my fortnightly stretch. I trust B, the community physiotherapist. She's helped me work on specific challenges at home (what's the best way transfer to the sofa, how can I get back up if I fall upstairs?). I now go the Devizes hospital every couple of weeks for a good leg stretch. B and I chat about the movies we've seen, what her partner has been up to. We get on well.
But we don't have the kind of relationship where I weep in front of her.
I was talking about my decision not to become a teacher. Then I mentioned a job at the Devizes Citizens' Advice Bureau that I'd seen advertised. It's a new post: Social Policy Officer, liaising with external partner advice agencies to identify issues affecting clients and to develop policy to address such issues. You need a strong sense of social justice, an awareness of the issues, good written and verbal communication skills. My work at the Millennium Commission and London Arts involved exactly this kind of challenge. I'm more than qualified to do the job. It would be fun too.
But it's full time. And as I was telling B about it, I realized I could not do it. My nights are full of pain and insomnia. As a result, my days require time to sleep, to stretch, to manage the pain. I need to have my weekly massage. Added to that, I've committed myself to be a hospital governor and school fundraiser. And I'm the primary carer for our children. Yes, I can negotiate time off to fulfil these commitments. Yes, I can argue I must have time off for massage as pain relief. Yes, we can get an au pair to help with the children. But none of this diminishes the reality of my exhaustion. I have to sleep during the day at least two or three times a week. And this realization fully struck home as I was talking to B.
My voice broke when I said "I can't do this job full time. I may never be able to work full time again. I'm actually having to come to terms with the fact that I am disabled". I'm not sure I've ever cried about the impact of my accident before. For the first few months in hospital I was completely numb. Then I plunged into coping with my inability to walk. The walking, to be honest, has never really bothered me that much. There are many ways round it. It's the exhaustion. I'm not the 38th fittest person in the country any more. I do not have the strength or stamina to effectively deal with my fatigue.
It may get better. I might find better ways to manage the pain and insomnia, which in turn will help the exhaustion. But right now, I'm feeling the real impact of my accident for the first time. As I write this in bed at four in the morning, awake because of pain and insomnia, I can't clearly see the screen of my iPhone through my tears. I want my life back.
