The Drugs Don't Work - The Verve *
Dial M for Myeloma
...or maybe... "Travails with my 'eloma"
Saturday, 4 January 2025
Ticktock
The Drugs Don't Work - The Verve *
Friday, 15 November 2024
Overdue?
Lonely Boy - Black Keys
The rest of my life, btw, is great, thanks for asking, but I’m not going to write about it here.
The myeloma events have been varied, typically: chemo side effects; myeloma symptoms (plasmacytomas, bone lesions,, low blood counts); fatigue; infections and endless mysterious pains. I find these days I’m usually engaged in a few of these events at any one time.
Still, none of them individually worth writing up here. You’ve read it before. I wrote it before.
I plod through the chemo hoping they keep inventing them as fast as I use them. We’ll see. We did indeed end off changing chemo after my last post. And we’re about to do so again.
This post, I’m sure, reads very bleak. But my life is a long way from that. I’m feeling quite well at the moment and just back from a string of holidays. We’ve kind of given ourselves the permission to travel whenever we can, and right now we can. Many of you won’t be surprised to know I have a list of outlandish suggestions. I’m blessed with a wonderful family and lots of friends, living in one of (imo) the nicest corners of London with sufficient funds to live a good life without needing to work. But… we’re drifting off topic so that means it’s time to stop writing.
Thursday, 14 November 2024
ChatGPT on pain
I’ve had myeloma over 12 years now and experienced pain throughout, but it has been more complex in the last few years. Because my experiences are so varied and unpredictable, I suffer an inner monologue questioning the validity of my pain. I continue to ask myself if I’m making it up. I’ve asked my doctor and my nurse whether my weird pain is “normal”, but their responses never really satisfy me.
Today, I asked ChatGPT. Its response was like a smack in the face. The complexity of my pain, in words. I recognised every point. It’s amazing what AI can work out, that my medics can’t, and that I’ve never found a good answer to through Google I’m not offering it up as medical advice, because it didn’t come from a medic, and anyway it’s not advice. It’s a better explanation than any of my doctors - including the pain specialists - have ever offered of how the mechanics of myeloma pain manifest experientially.If you too suffer the weirdnesses and fluctuations of myeloma pain, you might find it interesting.
—-
Me:
What do you know specifically about the pain experiences of people with myeloma? I don’t just mean that there’s bone pain blah blah. I’m wondering if you know anything about how myeloma pain comes and goes, and how myeloma patients are susceptible to injuries which cause long term pain with no obvious physical cause
ChatGPT:
Myeloma-related pain is indeed complex and can fluctuate in intensity and type due to several unique factors associated with the disease. Here are some aspects of the pain experience and the way it may impact quality of life, along with why myeloma patients are susceptible to prolonged pain and injury:
1. Bone Pain Patterns and Fluctuations
• Intermittent Pain: Myeloma bone pain often has a “waxing and waning” nature. It may flare up during periods of physical activity, at certain times of day, or without any clear trigger. This pattern can be due to the way myeloma cells create lesions in the bones, which weakens their structure and makes them prone to microfractures and small-scale injuries that cause pain even without visible damage on imaging.
• Nighttime Pain: Pain is often reported as worse at night, partly because bone turnover and cell regeneration slow down during rest. Additionally, inflammation can increase overnight, which may exacerbate pain and stiffness in affected bones.
• Specific Trigger Points: Myeloma patients frequently experience pain at specific locations like the spine, ribs, pelvis, and long bones (e.g., femur). These areas may become so fragile that even mild stress can cause small fractures or micro-injuries, which can lead to persistent pain.
2. Increased Susceptibility to Injury and Long-Term Pain Without Clear Cause
• Osteolytic Lesions: Myeloma cells produce substances that increase osteoclast activity, leading to “punched-out” lesions that weaken bones structurally. These areas are vulnerable to pathological fractures or “silent” micro-injuries. Even if there is no visible fracture, the structural weakening can cause microdamage that results in persistent discomfort and pain.
• Bone Density Loss and Compression Fractures: Due to weakened bone structure, many myeloma patients experience vertebral compression fractures, which can cause chronic, often debilitating back pain. The vertebrae may collapse in on themselves, creating pain that persists even after the initial fracture has “healed,” due to abnormal pressure on surrounding nerves and muscles.
• Soft Tissue Pain: Muscle spasms and inflammation around weakened bones or lesions can lead to soft tissue pain that persists even in the absence of a visible physical injury. This is often compounded by abnormal gait or posture as patients unconsciously try to protect painful areas, creating additional strain and pain in surrounding muscles and tissues.
3. Neuropathic Pain and Nerve Compression
• Nerve Compression from Bone Damage: When myeloma lesions cause fractures or compress the spine, nerves can be impinged, causing radicular or shooting pain. This type of neuropathic pain doesn’t always correlate directly with visible damage, as some nerve compression effects can persist after initial fractures due to ongoing nerve sensitivity or damage.
• Chronic Pain from Nerve Damage: Myeloma treatment itself (such as chemotherapy or corticosteroids) can also contribute to nerve damage, leading to persistent neuropathic pain. This can manifest as burning, tingling, or shooting pains that come and go unpredictably, even in the absence of continued myeloma activity.
4. Injury Amplification Due to Myeloma’s Systemic Effects
• Inflammatory Response: Myeloma cells release cytokines and other inflammatory molecules that increase inflammation within bones and joints. This heightened inflammation can lead to a lower threshold for pain, meaning minor injuries feel more severe and last longer than they would in someone without myeloma.
• Hormonal and Metabolic Effects: Myeloma also disrupts calcium metabolism, which can affect muscle contraction and nerve function. This can contribute to muscle cramps or spasms, which might feel like injury-related pain but aren’t linked to a specific injury. Additionally, these systemic imbalances can make muscles and joints feel more fatigued and painful, increasing the sense of chronic pain even without acute injuries.
5. Psychological and Sensory Processing of Pain
• Chronic Pain Perception: Living with ongoing pain and potential bone fragility often heightens pain sensitivity. This is partly due to central sensitization, where the nervous system becomes hypersensitive to pain stimuli. As a result, even minor aches or strains can feel unusually intense and persist longer than they would in someone without myeloma.
• Psychological Impact: The mental strain of chronic pain, worry about bone fractures, and the unpredictability of pain flare-ups can add an emotional layer to the pain experience, often intensifying physical sensations. Pain in myeloma patients can sometimes feel more severe or long-lasting due to anxiety or fear of exacerbating underlying bone issues.
6. Management and Adaptation Challenges
• Difficulty with Pain Control: Due to the variability in pain sources (bone lesions, nerve damage, inflammation, and muscle strain), myeloma pain often requires a mix of treatment approaches, including medications, physical therapy, and sometimes orthopedic interventions. Adjusting treatments for fluctuating pain levels can be challenging, and even with good management, patients may still experience spontaneous pain flare-ups.
• Adaptation in Daily Life: Because myeloma pain can be triggered by relatively minor activities or small injuries, patients may limit their movement or take precautions, which can paradoxically lead to muscle atrophy and decreased joint flexibility. This cycle can make it harder to adapt and increases susceptibility to further pain from routine movements or minor injuries.
In essence, myeloma pain is shaped by a complex interplay of physical damage, systemic effects, and neurological sensitization. These factors combine to make patients vulnerable to pain experiences that feel out of proportion to visible injuries or that persist long after typical healing. Managing this kind of pain usually requires a highly individualized approach, integrating physical and psychological support alongside conventional pain management strategies.
Monday, 20 May 2024
Uptodatedly
Myeloma has always been cyclical - bad periods and good ones. The last two years has much accelerated the frequency of those transitions. Going from good to bad is usually progressive - unless I really hurt myself, in which case it can be very quick. The transition from bad to good comes, at its best, as a sudden release. In my imagining it’s the moment the cumulative load of pain and fatigue drops low enough to release some quantum of mental capacity. The capacity to give a shit. Despite having had better periods among the carnage of the last two years, I haven’t had one of those release moments… I have felt periodically better, but haven’t really felt good. This last week feels very much like one of those moments.
I’ve long observed the impact of my physical health on my mental health, but mostly with an aspiration to decouple them. To not have myeloma of the mind. But, I’m reevaluating that. I don’t think decoupling is practically achievable, and wishing for it is of itself stressful. Maybe better I just embrace the truth: when I’m ill, it’s not much fun, and I’m not usually at my best. Doesn’t sound unreasonable, written down like that. I’m not saying I’ll reduce my bad-times ambition to mere survival, just give myself more license to muddle through as best I can. The last few months have been hard.
After years of experience I embrace the moment I regain the capacity for living: to sit around the kitchen table chatting with the kids; to potter around the house vaguely contributing to its running; to open my “To Do” list and actually do something; to go out. In theory, even totally immobile, I could prop my laptop on the bed and do the Community Centre accounts, or write poems. In practice… at those times, I just don’t effing feel like it. It’s nice, therefore, to be out of bed again, and to feel like it, again. Not limited by fatigue, or (excessively) encumbered with pain. I’ve many times borrowed the language of mental illness to describe my myeloma experience as making me feel, in a way, bipolar. (Excuse me if that word means more to you than to me and my use of it seems crass. I hate it when people use “cancer” as a metaphor.) When I’m physically ill, unsurprisingly, my mood is low. When I’m feeling better, my mood swings up, abruptly and I feel imbued with power and energy and an urge to get stuff done. Relapse and remission, those are my poles.
This last week I went to a party on Wednesday, went to two exhibitions on Thursday, had people for dinner on Friday, went to someone else’s for dinner on Saturday, and shouted on the touchline of two football games on Sunday (and ate through one piece of chocolate cake, one ice-cream cone, one pickle, one slice of Swiss cheese, one slice of salami, one lollipop, one piece of cherry pie, one sausage, one cupcake and one slice of watermelon). That’s a kind of “normal” that is so often, and for so long, out of reach for me.
It’s irritating therefore that I’ve still been restricted to using crutches or wheelchair because of an injury in my groin. Irritating to feel the “good” period being impeded. I’m hoping it is a mechanical injury, and finally on the mend. If I can just get my consultant to agree that it’s not a cue to change treatment... But it is a lot better than it was. So hopefully this particular storyline is drawing to an end.
I used to plan for the good periods, post SCT: change my job and build a new routine. Now the transitions are so frequent and sudden, I haven’t time for the planning bit. It’s just a matter of chucking myself into things as I feel like it and not worrying about tomorrow. Look out, baby, here I come.
Sunday, 4 February 2024
Pain
Taste The Pain - Red Hot Chili Peppers
All pretty shitty. I’m not at all happy about it. There’s no sugar coating, no upside, no way to brush it all off. From one treatment immediately on to the next, attempting to keep a step or two ahead of the disease. That’s how it will be. It would be nice to be able to make those transitions without experiencing it each time in the form of emergency and crisis. But that’s probably not a realistic expectation. It certainly isn’t how it panned out this time.
Saturday, 6 January 2024
Yawn
Echo Beach - Martha And The Muffins
The myeloma story beneath doesn’t change quickly. My post-ICU issues are made better by physio (which I have resorted to paying for since September, having eventually accepted that the NHS would just never come good), and by acupuncture, which continues with my lovely friend Lola. Took a couple of sessions before I could even bear to let her stick needles in my numb toes, but perseverance has made a real difference - notably the regaining of normal sensation in the balls of my feet, which makes me steadier and less prone to stumbles.
I’m bored of retelling my endless set of gripes. Rather than repetitively post up about individual issues * maybe the more useful reflection is one observed on a higher plane, about not just today’s aches. For I live with these kinds of issues ongoing, all of the last 12 years. I easily pick up knocks and injuries to my spine, pelvis, ribs, shoulders, which then take a couple of months to recover. Doing stuff that could be regarded as very normal, in particular doing anything as physical as picking something up, reaching for something, moving too fast… They’re a large component of what I’ve referred to before as mye’luggage - the endlessly accreting pile of stuff my’eloma requires me to travel around with. Marisa could cite many occasions where I have reported feeling a distinct signal (usually some kind of “pop”) which I have learnt indicates a serious risk of pain that will likely intensify for a month or so before calming down again (assuming it doesn’t turn out worse than that). Viewed at that altitude, I have nothing new to report. Still carrying mye’luggage but not significantly more than usual.
My chemo continues - I think I’ve had a longer run of appointments going to plan than at any previous point in this treatment **. The side effects are not too bad. But they’re still there and some months hit me harder than others. Our plan is to continue for now, but even the wonder drug no longer prevents my cancer markers deteriorating ***. I’m about half way now to formal relapse. So, 4 or 5 months from here maybe - though it could come on faster. If it’s much slower, I’ll be pleasantly surprised. That moment will trigger more tests, uncertainty, having to begin a new treatment, pain… it’s never much to look forward to. But again, it’s not news. My remissions are always contingent and transitory.
A year ago I was comatose in Florida, quite an unwelcome anniversary for all of us in this house. “This time last year” sounds like the past, but it is still very much a present event in many ways. I’m not as physically independent as I was. And while I don’t feel haunted by the experience it doesn’t completely disappear and it adds to the list of things that could easily happen again ****.
And - as I was quick to point out at the time - “last Christmas” was itself already merely a continuation of a decade of shit caused by myeloma.
Things right now are still, despite all that, fairly good. I am physically better than I have been, and just hoping I can continue to improve for a while yet, and not get struck down too quickly by relapse. And mentally, I’m doing my best to stay robust. The last month or so has been better than the month before. We had a good Christmas which I enjoyed spending with my family. I’m enjoying watching the kids grow, and trying to be grateful for the experiences we have had that I never believed we would, and not worry about the future experiences we might miss out on. That list - the things we won’t do - gets, by definition, smaller every single day.
So… that’s where we’re at. I’ll update you when it substantively changes. Not the next test result, or the next time I hurt myself.
It’s a lot to ask that people might even still be reading this stuff, after so many years. I’m very conscious that lots of my friends have challenging lives too. The average age of my social world must be tipping 50 by now: exactly the age for career dilemmas, marriage difficulties, challenges from your kids, worries about your parents, and your own health problems. I know some of my friends are dealing with situations I don’t envy at all. So we’re incredibly appreciative of those who have found time to look out for us and check in on us. We know who are truest friends are. We’re very grateful even if we’re not able to offer any more in return than just hoping that 2024 is easier on us than 2023 was!
I’ll sign off by wishing you all a Happy New Year. I mean that entirely sincerely. Please don’t read any cynicism or sarcasm into it, because there’s honestly none. To me New Year always represents opportunity.
—-
* For example I have a load of mobility problems at the moment that may prove to be a musculoskeletal - in which case they’ll recover in time; or may prove to be symptoms of a recurring plasmacytoma - awaiting another load of PET scans to try to work out which.
Tuesday, 26 September 2023
DIY-HS
Hey Hey My My - Neil Young
Wednesday, 9 August 2023
Restricted Airspace
Weather With You – Crowded House
I was in the hospital for a few precautionary tests. I’m pretty sure I’m incubating some respiratory infection yet again and obviously I’d like them to make it go away. Yet another course of antibiotics and more tests. I suspect this week's dose will get postponed, about which I care little. My doctor advised me – I had worked this out already – to minimise infection risk by wearing a mask in crowded public spaces. I already do. I can imagine that, as autumn descends, there’ll be significant parts of “public” from which I’ll just have to withdraw. When you've been where I've been, then its hard not to perceive breathing as a precarious and fragile process.
That and the fact that I still have intermittent problems with my mobility (my legs) serves to remind me that my stay in ICU may cast a shadow that I must live under forever. DWP (the welfare bit of UK govt) finally came through with an award for PIP (disability support payments), and although my mobility is better than it was when I filled in the form, I can still see that shadow – of disability and vulnerability - over me.
I’ve been home alone for two weeks, with Marisa and the boys baking in North Macedonia, while I weather the storms of an English summer (I’ve had to sweep fallen debris out of my driveway three times so far this week – and it’s August!) My main emotional reaction to our holiday circumstances – that I’m not safe to travel – is being annoyed, a little angry, at the endless intrusions in our lives.
It’s interesting which parts of our predicament elicit empathy (I don’t need sympathy), and which do not. Travel is clearly not seen as a human right, so we’ve had to fend off a variety of responses we didn’t need. Yes, it’s only one summer… except for all the other summers. Myeloma trashed the summers of 2012, 2018 and 2022. In 2019 we did get away… at three weeks' notice. And of course 2020 and 2021 we navigated covid, like everyone else. If you thought covid was annoying – that’s basically every summer for us for the last six years. Will it be easier next year? No. And yes, Marisa could have made less adventurous, more ordinary, travel plans, except as a single parent travelling, there needs to be something in it for her too. If she was feeling the strain before she left… I put it to you that the destination wasn’t why. And no, the fact that I’ve done a lot of travelling in the past does not somehow make being grounded less of a restriction. Think about it; the opposite is true. It’s like telling a keen cyclist that it doesn’t matter their bike’s been nicked because they’ve already done lots of cycling.
Any which way round. They’ll be home this afternoon. And although I don’t want to curtail their fun, I’ll be very glad to see them.
Wednesday, 12 July 2023
🔥💣
Things We Lost In The Fire - Bastille
Monday, 3 July 2023
Antatrophy
How Does It Feel To Feel - The Creation
Over the ensuing months, I’ve grown back into my body. I regained movement in my arms first, before my legs. When I was briefly put back on the ventilator I remember being very scared that I was going to lose the little movement I had regained. I spent a night in ICU, ventilator in, incessantly wriggling my arms and legs. As soon as I could communicate I asked for two things - my iPad and some physio kit. They tied resistance bands to the sides of my bed, which I used endlessly even while the ventilator was still in. I was on a mission of repetition and perseverance. Initially it needed the strength of my arms to lift the weight of my legs in order to bend my knees. Perseverance gave my leg muscles the strength to lift themselves.
Eventually (ventilator back out by now) I reached the point where I could move my whole upper torso. Being able to turn in bed was a little milestone, and I reinforced it with a rule that every time I woke from sleep, I had to turn myself over. Genuinely gruelling for a few days, but repetition leads to capability. That’s how bodies work. I took the same approach when I was first strong enough to sit. As a self imposed rule I decided that all meals would be consumed sitting on the edge of my bed. It was really hard. I hadn’t long learned to eat again, and now I had to do it while straining not to collapse. But I’m sure the speed of my recovery, both in hospital and subsequently, has been significantly driven by that determination. That macro-physical recovery has continued - tentative steps, climbing stairs, walking without a frame, going outside, riding a bike… And it’s a job almost done. I got a Fitbit for my birthday. It’s a useful way to track pulse, blood oxygen etc (though I’m not confident in its accuracy. I still measure these things properly, too). And of course it counts steps. We just spent 48hrs in York, and I walked 16,000 steps in a single day. It’s hardly record setting, but it’s mind blowing if one remembers where I was.
My time in Florida left me with several pressure sores. One might hope that modern nursing would avoid these things, but I accept that in the process of keeping me alive, it was probably impossible. Pressure sores are horrid, I can report, and very slow to heal. We finally stopped dressing the last of mine, figuring it’s near enough healed to look after itself, only a couple of weeks ago. It has required months of patience, removing dead skin (“debriding”) and encouraging growth. Because the wound is wider and deeper than a typical cut or graze, it has to heal differently. It’s not just a matter of a scab forming while the skin seals beneath. I haven’t subjected you to pictures, as it’s been pretty gross, to be honest. But here’s a little close up of just a part of what’s left now. I think it’s remarkable, if you look at it closely. You can literally see the tiny blood vessels growing back, meshing the skin back together as an organ. It’s not a bad visual image of the whole process.
It’s not just been flesh and muscle, regrowing. It’s been my nervous system too. I had lost sensation almost as much as movement. My body was never completely numb. The medics used to check, quite regularly, and I gather recovery is better the more sensation you retain. Certainly the numbest bits have been the slowest. I have a couple of spots - the back of my head where I must have rested in the same position for weeks, and my upper lip where the ventilator rubbed - which are still not normal. For a long time merely touching my scalp felt like a mild electric shock (an antatrophic shock?) or one of those things for massaging your head.
My lizard brain needed to regrow, too - learning reflexes, like how to swallow. Dammit, somewhere at the start it really did include learning to breathe, hard as that is to believe. When they take the ventilator out you abruptly lose the mechanical rhythm of inhale and exhale, and have to substitute it with your own reflex. It’s actually quite a scary moment. I can vividly remember the feeling of not knowing if I was breathing in or out; of having to be reminded by the physio to breathe at all. They made me take a swallow test before permitting me to eat. I didn’t pass first time. (I have a madmory about being force fed yoghurt.) Swallowing; coughing; breathing: stuff one takes for granted but which came back gradually. I still have to stop and concentrate on my breathing, sometimes. Blood cancer is like having the autopilot disabled in your bone marrow. Things that used to happen automatically now need regular monitoring and periodic course correction. ICU does a bit the same to your reflexes, at least transiently. I don’t entirely trust mine, yet. I’m more careful than I was, prior to this experience, to avoid the risk of choking, because I’m not totally confident in my body’s ability to reflexively open and close my windpipe. My balance is still not 100%, either. My reflexes are meshing themselves back together, but there will always be scars.
The combined effect is of regrowing into my own body. The nerve numbness appears to be chased out by muscle movement: as I regain control and use, normal sensation comes with it. From that first day of awareness, when I inhabited just a tiny space inside myself, to the sense of having colonised my own limbs as I started to be able to move my hands. Learning to inhabit enough of my body that I could first sit, then stand, then walk. From there, the numbness - neuralgia - has slowly receded down my legs: from knees to ankles; from ankles to soles; from soles to the balls of my feet; then just my toes. And now not even all of those. A tingly 24hr reminder of where I’ve been. Given how slowly this has progressed, I reckon the final knuckles will take months. But eventually, I believe, I’ll occupy my own body, and no longer be conscious of this tide mark of trauma. Somewhere, sometime, my recolonisation will be complete.
What kind of a dialm story is this? Of course it is symptomatic, literally, of the bigger story that’s been going on; my stay in ICU and the months since. But maybe more interestingly, it’s also a much more trivial story. One of the many minor annoyances that myeloma insists you carry around with you at all times. Marisa could tell you that at any moment - and this has been true for many years - I can always offer up quite a long list of of aches, pains, issues and inconveniences. That’s just how myeloma is. It’s an ever accumulating array of baggage. Living with myeloma is like having to carry an awkward and cumbersome load of packages and parcels around, everywhere you go. Every time you want to do anything, you have to first assess what to do with all your myeluggage. Some myeluggage (my poor old back) is here to stay. Other myeluggage is with me only for a while (I’ve had plasmacytomas. I’ve had anaemia. I have neither, right now).
Since I could walk and discarded my zimmer frame, one might imagine the mending is done. But not yet. For the time being part of my myeluggage (is that “my’eluggage”???) is a dull, buzzy, throbbing, slightly nothing feeling, receding out of my feet, day by day as I finally grow back into the whole of my body. Sometimes painful. Always noticeable. Yet I doubt I’ll notice the day it’s finally gone, so there’ll never be an apposite moment to tell you about it. Now will have to do.
Monday, 26 June 2023
❤️💣
Try a Little Tenderness - Campbell, Connolly and Woods *
I’m in that peculiar period where recovery merges back into the mundane. I’m increasingly unencumbered by trailing difficulties from hospitalisation. I still have pain in my feet. (A doctor friend told me that post-ICU neuralgia is a thing. But it’s one of those things that no-one warns you about. You get to discover for yourself.) Increasing mobility brings with it the ability to exert more muscles and consequently hurt more muscles, so I’m still living with that process of evolving capability and accompanying aches and pains - currently manifesting as stiff knees. But, knees and toes, it’s marginal stuff, really. Nor am I overly afflicted by side effects from medication. Three doses in to my renewed treatment, I’ve barely noticed feeling fluey at all, this month. And I haven’t been ill (though I’ve no way of knowing if that is anything more than luck; no sense of the ongoing level of risk).
I’m rapidly distancing myself from the last year, emotionally. It’s receding into being a historic anecdote, rather than a present tense experience. Whatever way one interrogates April 2022 to April 2023, for me it was mostly about dealing with myeloma: plasmacytomas; nerve compression; cytokines; radiotherapy; and infection. For different reasons, I spent both my birthday and Christmas - six months apart - in hospital beds. 2023 feels like a year in which I can, by contrast, live. It was my (50th) birthday this month, which I’ve been able to enjoy in the form of several parties and nights out. I think Marisa notices, almost more than I do, how much of this I’ve missed out on, and been missing from. It’s good to be back.
We went camping with my extended family last weekend (an annual highlight, though on the list of things I was too ill to participate in last year). What with that and the parties, I’ve caught up with lots of people who care about me, but whom I hadn’t seen recently. I’ll be glad when the love bombing is all over, to be honest. I remember in the early days of my myeloma diagnosis, being very troubled about the distress my illness can cause to other people; feeling a level of responsibility for other people’s feelings. Empirically, that’s absurd, and the longer I live with myeloma, the less I react in that way. The response is supplanted, to an extent, by a strange possessiveness. That my tribulations are mine and mine alone. A tinge of resentment at other people parking the tanks of their emotions on the lawn of my life! It’s not about you! An entirely ungrateful way for me to look at it, I know. I’m not proud of myself for feeling that way. The sooner it is all just history, now, the better for us all.
So excuse the detachment. Here’s the facts. My myeloma remains invisible. The maintenance treatment continues uneventfully, as does the IVIG. I had a bone marrow biopsy this morning. I’ve lost count, but I’m definitely into double figures by now. And while I may never learn to love the BoMB **, this one was unremarkable, almost boring. It will enable a more definite statement of my status. Hopefully, to confirm my myeloma can’t be detected.
And yes, I hit 50, which I honestly didn’t imagine I would. I’m increasingly cavalier in permitting myself to imagine being 60 one day, rather than constantly talk down my own prognosis. I can’t be bothered, any more, to waste my time worrying about what may be ahead. Today is good enough
Friday, 19 May 2023
IVIG
Drink New Blood - Iggy Pop *
Sunday, 23 April 2023
DWP
Girls Just Want To Have Fun - Cyndi Lauper
Part of the issue for me is the complete inability of the system to understand relapsing/ remitting conditions. I had a long conversation with an advisor at MacMillan/ Citizens Advise about what constitutes a “good day” or a “bad day” for me, how often each occur, and how often they are likely to continue. Not only are these quite hard questions to answer (he called when I was full of steroids. Right now, I think I could climb Everest. Sometime in the next 48 hours I will crash and not even want to get out of bed), but they’re not reflected on the PIP application - so we will have to encode our answers. Basically, can we legitimately claim that “bad days” occur most of the time? (Answer, because it’s true and because it has to be true: Yes.)
A similar issue occurred with the only benefitI I currently receive, Employment and Support Allowance. (ESA). In order to qualify as part of the “Support Group” (the only way I can continue claiming), I must have “limited capacity for work”, be working less than 16 hours a week and earn no more that 16 hours at minimum wage. I just quit my job entirely, because it was too much. I was only working 11 hours anyway and I’d been off sick for most of the last year, so the hours constraint is no issue for me. But, for one month early last year, the DWP was under the misapprehension that I’d exceeded the income threshold by 1p. Some DWP jobsworth [expletive deleted] decided that this meant I no longer had “limited capacity”, stopped my benefit with immediate effect, and entirely cancelled my ESA claim. I kid you not - here’s my letter in the paper about it, and here’s their letters to me…
A woman phoned me up. This should have been my warning of what was coming, but I was ill at the time (beginning to relapse, it transpires), and maybe didn’t pick up the signals, and anyway, she finished the call by saying she’d come back to me. I was expecting another call. What I got was two letters, dated the same day but posted separately, as though this was a process. One informed me they were reviewing my claim. The other said, having reviewed it, they were cancelling it. Aside from the insult of doing this without properly consulting me, and the fact that they were wrong in their calculation, it’s preposterous to link my earnings in a month to my ongoing “capacity”. Within two months of them cutting my benefit, I was off sick again.
The published information defines earning thresholds weekly, which is in and of itself an implied judgement about the calibre of people who might need support. Weekly pay is traditionally associated with low pay, blue collar work. And that’s who the system thinks benefit claimants are. The problem occurred because I got a monthly payroll payment. “I calculate this by dividing the monthly payment by four”, she explained. “But there’s more than four weeks in a month” I replied. If we’re to be pedantic - and they started it by arguing about 1p - there’s more than 52 weeks in a year, but I never got that far because she simply told me “That’s how I calculate it”, and that was the end of the call. The issue was made worse by conflicting information on the government’s own websites and small print. (The big print turning out marginally more generous than the small print. Quelle surprise.) Some sources said you must earn “less than” the £143 threshold (its higher now, but not in line with inflation), others that you must earn “no more than”. This would be basically academic… as long as no-one was quibbling about 1p. The DWP did, eventually, admit they were wrong and reverse their decision, but only after I had engaged both the appeal process and my MP - though the DWP denied any of those had at all affected their review and reversal. They acknowledged they were wrong, but not precisely how. Was it the calculation or the miscommunicated threshold; the lack of process or the unwarranted extrapolation to assumptions about my capacity? Last time I checked they had done nothing to remedy the inaccurate information online - even though I provided them with screenshots and urls for the sites and pages concerned.
Nor have they defined a monthly limit, which would squeeze out all the ambiguity. But that would probably require political, not just administrative, engagement, and the last I head from the government on benefits, was a promise to step up the surveillance for “sanctions”. It doesn’t sound like the government has any interest in making the system better, just meaner. Perversely, I’d like a system that might enable me to claim less and contribute more. But while government thinks I’m a weekly-earning nobody they presumably have no aspiration for my potential. (To be clear, that “nobody” is my assumption of their pejorative, not my own.) Limited though it may be I am not without potential, but for administrative reasons, I can’t act on it. In truth, the “lucrative employment” bird has probably flown now for me, but there was ten years of my myeloma life where “the system” and I could have had a constructive relationship. I might plausibly have got my recent employer to pay me more per hour, for example, and paid some of it in tax (and they could have tapered my benefit too, if they only had the wherewithal). Fundamentally, one’s per-hour earning potential has sod all (technical term) to do with one’s capacity for work. Nor does, in the short term, being able to work more hours, when the underlying condition is expected to return. Both might be justifications for tapering - or even zeroing - the benefit in the short term, but the system can’t distinguish between these two very different things. It doesn’t understand what a relapsing/ remitting life is like.
They did, in the end, give me the £3,000 they by then owed me. It’s a good thing I wasn’t using that money to buy my kids food. More importantly for me, my ESA claim counts towards National Insurance (NI) contributions. My pension and (more likely) Marisa’s pension is at stake here and that does matter. My issue with benefits, personally, is not so much about the money. I’m not hard up. On the other hand, I can’t work. I’m fortunate that my previous career means I have a reasonable pension, and that I took the decision from the very start not to leave it, legally, in a pension scheme. Twenty years ago I imagined I might want to retire early, and I didn’t want to be forced to wait until 65 to access the “pot”, only then to be forced to buy a poorly geared annuity. As it turns out, I retired not of my own volition, but the intended effect is there - my “pension” is all in savings I can tap as I see fit. And there’s enough of it I can afford to tap some of it now. I can effectively award myself early retirement, and not be too hard up as a consequence. Not everyone living with a relapsing/ remitting disease, a TBIC (keep up), or any other benefit-need that the system hasn’t planned for, is as lucky. If the money counts every week (or month), then being cut adrift for months on end could be a real crisis. No apology, either, of course, from DWP for the hardship their “error” might have caused.
Still, I can downplay my need, but the bottom line is: I can’t work. If/when I could, an hour in my old business would disqualify me from ESA potentially forever. There’s not much incentive to seek a tactical project in the good times on that basis. I’m diverting my energies, as I recuperate, to seeking some voluntary engagement. Will be fun for me; could be a social good; but if we’re just fixated on the money (as DWP appears to be) then it’s lost revenue for HMRC. I’m effectively in a benefit trap. What I’d really like - the benefit system that would reflect my circumstances - would be to be able to work when I could, with my benefit tapered potentially to zero depending on what I earned, but without short term earning being used to judge long term “capacity” and without having my claim cancelled. I’d like the acknowledgement of my mobility need in the long term, even if I don’t deserve support payments in the short term. I think were I ever to get kicked out of ESA Support Group, I’d never be able to persuade them to put me back in. The mere fact that I had, on one occasion, been deemed capable, would mean I would struggle to meet the Support Group entry criterion of it being “unreasonable” to expect that my capacity might in the future return. I’d have to reapply on the basis of short term limited capacity. I could only claim on the “contributions” based route (sick leave for the self employed, in effect), which is how I got in the door last time, but that route only entitles you to six months support, which I’ve already used up. And I’m no longer “contributing” (to NI, they mean. My ESA is my NI contribution, that’s the entire point).
So, in short, Marisa’s pension depends on me never earning more than 16 hours times minimum wage in any single week, now or for the rest of time. Looking holistically at me as a potential earner, and at the condition I live with, that’s obviously a stupid restriction to put me under. I could be more productive, potentially generate tax take for HMRC, be a “contributor”… but only if I’d be willing to sign away, in perpetuity, official acknowledgement of my capacity, and with it, a portion of Marisa’s future pension. And, back to the top, my entitlement to a blue badge will come down to how often I am able to walk 50m. As it happens, I think I’ll be able to say, hand on heart, that much of the week I can’t get out the door, due to feeling shit from side effects, plus fatigue, and that when I do, I’m walking with a stick and severely limited by back pain. That should legitimately meet the criterion, but I’m still struggling with being compelled to tick a “can’t walk 50m” box. Walking was always one of my passions. Myeloma has stolen so much from me. This year it seems to be taking both walking and travelling away from me and I find that very difficult. I don’t really want to be thinking, every time I go to the door, about how often I’ve been out and whether some DWP assessor will try to cancel my PIP claim - and with it my ability to seek support I need. I should be trying to be as active as possible. Yet the system requires me to be physically, as well as economically, inactive. Again, it doesn’t understand relapsing/ remitting conditions. However far I might walk tomorrow, I’ll need driving somewhere soon, where parking will be a problem. That’s what blue badges are for. Or, what if I need to take luggage? I can’t carry anything any distance. Not on the form. No points. Come winter, I might well conclude that buses and trains are unsafe environments for me (infection risk), and be forced to take taxis. That’s a real expense that PIP explicitly exists to support. And I can apply for a “taxi card” entitling me to some discounted fares… but again, only if I can answer “yes” to the question “Do you get PIP Mobility?”
None of these benefits are overly generous. Let me spell them out here (2023-2024 rates). You might be surprised.
As far as I’m aware, all other benefits come with means testing. Fair enough, you might say, if you ignore my wider point about status as opposed to mere cash, and about conditions that come and go. Maybe I should have PIP when times are bad, but not when times are good. Except I’ve already been told my PIP application will take anything from four to six months. With a bit of luck I will get it at exactly the moment when I’m most able, and I’ll be desperately emphasising my limitations for fear of being rejected. Perhaps, each time I’m well, I could put in an application, on the off-chance I’ll be crook by the time they get round to assessing it? Or there could, of course, be a better system. But the state of our country’s politics makes me suspect even a change of government won’t lead to any progress in this kind of issue (prove me wrong, Helen Hayes!). And the tories are only interested in portraying people with needs as scroungers and skivers, or, failing that, just as worthless low potential nobodies.
There's such a thing as Carers' Allowance, but Marisa can't claim because she earns too much (it's the old 16 hours minimum wage thing again). The fact that she was recently forced to take a month off, when I came out of hospital, is overlooked. From the government's perspective "care" only has any value at all (£76.75 a week - don't get too excited) if it takes up at least 35 hours of your time every week on an ongoing basis. There must be a million carers in Britain who don't qualify. Now, the right-minded among you (right in the wrong way!) may think this is all a bit take take take. “Where's my benefit?” demands hardly hard up Alex! But the amounts are so small, the needs so great, the criteria so strict, it’s simply a Daily Mail fantasy that anyone is profiting here at the expense of others' hard work. If you live in the UK you’ve been subjected, at some point, to messaging about a “cap” on benefits of £20,000. For a start, that’s not a lot, if you think about it - and the cap went down, while prices go up - but anyway anyone qualifying for “capped” benefit would almost certainly be claiming for housing (we all have to live somewhere) so wouldn’t see most of the money. And if daily living benefit plus housing benefit exceeds £20,000, you can be certain the landlord doesn’t take the hit.
And, before you get too comfortable, because you, like me, aren’t a self identified claimant. Remember, needs tend to just materialise uninvited, whether through illness, redundancy or change in circumstances. Do you know what the savings means testing limit for Universal Credit is? (UC incorporates most other benefits - jobseeking, housing etc.) It’s £6,000. Beyond that whatever UC you might be entitled to would be tapered - on the assumption you’d be drawing down “income” from your savings. If you’ve got £16,000, you’d get nothing. Their definition of savings excludes your home, and anything tied up in a pension scheme, but includes pretty much anything else - they’ll even include your kids savings if they have any, in your total. And no, you can’t deduct mortgage payments or anything - it’s your assets being judged, not income. So no deductibles. I’ll never be eligible because my pension savings are not in a pension scheme. But even so, £16,000 is just one ISA - and I’m sure many in my readership have that much tucked away. Be clear. The benefit system is not for you. You’d be expected to drain down the rainy-day fund, the deposit-to-buy-a-house fund, the support-for-my-kids-in-case-I’m-no-longer-there fund, the buy-a-new-car fund, the family-holidays-are-expensive fund, until your entire assets were less than £16,000 to qualify for any UC support. It’s hard to quantify how much of the population this covers - statistics on assets often include your home; those on savings often ignore ISAs and investments. Maybe a third of UK households would qualify for UC with no tapering. The rest of us would have to burn whatever prospects we’ve earned and saved, only being eligible once we’re skint. I’m not complaining here about means testing, and merely repeating myself (blame the steroids) when I say I’m not really in this for the money. But I do think that’s a staggeringly low bar for support. I suspect a lot of people imagine they’re better supported than they are. I still laugh at the memory of the friend in the park saying to me, early covid lockdown, having just been laid off,
As a general rule I try to keep Dialm non-political, and I’ve just slagged the tories off repeatedly. But how a society supports those in need is inherently political. In this context I make no excuse. Britain’s “welfare” system is disgusting, and only supported by a combination of ignorance and complacency. Those who know the truth because they live the reality are already diminished voices both through actual circumstances and through political and media denigration. I try, in my little way, to be an exception to that.
That wraps up this weeks updates for Dialm. If you’re wondering about any progress on my complaints about care after discharge from hospital… Nothing better has happened, and I’m in discussions with the hospital about it (fortunately for me I have an “in” to at least get my concerns heard). It’s all quite detailed so would make a long post. But it’s also case specific to me (in a way my gripes about benefits are not), so on that basis I don’t think it justifies me subjecting you to it. The underlying problem - those in most need lack agency and so get disadvantaged - is much the same. If and when I extract a more generalisable conclusion, I may yet post it up.
* In the quest for transparency, I’ll note that my current treatment doesn’t actually involve an IV. But I couldn’t extract much creative prose from the source material of “sitting around for hours on end waiting for a prescription”