Friday, 10 June 2011

Girl Talk - Spoonie Style Snippets

Girl Talk – Spoonie Style Snippets

By Kaliya Franklin and Sue Marsh

“How’s it going then, is he lovely?”
“Yeah, very”
“And did you manage the sex ok, not too many dislocations?”
“Yes - plenty. But it didn’t get in the way, which says a lot about him”

“What are we going to wear for this posh London conference?”
“I dunno – something smart that won’t show the marks if poo my pants. What about you?”
“I dunno – something smart that won’t flash my knickers to the whole room if I dislocate my hips”
“Sweat pants and trainers then?”
“Yeah – do you think they make them in the style of a suit?”
“They must do - the jegging version of workwear”
“That’ll work…and hey, we’re not well anyway. They’ll expect us to be in our pyjamas”

“How did you know he was the right man for you?”
“ I tried to hide my condition from him, but he insisted if we were going to be together he had to know”
“Aww. He’s such a sweetheart”
“Yep. A couple of months after we got together I was really sick and in hospital. He slept outside in a camper van for weeks taking shifts with my dad while they both worked full time just so they could make sure I didn’t die of malnutrition in hospital.”
“Wow. No wonder you decided he’s a keeper!”

“I got dragoned by the receptionist”
“Didn’t you tell them the doctor put a note onto the screen so that this situation wouldn’t happen?”
“Yes, she just wouldn’t listen to me. Said it won’t be til 5pm and that’s that”
“That’s awful”
“Why, why does pain never matter ?  What if at 5pm I phone and he hasn’t written the prescription. It’s Friday. I’m living in fear now for the next 6 hours hoping that some benevolent doctor will put me out of my misery for the weekend.”
“That’s if the doctor even knows you need a script, did the receptionist say she’d pass it on?”
“Yeah, but she didn’t really listen to anything I said. I feel totally helpless now. I hate it when they do this. It’s really hard cos it’s a new surgery. I’m scared they’ll think I’m a rabid drug seeker and write me off. I’m just so scared now. I’m usually such a feisty chick and Dave’s role is to reel me in. But I so fall apart in these situations I just can’t deal with it and he has to. Because he hasn’t got the terror you see. There’s nothing you can do to keep the plea out of your voice, you can’t be the person you usually are because they hold your life in their hands completely. He can use logic and sense; I just get paralysed by fear like a little rabbit in the headlights.”

“What happened last night love, are you ok?”
“Yeah. It was steroid rage. They quadrupled my dosage and even Ghandi would get mood swings on that high a dose of steroids.”
“Any my face looks like a football, it’s not me when I look in the mirror and I hate it”
“You are down aren’t you love?”
“Yeah, there’s nothing worse than this for me. If that receptionist had just said ‘no problems sweetheart I’ll make sure he does it, I would’ve been ok’. But now I feel like I’m undeserving and worthless”

“I’m so happy. I’ve got an outside tap. I know I’m sad, but really it’s the most exciting thing that’s happened in weeks”
“Did your landlord sort out the other issues”
“Yes! I’ve got a spacker plug for my sink. I’m so happy. I’ve been here nearly a year and now I can use the sink”

“I reckon the new government tactic on dumbing down our protests will be to make sure we both end up in the support group so we’ve got nothing to complain about”
“It’ll be like, ‘hey look everyone, the system does work fine, we were wrong, woops, sorry’”
“Yeah. That’d be good.”
“ Ain’t gonna happen though is it, you have to present your death certificate at the WCA to go in the support group"

“I actually managed to do some housework this week”
“Wow, that’s good. Well done”
“My bedroom’s still knee deep in clothes and my oven still has a year’s worth of pizza crust to scrape up. But hey, I washed up and at least it’s made me feel a bit less panicky that my entire life’s falling around my ears”
“Don’t worry love. There’s still bits of chilli plastered to my wine rack from chilligeddon”

“By time I left my old surgery I was really good friends with the receptionists and the pharmacists and that’s half the battle. Because if they don’t want to help me and trust my judgement it doesn’t happen. Sometimes even the pharmacists would go through to the doctor, they never judged me for using pethidine. But I haven’t got that trust at my new surgery yet. I haven’t shown them I can be trusted, that I don’t drug seek, that I won’t lose my prescriptions or do anything that makes them even think I might be drug seeking.”
“ Yeah, I know what you mean. I’m so fortunate that my GP keeps me set up for pain relief at home so I never have to go to A&E for pain. And the receptionists know my voice on the phone so they always ensure I get seen or prescribed for that day”

“How’re the kids doing at the moment?”
“6 yr old told me I needed to put on a tiny bit of weight. And then he said, not so you’ve got a tummy like daddies, but just so you don’t get so poorly mummy.  I told him, but darling, that’s kind of what Crohn’s is. Even when mummy eats a lot and you do see mummy eat lots don’t you. My tummy doesn’t get all the vitamins yours does, that’s why mummy gets to eat so many cakes but won’t let you”

“I got interviewed the other day about political aspirations”
“Oh sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh at you. But the thought of a spoonie with political aspirations. I mean the whole system’s against it. Remember our quadruple SpAd job share idea? We decided in equality terms it would take 4 spoonies for every Oxbridge SpAd. “
“And that’s before we even get on to the skeletons in our closets just from leading vaguely normal lives, there’s no way I could be an MP. “
“But…if you’ve got no skeletons in your closet you’re too weird to be a politician anyway”
“Yeah. Shame it’s not Italy where the more rakish you are the more successful you become in politics”
“Definitely. We could cover rakish. It’s just the fit for work bit we’re not so hot on”

“So what’s on the to-do list then?”
“Oh you know, the usual. Bringing down the government, radio shows, articles to write, threats of suicide emails to answer.”
“Then there’s that speech to write.”
“Which speech is that again?”
“The one for parliament that we’ve been planning for three weeks. Remember? The one we spent a whole day writing and at the end of it you asked me what it was about.”
“Oh yeah. What is it about then?”
“I can’t remember. Too much pain… Think I’d better go sit in a corner and rock”
“Yeah, deathwalk time. Then I’m gonna sit in a corner and rock too”
“Bye love”

"Me again! Lovely doctor just phoned me, asked how I was. Said she'd chase up my new chemo drugs and left a pain prescription at reception for me. Panic over"
"Yeay. Happy Ending!"


  1. It is the sermingly tiny insignificant things, the human things (like giving someone an appointment) that make me feel human//girly.

  2. I was just having one of these moments actually - "Why don't you date again?" *blank stare* "Okay, you find me a guy who is fine with the fact I'm never going to lose weight due to a borked thyroid, that I can't walk for longer than fifteen minutes, have a son who regularly kicks holes into doors when he's angry and hates anyone showing me affection around him as he gets jealous, and can handle the fact he's going to be taking care of us for life. I'm sure they're beating down the door."

  3. I want to know about those skeletons in closets! I will get someone to use parliamentary privilege to tell me about them!