Monday, 5 May 2014
'What's Next I Wonder?' - the musings of a homeless woman: Has it really been a month already!
'What's Next I Wonder?' - the musings of a homeless woman: Has it really been a month already!: I've just arrived back in Plymouth after a lovely weekend spent with very special people. They are the friends who have been there for m...
Has it really been a month already!
I've just arrived back in Plymouth after a lovely weekend spent with very special people. They are the friends who have been there for me throughout this bloody awful process. They have hugged me, wiped my tears, fed me, been on the other end of the phone, slept nearby when I was scared or they were scared for me and generally given so much more of themselves than I ever would have believed possible. Thank you, everyone of you - you know who you are.
Coming back here is always with mixed feelings. It has been a haven for the past 3 weeks and I'm so grateful for that but it's a reminder, also, that until yesterday, I had no place else to go. It is a strange place - and certainly not meant to be anyone's home. The doctors who sleep here are not meant to get comfortable; they are here to work and the accommodation provides them with only the very basic they might require: a kettle, fridge, microwave and a 2 ring hob. One pan and a few plates, cup and cutlery. The only knife to cut with is an enormous meat cleaver which weighs a ton! My first week here I tried chopping dainty slices of carrot for stir fry and almost removed the fingers of my right hand (I'm left handed) in an effort to peel the first carrot. Since then all peel remains firmly on!
The residence block itself is a bit like a ghost town. I hear doors opening and closing and occasionally the lift arriving but after 3 weeks I have yet to meet another person. There are 32 rooms in this block and I know that there are more than a couple of people around just by the number of cars in the car park. I can only assume that few of them make it back to their rooms often enough to make their presence felt. The life of a junior doctor never was easy.
This weekend I went back to my former home and spent the weekend with my neighbours and good friends. I miss that small community very much but returning was hard; much harder than i imagined it would be. My former home is part of a 'back to front' terrace of houses where the gardens at the front of the house are almost communal. Stepping out of your front door was almost always a pleasure; there would be someone to chat with to or drink tea with or share stories or give or receive support. I will miss that. I also found myself completely unable to look at the house without welling up. I admit to having several good weeps. I think it was probably too soon to have returned but seeing my friends again made it worthwhile and I laughed more this weekend that I have for sometime.
I also briefly met someone who has remained in my thoughts ever since. She reminded me that however terrible life might seem, there is always someone suffering more - and those people are all around us. Her story is something that this country ought to be ashamed of and also ought do be doing something about. She is from Romania and has been in this country for just under a year. She is 50 years old and in own country had a well paid job as an engineer in the petrochemical industry. She had her own flat, a mortgage and a life.
Everything started to go wrong when the Romanian economy began to nose dive and the petrochemical industry began to shrink. She found herself moving from lesser paid job to lesser paid job until one day, the industry which had seemed indestructible..... had disappeared completely. In common with thousands of other Romanians, she took the decision to leave the country - could no longer afford the spiralling mortgage rate and prices. It appears there is something very odd happening in Romania and no-one can really put their finger on what is going on; the economy has gone into free fall and the standard of living has declined rapidly. It seems that land is being bought up by unknown purchasers - the Russians and Chinese are suspected and there is even a rumour that Transylvania is being sold off as a job lot. Her decision to come here was made in desperation. She was utterly terrified of what was happening and when an English agency offered her work, she grabbed the opportunity with both hands.
The agency charged her £1000 for finding her a job and accommodation and she arrived here frightened and knowing no-one.
The work the agency have found for her is in care homes looking after elderly residents. She has received no training and is forced to work as many nights as the care home insists - at present that is 5, 14 hours shifts per week, looking after 47 residents. She is paid the minimum wage but has a battle with the agency to be paid correctly and on time - and of course they level further charges on her pay for the privilege of working for them.
She looks exhausted and pitiful as she is telling me this and I feel a monumental anger that this kind of slavery is being allowed to happen in our country. And there is no other word to describe it. This is slavery! We are allowing these despicable agencies to pray on vulnerable and desperate people and it makes me feel sick to even contemplate the misery that is going on all around us.
Coming back here is always with mixed feelings. It has been a haven for the past 3 weeks and I'm so grateful for that but it's a reminder, also, that until yesterday, I had no place else to go. It is a strange place - and certainly not meant to be anyone's home. The doctors who sleep here are not meant to get comfortable; they are here to work and the accommodation provides them with only the very basic they might require: a kettle, fridge, microwave and a 2 ring hob. One pan and a few plates, cup and cutlery. The only knife to cut with is an enormous meat cleaver which weighs a ton! My first week here I tried chopping dainty slices of carrot for stir fry and almost removed the fingers of my right hand (I'm left handed) in an effort to peel the first carrot. Since then all peel remains firmly on!
The residence block itself is a bit like a ghost town. I hear doors opening and closing and occasionally the lift arriving but after 3 weeks I have yet to meet another person. There are 32 rooms in this block and I know that there are more than a couple of people around just by the number of cars in the car park. I can only assume that few of them make it back to their rooms often enough to make their presence felt. The life of a junior doctor never was easy.
This weekend I went back to my former home and spent the weekend with my neighbours and good friends. I miss that small community very much but returning was hard; much harder than i imagined it would be. My former home is part of a 'back to front' terrace of houses where the gardens at the front of the house are almost communal. Stepping out of your front door was almost always a pleasure; there would be someone to chat with to or drink tea with or share stories or give or receive support. I will miss that. I also found myself completely unable to look at the house without welling up. I admit to having several good weeps. I think it was probably too soon to have returned but seeing my friends again made it worthwhile and I laughed more this weekend that I have for sometime.
I also briefly met someone who has remained in my thoughts ever since. She reminded me that however terrible life might seem, there is always someone suffering more - and those people are all around us. Her story is something that this country ought to be ashamed of and also ought do be doing something about. She is from Romania and has been in this country for just under a year. She is 50 years old and in own country had a well paid job as an engineer in the petrochemical industry. She had her own flat, a mortgage and a life.
Everything started to go wrong when the Romanian economy began to nose dive and the petrochemical industry began to shrink. She found herself moving from lesser paid job to lesser paid job until one day, the industry which had seemed indestructible..... had disappeared completely. In common with thousands of other Romanians, she took the decision to leave the country - could no longer afford the spiralling mortgage rate and prices. It appears there is something very odd happening in Romania and no-one can really put their finger on what is going on; the economy has gone into free fall and the standard of living has declined rapidly. It seems that land is being bought up by unknown purchasers - the Russians and Chinese are suspected and there is even a rumour that Transylvania is being sold off as a job lot. Her decision to come here was made in desperation. She was utterly terrified of what was happening and when an English agency offered her work, she grabbed the opportunity with both hands.
The agency charged her £1000 for finding her a job and accommodation and she arrived here frightened and knowing no-one.
The work the agency have found for her is in care homes looking after elderly residents. She has received no training and is forced to work as many nights as the care home insists - at present that is 5, 14 hours shifts per week, looking after 47 residents. She is paid the minimum wage but has a battle with the agency to be paid correctly and on time - and of course they level further charges on her pay for the privilege of working for them.
She looks exhausted and pitiful as she is telling me this and I feel a monumental anger that this kind of slavery is being allowed to happen in our country. And there is no other word to describe it. This is slavery! We are allowing these despicable agencies to pray on vulnerable and desperate people and it makes me feel sick to even contemplate the misery that is going on all around us.
Tuesday, 22 April 2014
Day 15 of homelessness......who to trust?
'The best way to find out if you can trust somebody, is to trust them' Ernest Hemingway
Hmmm...... that's all very well, Ernest, but what I've learned recently, is that trusting someone can be very costly indeed. Of course, there is no one else to blame but me. I trusted TT and if I'm completely honest with myself, it was against my own better judgement. My gut was telling me that something was wrong - and I, foolishly, chose to ignore it. Shortly after we moved in together, there was an incident which rang an alarm bell which I should have heeded. If only I had, things might be very different today.
I also realise now that I must have been the only person trusting him. The number of people who knew both of us and have subsequently approached me and said 'Well, I never did trust him', have shocked me by their sheer numbers. It actually seems there wasn't one person of our mutual acquaintance who didn't have a little voice inside them screaming, 'beware, he's definitely dodgy!' If only someone had said something to me - though I understand how impossible that would have been. How do you say to someone 'By the way, your partner is not to be trusted'.
Ernest, though, remains correct. Situations occur every day where we have to place our trust in another human being and sometimes we will rewarded with kindness and respect and at other times we will get a resounding kick in the teeth.
Just in the last couple of weeks I've had another experience of misplaced trust - and teeth were definitely involved!
One of the things to suffer during my time with TT has been visits to the dentist. He regarded it as a luxury - and one which we definitely could not afford. Accordingly, the health my teeth have taken a downward spiral and I will be lucky to escape dentures in the near future.
The fear of that particular situation sent me scuttling off to the nearest practice as soon as TT was out of the door. I'm lucky in that I've never had any fear of the dentist - have always been treated with care and have never experienced any pain. All that changed on my second visit to the new dentist. I had been informed I needed a new crown and a filling and she started with the new crown prep. My god! If she had been in my mouth stamping around in hobnail boots it couldn't have been any more painful. For 5 days afterwards I was in agony and could barely open my mouth. When I returned 2 weeks later, I was understandably a little anxious, but being the trusting idiot that I am, I thought it must have been a one off - this time will be better, won't it? Nope, the 3rd visit was even worse! She climbed into my mouth once more and this time drilled until the nerve was screaming, despite the numbing injections. By the time she had finished, I wanted to die.
Now, exactly 2 weeks later, the swelling and bruising to my face has only just disappeared over the weekend. Suffice to stay, I won't be returning to see her. I have however, made a complaint; something I have never contemplated with any other dentist. The morale of this story: Yes, give someone your trust willingly. But, for me, one chance is all they get from now on!
Tuesday, 15 April 2014
Day 10 of homelessness.........
.......to my new and temporary home. Here I am in Plymouth. The city has certainly welcomed me; there has been cloudless skies and brilliant sunshine from the moment I arrived. The people too seem nice so far and I think my time here will be ok - fingers crossed.
I'm staying in the doctor's residences of the main hospital - a 10 minute drive from where I'm working and for me, its a bit like stepping back in time. My ex- husband of long ago was a junior doctor when I met him and we spent many long hours in his flat at the hospital. It was very similar to this place apart from in his flat there was a separate bedroom, whereas here the bed is kept in a cupboard in the wall.
I seemed to spend most of my time in that flat completely alone too! He would be, inevitably, on call and out on the wards and I would be waiting patiently (bored) for his return. I would do whatever I could to make his on call time a little more pleasant. I worshipped him then and he knew it; he allowed me to wait on him hand and foot and made it seem he was doing me a favour. At the time I didn't blame him. Being on call and knackered most of the time is hell on earth. Who in their right mind would refuse the attentions of a willing slave in those circumstances? Besides, it made me feel important in a way I had never felt previously. He needed me to make it better - isn't that every nurses raison d'être?
I was reminded too of something weird which happened 5 or 6 years after our divorce. I had the opportunity to return to the hospital where we had met and where I trained, to spend a day with a specialist nurse. It had been 20 years since I had been there and the whole experience felt a little surreal. After following the nurse around all day she announced we had to go to a meeting. Off we went, through the hospital, out into the car park and across to where the nurses and doctor's residences used to be. As we walked I told her about living there and meeting my ex. She told me that 90% of the flats were now the admin offices of the hospital. When we arrived at the block where my ex had lived it felt so strange and when we arrived outside the very door of the flat I almost burst out laughing! Unbelievably, I found myself in a packed meeting in the very bedroom I had spent many a happy hour, in my ex's cramped single bed. Happy days.
I'm staying in the doctor's residences of the main hospital - a 10 minute drive from where I'm working and for me, its a bit like stepping back in time. My ex- husband of long ago was a junior doctor when I met him and we spent many long hours in his flat at the hospital. It was very similar to this place apart from in his flat there was a separate bedroom, whereas here the bed is kept in a cupboard in the wall.
I seemed to spend most of my time in that flat completely alone too! He would be, inevitably, on call and out on the wards and I would be waiting patiently (bored) for his return. I would do whatever I could to make his on call time a little more pleasant. I worshipped him then and he knew it; he allowed me to wait on him hand and foot and made it seem he was doing me a favour. At the time I didn't blame him. Being on call and knackered most of the time is hell on earth. Who in their right mind would refuse the attentions of a willing slave in those circumstances? Besides, it made me feel important in a way I had never felt previously. He needed me to make it better - isn't that every nurses raison d'être?
I was reminded too of something weird which happened 5 or 6 years after our divorce. I had the opportunity to return to the hospital where we had met and where I trained, to spend a day with a specialist nurse. It had been 20 years since I had been there and the whole experience felt a little surreal. After following the nurse around all day she announced we had to go to a meeting. Off we went, through the hospital, out into the car park and across to where the nurses and doctor's residences used to be. As we walked I told her about living there and meeting my ex. She told me that 90% of the flats were now the admin offices of the hospital. When we arrived at the block where my ex had lived it felt so strange and when we arrived outside the very door of the flat I almost burst out laughing! Unbelievably, I found myself in a packed meeting in the very bedroom I had spent many a happy hour, in my ex's cramped single bed. Happy days.
Sunday, 13 April 2014
Day 8 of homelessness........Onwards to Plymouth
I arrived in Plymouth a little while ago and feel comfy and safe in my guest-house room. It was a long old drive from Kent but the sun was shining all they way and with each mile my spirits lifted; a new adventure and hopefully a little money and security for a while.
The only blip came when driving past the exit I would normally take for Glastonbury. Each sign post brought back so many memories - of other drives home from my daughter's house, to be greeted with a steaming sunday dinner or a small puppy, wagging an excited, scruffy tail. All gone now.
My mind was taken right back to the beginning - of meeting my ex and the move to Somerset and the subsequent problems, revelations and heartbreak. I have been asked several times by readers of this blog, to share those experiences. To share how I came to be penniless and homeless. I'm not sure - friends have warned about the dangers of airing one's dirty linen in public and the repercussions that may come. What do people think? It is my itention to write a novel about my experiences - it's the only way I can legitimately kill TT (rather than calling him the twat, I've shortened it) and get away with it!
The only blip came when driving past the exit I would normally take for Glastonbury. Each sign post brought back so many memories - of other drives home from my daughter's house, to be greeted with a steaming sunday dinner or a small puppy, wagging an excited, scruffy tail. All gone now.
My mind was taken right back to the beginning - of meeting my ex and the move to Somerset and the subsequent problems, revelations and heartbreak. I have been asked several times by readers of this blog, to share those experiences. To share how I came to be penniless and homeless. I'm not sure - friends have warned about the dangers of airing one's dirty linen in public and the repercussions that may come. What do people think? It is my itention to write a novel about my experiences - it's the only way I can legitimately kill TT (rather than calling him the twat, I've shortened it) and get away with it!
Friday, 11 April 2014
Day 6 of homelessness - Panic attacks.....
........how do you avoid them?
Today I feel that panic could engulf me entirely if I let my guard down for a moment. I have 2 nights left here at my daughters - and then it's onwards into the unknown.
I have the promise of a few weeks work in a hospital in Plymouth - a 6 hour drive away from here, which happens to come with accommodation. After that who knows.
Panic has inspired long periods of introspection today - trying to identify what it really is I'm afraid of. I now think I know how it must feel when your house is blown away by a tornado or burns to the ground - Ok, perhaps these are extreme examples, but even so, I believe this feeling of rootlessness and loss, is universal.
So many times over the past few days I have caught myself thinking 'I must do this or that, or find something........when I get home', Each time I catch my breath and a wave of fear passes over me. There is no home. There is no place to return to. There is no longer any place where I might feel safe. There is no place where I can slump on the sofa, throw my slippers off and be myself. And worse there is no little dog to talk to and make everything feel almost bearable.
If only I had written this blog yesterday! Yesterday the sun was shining and I was watching my grandchildren play happily in the park. Yesterday I felt positive and almost happy; anything was possible and everything was going to be alright.
Today is different....I thought it was Thursday. I thought I had three more nights here and that seemed just enough to make another adjustment to my emotional compass. Three more nights would have done it. I would have been ready. When I discovered it was Friday - which wasn't actually until half an hour ago - a black hollowness appeared in the pit of my stomach. Two more nights and I will have to venture out and face the world again. Two more nights and the business of 'getting on with it' would really begin.....every time I think of this the panic rises.
I've cried a lot tonight. Grieving for everything I've lost: my home, my savings, my good reputation, my perfect credit score, my dog, my security, the life where I was an professional, independent woman. I've been reduced to this by someone I trusted without question.
What's left is a dogged determination to retain my sanity and sense of humour - and though the latter is making only brief appearances at present, I'm hopeful that will change soon.
Wednesday, 9 April 2014
Day 4 of homelessness....Life was a bitch.........
..........specifically a small, furry bitch name of Ruby. She's the loveliest, friendliest dog ever and I'm going to miss her more than I can say.
I got her 18 months ago as a tiny puppy and looked more teddy bear, crossed with a tiger. Her face was completely black and quite flat and her ears bent forward making her look too adorable and her back was covered in broad, dark stripes.
Ruby saved my life over the past year; she gave me something to care for and a reason to get up in the mornings and get out of the house. She gave me a reason to carry on because she needed me to hold it together. loved those walks with her and they provided the inspiration for the children's book I hope to finish, sometime soon.
Yesterday morning I had to watch her being driven away - possibly never to be seen again. I'm eternally grateful to Joe for taking her and I know she will be well cared for.......but I miss her.
Of course, she was never really my dog anyway. By which I mean she attached herself to my ex (to be known from now as 'the twat' If anyone finds this offensive and can come up with something which indicates the same level of vitriol, then do suggest it!) The twat was sent to pick her up from the breeders - a devious ploy by me to get them to bond, which backfired big style. By the time they got home, a trip which took 3 hours, man and dog had bonded forever. I always knew I was second best and it broke my heart to watch her scurrying around his feet, only to be ignored because he had long since lost interest - the twat! Actually scratch the man and dog bonding - the dog bonded and the man did what he always did - he pretended whilst it suited him to do so.
I knew it would be fine with Joe from the moment he arrived - he was a man and therefore vastly superior to any one of us women! Ruby began following him around and watching him carefully. She happily jumped into his car and went for walks and even tolerated (a little) his own tiny pooch Buffy - whom I could have happily kept. By the end of the first day Ruby had forgotten my existence and wouldn't even come when I called her. She would look to Joe for reassurance instead and then turn her back on me.
This must be the low point? Surely now I can put everything behind me and move on?
I got her 18 months ago as a tiny puppy and looked more teddy bear, crossed with a tiger. Her face was completely black and quite flat and her ears bent forward making her look too adorable and her back was covered in broad, dark stripes.
Ruby saved my life over the past year; she gave me something to care for and a reason to get up in the mornings and get out of the house. She gave me a reason to carry on because she needed me to hold it together. loved those walks with her and they provided the inspiration for the children's book I hope to finish, sometime soon.
Yesterday morning I had to watch her being driven away - possibly never to be seen again. I'm eternally grateful to Joe for taking her and I know she will be well cared for.......but I miss her.
Of course, she was never really my dog anyway. By which I mean she attached herself to my ex (to be known from now as 'the twat' If anyone finds this offensive and can come up with something which indicates the same level of vitriol, then do suggest it!) The twat was sent to pick her up from the breeders - a devious ploy by me to get them to bond, which backfired big style. By the time they got home, a trip which took 3 hours, man and dog had bonded forever. I always knew I was second best and it broke my heart to watch her scurrying around his feet, only to be ignored because he had long since lost interest - the twat! Actually scratch the man and dog bonding - the dog bonded and the man did what he always did - he pretended whilst it suited him to do so.
I knew it would be fine with Joe from the moment he arrived - he was a man and therefore vastly superior to any one of us women! Ruby began following him around and watching him carefully. She happily jumped into his car and went for walks and even tolerated (a little) his own tiny pooch Buffy - whom I could have happily kept. By the end of the first day Ruby had forgotten my existence and wouldn't even come when I called her. She would look to Joe for reassurance instead and then turn her back on me.
This must be the low point? Surely now I can put everything behind me and move on?
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