I’ll admit that I’d totally forgotten my consultant said she was going to refer me back to my usual physio department so they to give me a refresher course on all of the stretches I’m supposed to be doing.
We’d arranged it a while back when my pelvis pain was really bad. I’d been seen by a different department in the meantime (that my GP had referred me to) so I’d kind of assumed that would be that. I didn’t think they’d allow me to have this second lot of appointments once I mentioned this, so I was really grateful when they said I still still go in.
I was even happier when I found out that my new physio is also the same lady who gives me acupuncture. My previous physio retired earlier this year and I was a bit nervous about seeing somebody new when the previous lady knew me and my regular problems so well.
thankfully, my acupuncturist does too, so, even though she’s never actually given me physio I feel like we could hit the ground running.
It didn’t take her long to work out that my pelvis isn’t very well- aligned at the moment (one side is lower than the other) ,, and she told me that we were going to have to work on making the muscles around it stronger before we could work on the alignment issue.
One thing that I really liked what that she taught me the names of exercises I’ve been doing for years but never knew the names of. Well, it’s more likely that I’ve forgotten them, but I’m still pleased she took them time to tell me again.
It was one of those appointments where I came out feeling more sore than when I went into it, but I often find that these ones make me feel much better much faster.
I’m feeling really positive that we’ll do a lot of good work in these sessions.
I’m looking forward to my next appointment now.
Autism is the reason acquaintances don’t invite me to events. And it’s the reason I don’t care. I have my own world.
Autism is the reason I notice every judgmental look on a person’s face when my son has ‘Happy Flappy’ hands. And it’s the reason I’m too practised at masking to show my rage. For now.
Autism is the reason I use the disabled toilet if the women’s has queues. My disability is invisible. But not if I’m forced to endure strip lights, chatter and dryers.
Autism is the reason I had so many non-starter relationships. But I braved online dating. I married my best friend.
Autism is the reason I find reading people difficult. But it means if I take the time to get to know you, I’ll know you better than you know yourself.
Autism is the reason I stand alone at the school gates at home time. But also how my son’s learned it’s ok to value your own boundaries.
Autism is the reason I live in comfortable clothes. It’s the reason I’ll never be a slave to trends.
Autism is the reason I find writing easier. But it’s how I’ve reached you today and I’m grateful for that.
As Hayley’s Twitter bio will tell you, she is an autistic woman, mother, writer, wife, carer, and so many other things.
You can read her blog at: and find her on Twitter and Instagram
I know, I know; blue isn’t a colour traditionally associated with Autumn. I know that for most people it’s all about orange, red and brown crunchy leaves, fully PJs and adding pumpkin spice to absolutely everything, but not to me.
I dislike Autumn and I absolutely hate winter. I dread this time of year in pretty much the same way that I dread dentist appointments. I fret about it for weeks in advance, and always go into it expecting the worst. Unlike most of my trips to the dentist though, Autumn/Winter aren’t over in five minutes.
Thanks to my cerebral palsy, this time of year sucks. My aches and pains increase 10-fold (sometimes literally), my poor circulation makes my feet so cold they hurt, and it gets harder and harder for me to leave the house on my own thanks to the slippery fallen leaves/wind/ice/snow that a lot of the people I know IRL seem to love so much.
I’m always the coldest person in a room, which isn’t helped by having to use my wheelchair more and more. Believe me, you get colder than you might think when you’re just sitting there being whipped by the falling leaves/wind/ice/snow that everyone else seems to love so much.
I’m already starting to feel it and the fn’s only just begun for this year, and I’m already not sure I have the mental and physical energy to deal with it.
I wish I could join in with the excitement, but I can’t.
All I wanted was cat biscuits and some chocolate.
All that stood between me and said cat biscuits and chocolate was a self-service check out.
Sounds simple, right?
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
There are no words for how much these things annoy me. They annoy most of the able-bodied people too; but when you have mobility problems like I do, they are a total nightmare.
If there is another person operating the till they can obviously see this and understand it, unlike a machine who expects me to move at speed. A chashier often help me do my packing and give me my change in small bits, all without constantly asking me to please take my items.
I know I could always ask a staff member in the shop to help me, but the staff supervising the area is often busy helping people who’ve found themselves dealing with an unexpected item in the bagging area, so I’ve developed a few strategies to try make things easier:
- As I often wear jackets of hoodies, I try and get my money out before I even start and put it in my pocket so make it easier to get to. Obviously, I only do this if I feel safe to do so. Otherwise I put up with the machine asking me if I want to continue while I fumble to get cash out of purse.
- I take a bag that is as wide as possible so that I can hang it on the side of my walking frame and just drop things into it, rather than having to cram they all into a smaller bag that won’t open out for me properly
- If I have a friend with me, I ask them to help
What do you think about self-service check-outs?
There’s been a bit of a role reversal going on in my house this past week.
My little sister Sophie injured her knee (she’s fine btw) and had to walk around on crutches with a leg brace for a while.
It’s been a strange time for both us. I’ve had to watch her getting used to finding ways to walk and down the stairs, and I’ve had to get down on the floor on my hands and knees to pass her things because she hasn’t been able to bend her knee.
I also had trouble getting up and down the stairs in our house after having my hip surgery at 16, so this situation has brought back lots of memories for me. I mentioned to Sophie the methods that I used to use to get up and down them in my bottom, but she found her own way regardless. She did it pretty quickly too. I am a proud big sister.
In some ways, it’s actually been really nice for me to be do all of this for Sophie, like she has been doing for me all her life. Obviously, I’d rather that she hadn’t been in so much pain, but she coped with it really well. I think constantly asking how it felt for me to do doing to for her probably helped her a bit too. It was like looking on the bright side almost.
I guess it was probably good for the two of us to go through this role-reversal for a while, but hopefully Soph will be back to her normal self soon
Some of you might have seen already that I’ve written a guest-post for the charity Scope about society’s views on disability sex need to change.
If you want to read it, you can do so here.
I’ve had a lot of lovely comments from people about this, so thank you for that. This is a subject that I feel conflicted to talk about for reasons I explain in the article. I’d love it if you could give it a read and let me know what you think.
The majority of people, or more specifically neurotypicals (NTs, those who are not neurodiverse) generally have no problem adapting and reacting to social situations and contexts instinctively. Autistic people, however, do not have this natural advantage; I am one of the UK’s 600,000-strong autistic population.
If you think about it, humans and cars share some similar core features. A human has a brain in the head in the same way a car has an engine under the bonnet, almost always at the front (which is where the human brain would be if humans walked on all fours). That engine has with it a gearbox, an oil filter, a battery, pipes, wires, coolant, brake fluid, and water. The human brain needs equivalent things to function and not shut down. If the engine ceases to function, so does the whole car; the same is true for the human body.
NTs can be said to have an automatic gearbox because their brain works in such a way that they can automatically react to social situations and conversations without having to think about it or use any pre-recorded scripts. A car with an automatic gearbox does not have to change gears except when climbing the steepest hills; it automatically shifts as it speeds up. However, being autistic is like having a manual gearbox; even autistic people who manage to develop reasonable and reliable communication and social skills generally have to consciously think about what to do and how to react to situations. It is as if there was a clutch to depress in the autistic brain before pre-recorded scripts could be changed or new situations could be dealt with. And just like cars with manual gearboxes, autistic people like me can sometimes ‘stall’ in awkward encounters or when particular sensitivities are triggered.
However, cars with manual gearboxes tend to have more power and more potential because they have more specialised ratios, which is lacking among the vast majority of automatic cars. My own brain’s ‘gearbox’ has more ‘speeds’ than a neurotypical person’s ‘gearbox’ meaning that when on form, I can achieve a lot of tasks in my specialist areas to an ability beyond that of the vast majority of humans and in an interesting way as well. The same goes for autistic savants past and present.
You can follow Alan on Twitter @GreenAlanB