An Accident In Space And Time

My beloved Grandmother always used to say that everything comes to he who waits; it was her favourite adage, along with “Good things always eventually happen for good people”.

Yesterday that all came very true for us. Out of the blue, the Man-Tribble received an email inviting him for a job interview. So he duly arranged an interview time and – after two hours of dropping a few managerial-type jaws with his computing prowess – he was offered the job. This job comes with a laptop, some awesome opportunities and seriously good pay. All they ask is that the tarantulas (and their moults) don’t come to the office.

I can come off disability, and no more will I be harrassed by the government for daring to be born unwell. I no longer want to jump from the bedroom window and go splat on the pavement. I even treated myself to a new Doctor Who t-shirt, because I can – and now I don’t need to justify the expenditure to myself. I’m not used to being able to buy something purely because I want it because it will give me pleasure; I’ve always had to smother want in favour of need. Okay, so the tarantulas have been more want than anything else, but a girl who isn’t able to work needs something to make her happy, and I enjoy caring for them.

Even better, we can now relax in the knowledge that we will always be able to afford to see this guy:

If you’ve followed me from my previous blog, you will know already that this is my autistic son. For those of you who have just “met” me, please allow me to introduce you to Rhys. I don’t see him often because he lives over the other side of the country, and until now finances meant that we couldn’t travel as often as we’d like. He’s turning 20 in June, and I’m looking forward to giving him a blinder of a birthday, because now we can give him exactly the sort of birthday I’ve always wanted to give him.

However, I will never forget where my husband and I have come from. I’ve known extreme poverty for most of my life; I’ve known unemployment; I’ve known harrassment from the very government who promised to protect me. As hard as I fought, I was never able to make the government or the system work in my favour – even though that is what they’re supposed to do.

I am not going to forget, or stop fighting for, my disabled brothers and sisters who are still struggling and can never hope for another way of life. In writing, I have been given an incredible gift, and that gift has helped me to forge a platform on various sites from which I am able to present my views and be taken seriously. I am the current bane of my local MP’s life, and if he thinks that my husband’s employment will make me go away he can think again.

Somebody has to fight for the rights of this country’s most vulnerable, and if I wasted the talent I have by standing by quietly, I would be abusing that talent and doing my fellow disabled members of the public a great disservice.