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Monthly Archives: March 2013
Limits and horse-shite
Well the light hearted, fun chit chat involving LB and his unusual take on the world, that partly inspired this blog, seems pretty distant now. I’m glad I captured some of it on these pages. It’s currently masked by reasonably regular extremes of behaviour that are unpredictable, aggressive and deeply upsetting. The trouble is, there isn’t any real (effective, valid, meaningful) support to deal with this.
I got a call at the beginning of a meeting in Manchester on Monday, after a Mother’s Day that included, in equal measure, horror and lovely, lovely love stuff. LB had had a serious meltdown? crisis? situation? at school. It sounded awful and his teachers and the school nurse were understandably shocked and upset by it. I could only say, standing in the corridor, trying not to cry with the futility of the situation, ‘I don’t know what to do’.
Cripes. Well who does know? Who should know?
Er, health professionals? Highly trained specialists who have the relevant knowledge to help LB and guide us through this.
No. Not really.
Trouble is, they won’t say that.There is a faux professionalism that involves sticking to a script that is irrelevant. Without that script there is nothing. LB’s unusual behaviour challenges, tests or confounds the boundaries of their knowledge. And this, in turn, is complicated by the resources available. This is not a comfortable situation for anyone, so we go through the motions in a performative way. Questions asked. Answers given. And they (pick your health professional) ease out of our home. No further forward. No change.
Tomorrow it’s the turn of the (learning disability service) psychologist, who was passed the baton by the (learning disability service) psychiatrist (who did nothing). Our GP embraced her contribution this afternoon in an obviously appalling situation. I promised to be open-minded when I meet her.
“Can you prescribe something like a horse tranquilliser as well, maybe with a dart gun, for those particularly tricky moments?” I asked. “No,” he coughed, “this can’t be resolved through medication. LB needs help to learn strategies to manage his behaviour, aggression and anxiety. That is the role of the psychologist.”
“Ah, okeydokes,” I said, leaving his office, with my promise taking a hammering.
The train home
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Manchester cool
Strike a pose and the stool pic
Through an increasingly common, though still unusual, turn of events facilitated by twitter*, I agreed to take some photos today at Turl Street Kitchen, a social enterprise cafe set up in Oxford, on the off chance they may be accepted for a piece about them in Vogue. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Yes. Vogue. Stop laughing.
After a bit of a misunderstanding (I thought it was a group staff photo), I loitered there for 10 minutes this morning snapping customers, staff and space. The deadline was today, but as I was running a (slightly chaotic) focus group this afternoon, I didn’t get home till almost too late to look at the photos. There were a few quite goodish ones I hurriedly edited and sent to TSK. I got an email an hour later saying ‘lovely pics will get back to you in an hour’, then an email saying ‘they’re looking at the stool pic. Will keep you posted’.
O.M.G. They?? Vogue? Looking at my stool pic?????? Really??????
I looked at the stool pic I’d sent them. It was a bit fuzzy round the edges. I went back to the original photos. There was a much sharper photo I’d overlooked. A bit like I didn’t have enough shop vouchers at the end of the focus group earlier and wondered if I’d given someone two by mistake. It was tucked in among some paperwork. So careless.
I added the (heaps) better stool pic to my submission (is that the term?) but it was probably too late. I don’t suppose these big Vogue guns go back to look late entries. My almost hugely special-funtastic photographic moment dashed.
Finding the ‘missing’ voucher was important to the focus group participants though. Important to their sense of integrity. Much more so than a sharp photo of stools.
Vogue can wait.
*thanks to @abiccles for her thoughtful retweeting
Meat delivery and fruit
Another early morning meeting yesterday. Again pure pleasure as the sun was shining and I love wandering around places as the stuff that happens to get ready for the ‘main’ day is going on. The Covered Market is always brilliant before the shops open. Though pretty meaty. I followed one delivery to Brasenose College.
“Do you mind me taking your photo?” I asked the butcher. “Nah, I don’t mind darlin’,” he said.
Two sides of St Giles…
…or if the cap fits..
WAITing
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Late afternoon streets
Always got my camera on me these days. And our local neighbourhood is reliably interesting. A mate said recently she’s going to sneakily follow me round; she can’t believe the things like the cat on the dashboard are real. Today the London bus stop was quiet, a guy was scaling the wall of Waitrose, and the sky was spectacular.
Corpuschristi Dogs
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mydaftlife 