Teenager

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Self Advocacy

Published March 11, 2020 by helentastic67

Self Advocacy

So, help me God! There are some days Advocacy is needed for everything and the simplest things. Tuesday, I met with my Service Co-ordinator (in old terms my Case Manager) and I mentions to her again, I’m still yet to be sent hard copies of any of my invoices. I seem to have this conversation EVERY SINGLE TIME I SEE MY SERVICE CO-ORDINATOR.

Nothing changes, to be clear I’m not doing my part wrong. I’m not using poor communication/negotiation skills. It’s just people not wanting to do their jobs or not wanting to be monitored or held accountable.

So, I get an email with my invoices every month, which I can’t print, so I’ve asked for hard copies. I also now have to argue and debate it’s NOT EASIER on the computer screen. Because with my eyesight I can’t chop and change between two spreadsheets on my laptop to make sure my records of who turned up on what date for how long is the same as what I’ve been billed for. It’s no longer my money, but I still wanting to know the $70,000 is about making my life better, as it’s designed and not lining the pockets of companies and people who want to work smarter not harder.

It’s my opinion, the cost of printing my invoices and posting them out to me should at their expense, because they can absorb the costs.

They are not doing it for everyone, but I can impress upon people (other clients) they can insist on it. So, rehashing this every few months seems I mention it to my Service Co-ordinator, she then calls my Service Providers, who call me to argue and debate out of providing a service and be held accountable.

I’m pushing back.

And then, after a short tram ride home, after my one appointment today, I work my way to the door of the tram an while I stay on my walking stick is between my teeth and holding on the hand rail on the right hand side of the door I go to step down.

My tram line does not as yet have the accessible tram stops, so it’s a big step up or down to the road. I’m encountered by a hand reaching up, just near mine and a leg stepping up. I don’t know where she thought she was going since I couldn’t get down without the hand rail. She didn’t even look up to see me. She said “Sorry” but she obviously didn’t mean it, because you would think (crazy me and my common sense, right) that she would rethink what she was doing and stop and wait. No! She continued to attempt to step up. She was a teenager in her school uniform and twice as wide as me. (Not fat shaming, but suggesting she thought to use her size to intimidate me)

Do I sound like someone to dare try to intimidate? You bet. I put her in her place. Around the walking stick strap between my teeth I said to her.

“Are you seriously going to still try to get on this tram while I’m trying to get down?” and she waited for the split second it took me to get down. I just don’t understand how I need to tell someone they should wait for people to get off a tram, train, bus (This argument works for any form of public transport or transport even). Wait until people get off before you attempt to get on. Why is it so hard?

If only, then is their more room for you to get on. No?

FFS

View

Published September 30, 2019 by helentastic67

View

When I was a kid, well teenager, also had a bedroom along the side of our house. My sister had a bedroom with a view of the backyard.

Yes, this is a second child syndrome moment because, it is what it is.

My view was of a grey fence that actually also had racks added so my dad could store his extra timber, metal and god knows what else. Like the double garage wasn’t big enough.

The neighbours loved to work late into the night over the fence in their carport on their cars. So, bright lights and late nights aplenty.

I recall a brief time, my older sister and I slept in a caravan behind our Aunt’s house, mum and dad were on a mattress in their big back room. My parents were building the house I grew up in. I lived in that house until I was nineteen.

In that bedroom that was view-less, having moved out of home to move to Melbourne to be a poor art student. I’ve moved many times. Have I counted? Yes. I’ve got to find my list. Then add a few places to it. But I hate moving and I finally have a reasonable view.

Ok, now I can see other people on their balconies and other apartments. But I have a view.

Blessed.

 

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