The world is not a pleasant place at the moment.
Now, I have no idea if my brain is over-inflating the problems I’m seeing in the news and allowing them to impact my ability to be socially ‘normal’, but I can’t remember a time in my 43 years when I was more afraid of everything going on locally, nationally and internationally, than I am today.
When this long version of incarceration started I had no idea how long it would last, and as the weeks passed by I often wondered on which day something would change. Weeks turned to months then years, soon enough I guess I’ll be talking in the timeframe of decades. Criminals spend less time in jail for serious offences than I have stuck indoors because of pain and instability, but it’s proving to be an impossible problem to solve.
Joking aside, the pandemic was a horrible time for everyone and we all have different reasons for feeling this way. I was one of the people that found it mentally more difficult to carry, and the physical effects of multiple infections have made me a naturally more anxious person. COVID-19 literally changed my life, my physicality and my mental state, but I still regard myself as one of the lucky ones. For those of us that survived those years of nationwide anxiety, frustration and grief, we could only hope that future pandemics were better handled. Lets face it, we all know it’s a ‘when’ not ‘if’ situation.
What I didn’t think about, what I don’t think any of us planned for, was the world falling apart piece by piece in a myriad of other ways once the principal horror of ‘Rona had ended.
Going back to the time when my Agora’ problem was only weeks old, I believed that my challenges could and would be overcome eventually, but I also knew I needed some help. My personal ability to manage and move on from the difficulty of losing my physical health was proving too big an obstacle to tackle alone. Mentally and physically I needed to come to terms with the new me, and learn how to be ‘Steph’ without the overwhelming self-loathing and pity that was becoming tiresome. I needed help. Fourty-two months later (unbelievably) I still do.
I guess the second problem no one anticipated (and many people even deny) was the fallout of the pandemic on the NHS. The simplistic idea that vaccines would be taken, infections would then be reduced and pressure on health services would lower gradually, was naive at best. The backlog of the pre-pandemic appointments is going to take years to catch up on alone, but now the health service has a new problem – people like me who’ve been infected multiple times (despite being fully vaccinated) and now lead a life that’s pained, strained and unrecognisable because COVID managed to interfere with our nervous systems, endocrine systems, digestive systems, cardiovascular systems, cognitive function, pre-existing genetic disorders and mental health, and the queues for support to untangle all these unique issues are getting longer and longer.
While patient numbers rise, the number of healthcare specialists covering these confusing systems are reducing. Why? Now we’re back to the unpleasant world around us. Brexit, migration rules, employment law and NHS pay deals to name a few reasons. That’s a lot of massive issues (all political) affecting one very important cog in the engine of the UK healthcare system.
Now, 3.5 years ago I had hope. I had hope that, because the NHS has always been there to mend me or those I love when it’s needed, they’d be there again as a result of all this, even if things were slower than normal. But the sad fact is the UK health service simply isn’t equipped to help everyone. I’ve sat on waitlists for years, calling for an update after 6 months of no contact and being met with angry administrators who’ve obviously got better things to do. But 6 months is a while, my existence is miserable, I’m in pain and sometimes have rigid joints that burn, my mental health is appalling and I have no life outside of these four walls. Hearing ‘I only take phone calls I’m afraid’ is becoming pretty triggering for me, especially as it’s taken me several years to make these calls and get nowhere.
But I know that on the other side of this argument are NHS workers who are low-paid and non-clinical spending their day being asked clinical questions, clearning up administrative mistakes they didn’t make, acting as a barrier between doctors and patients, and receiving unwarranted verbal and physical abuse, just to earn a crust. Who’s in the wrong here?
As someone who needs help and is desperate (believe me, DESPERATE) to regain control over my pain and mental health, I have continued to ask for the help I need when I’ve been waiting for a long time and feel forgotten. It’s always felt like the right thing to do. But lately, the negative energy coming from the health system is almost too big a price to pay. Nothing actually changes when I call, the appointment never appears, no one gets back to me as they promised they would, in fact all that changes is my heightened anxiety over what happens next.
So, over the last 6 months or so I’ve stopped calling for help, stopped chasing for appointments that I’ve waited for, and rstarted second-guessing discussions about my pain, stiffness, and other discomforts. In some strange way it feels like the service is forcing me to downplay the effect these issues are having on my life, and inadvertantly it’s working. I know of people who are actively avoiding trying to get an appointment that SHOULD be URGENT for similar reasons – it’s just so stressful and, in some cases, triggering.
My guess is it’s only a matter of time before people are dying just because it’s become so hard to communicate with these services. And before I start receiving trollish comments that it’s just laziness, trust me…It’s not apathy, it’s complete exhaustion, and it exists on both sides of the problem.
So yeah, the world is a horrible place right now and problems that feel international are closer to home than many people realise. In recent years a person could choose to hold politics at arms length if they wanted, now it’s virtually impossible, with every speech, every interview, every PMQ and every budget having a direct and immediate impact on our lives and the lives of everyone around us.
For the first time it’s become clearer that being safe indoors isn’t solely about my physical health. Although I’m a liability when I’m on my feet, and I wouldn’t feel comforatable outside until my pain, swelling and stiffness is under control, it’s much more comfortable to be inside this place (where I feel safe) than it is to be outside, where people have opinions and aren’t afraid to voice them. Just like those healthcare workers on the phone, just like people you see in news interviews and just like the people who make dangerous and accusatory comments on social media.
There is no balance, no realistic viewpoint, no empathy or understanding, and no remaining ability to listen to the opposing side of the story. I was raised in a world where those traits were something to be proud of, where having an opinion is important, but being able to hear, absorb and consider the counter-opinion was just as critical.
It’s as though our world has lost these attributes while developing into a world of extremes, a world of knife-edges, and ultimately a world of anxiey. Everyone feels it one way or another, although some people are acutely aware. As with all these problems, if the challenges within the NHS were being considered properly, if attitudes within the system were adaptable and processes could be changed, if differing opinions and experiences were heard, absorbed and considered by changemakers, then time, stress and (in the end) lives could be saved by taking appropriate action.
Instead there’s a lot of hot air with no actual movement. I’d rather stay cool indoors right now, thanks.
What’s next?
For me? Well who knows, but as the title suggests, I refuse to give up. Yes, I still spend a lot of my time contemplating my place on this grubbly little circle we call earth, there are still daily moments where I hate the dreams that I’ve had to give up on and the life I’ll no longer be able to achieve, and there’s still nightmares where I remember I’m not the person I wanted my partner to live with, and I’m not the mother I wanted to be for my daughter.
HOWEVER, this is my first post for some time, and in taking the ‘bull’point pen by it’s proverbial horns I am refusing to let go of the possibility I may still have some use in life. I’ve finally been offered my degree and although I haven’t achieved what I wanted, I’m trying to accept this proves I’m not cognitivey completely broken. I have ideas and experiences that could be of use to other people, and for that reason alone I have to keep trying to talk about these issues and more importantly, try and show the problem from both sides of the fence.
For the world? I hope, eventually, some calm. But when the last government was torn out of No. 10 and a new givernment sworn in, I hoped that change would be forthcoming here in the UK. It’s a shame that hasn;t transpired. In a few short months many political volleyballs have either been dropped or lit on fire while continuing to be thrown around. It would be nice to see someone trying to get to the front with an extinguisher and ideas in their hands rather than a loudspeaker and lots of far-reaching opinions.
Even if the world around me feels alien, scary and unapproachable, I still can try not to let it permiate my thoughts and stop my own empathetic neurons working. I hope that lots of people and communities feel this way outside of our front doors, because it’s the fellow man who has the power to improve the life of his neighbour through kindness right now, no one else.
What the world needs now, more than ever, is love…or maybe some balance, understanding and calm.
Thanks for reading 🥰
Creative Steph 