The reality of chronic illness and pain

If you glance down my posts you will realise although I have a reasonable life and hopefully a sharper brain, my existence is plagued with chronic illness.  In my case more than one illness, which despite sounding over the top is not uncommon. Nor is this post a pity party asking for sympathy,  far from it, as I have finally accepted the fact that the times my body decides to take leave of its ability to function, my brain seems to counteract and work twice as hard.

This sounds crazy but it is a truth that is becoming very useful. I have managed to read just under a book a day since Jan 1st and finally convert my notes into blog posts of some reason, if a little controversial. I have a new mini library on order in both book and dvd as I am using the time to maintain my brain functions.

But for all this light and happiness there is a darker side of chronic illness,  a side that I face daily. The hardship of planning any form of life, of getting day to day functions done. Up to Thursday I was okay, not overly brilliant but manageable. Come that night it all went turtle quite literally,  as my hip and lower back decided not to work with at all and I went down not once but twice in the space of two hours. The second time managing to add insult to injury by bringing a crate of books down on me and scrapping offending hip down a metal box. Subsequently I am now retired to my bed on doubled up medication,  a lump on my head worthy of a hard boiled egg and a hip red raw swollen and in agony.

Now this is hardly ideal as I have plans for this week that I am determined to make,  but worse still it occurs to me this is exactly what I have to justify to our wonderful benefits system. Twice every two years to perused some jumped up administrator with a list of tick boxes, that despite the fact I would actually love to return to work, and have twice as much as I do now, no person in their sane mind would consider me as I don't know from one hour to the next what is going to happen next, and whether I will even manage to stay conscious for 8 hours plus commute.

Now if my writing was rated in any way measurable I would consider trying to get published, but to be honest since the expanse of Internet that has become even harder to achieve, despite possessing volumes of written poetry and prose. There are many things I can do, but because it's same as an able body person who is any rational employer going to take the gamble on.

So here I am pondering the realisation that I am in a trap 22, one side can't not see the reason to ease of the pressure to make me normal, when normality won't accept me. That is the reality of living with chronic illness.