So I find myself very apprehensive today. Stomach churning, blinding headache. Joints all seized to the extent I couldn't get out of bed without rolling off the mattress this morning, followed by having to bum shuffle down the stairs. For those of you that do not understand Fibromyalgia, when I am put under psychological stress my body reacts with seizing up and extreme pain. It's almost like the brain is trying to stop me going anywhere in full awareness of the negative impact the days plans will have on me. In a warped way it's my body trying to protect me and yet it just bloody hurts and makes me feel really disabled.
Of course for those twitter followers that know my story, today is case conference day, no 2, for my sickness absence from the police service as a result of depression, anxiety and Fibromyalgia. Now approaching six months.
That's this afternoon at 1330 hours so I suspect I'll write another chunk later. For now my headache is making typing difficult as it's not just any old headache. My head hurts from the neck upwards, its sore to turn my head and stiff to even look down at the keyboard, and my forehead feels like there is someone inside with a pick axe mining for something....brain maybe!
I also need to contact the IODPA very soon, the Injury On Duty Pensioners Association. They might be able to shine a light into my darkness as to the likelihood of ill health retirement and whether I might ever be a candidate. So that's on my 'to do' list for today as well.
Right off to have some breakfast, watch some Jeremy Kyle (hides head in shame!) then dog walk, bath and ready for my appointment .....
Showing posts with label UPP. Show all posts
Showing posts with label UPP. Show all posts
Thursday, 15 June 2017
Monday, 30 January 2017
The journey to Mental Illness
I dreamt about writing this piece all night and in my dreams it was just right and I got my point across perfectly, so here's hoping the conscious self is as astute as the virtual one!!
I dreamt about a journey that I've been on from my childhood through to police service and the point at which I find myself now. I saw it as a journey and would like to try and put that into writing thus making sense of what I saw last night.
The way I see it at nineteen years old prior to joining the police service of the late 80's, I was a middle class child, and an only child at that, fairly protected from the worlds horrors. My Mother was a bit of a bully and my Dad a respected banker. The bullying had taken quite a toll already leaving me lacking in confidence and somewhat socially reticent.
I left school and worked in a bank where I realised I wasn't as useless as my Mother made out and when a co-worker was accepted as a police officer I also decided to join up, to embark upon the journey it represented. My Mother was adamant that I was making a big mistake but I forged ahead and was accepted starting my voyage aboard the good ship 'Police Service' in August 1989.
The first port the good ship police service visited was training school. The streets here were littered with sexual discrimination something I had never encountered up until this point. It never really made sense to me back then why I was treated differently because I was female. Of course there were the obvious uniform differences, skirts, tights, a handbag and no truncheon. The commandant demanding of me one parade if I was merely the 'course mascot missy' or are you 'a real police officer?!' The venom in some chaps faces just because I was there, others because I shared a self defence mat with them I was never really prepared for that. It scolded my young self and provided the wake up call I probably needed that this was not necessarily a holiday rather a voyage of self discovery.
The second port was my initial posting and another liberal dose of sexism. I was nicknamed 'the strumpet whore' for no other reason than I was a female. I was naïve sexually so I know for a fact it wasn't due to any promiscuity! I accepted this name willingly as I wanted to fit in and back then I think I even wore it as a badge of honour representing what I felt I had achieved so far. Along sexism street I was pinned against walls, called names, banned from attending certain incidents and touched up by the sergeant in charge of my probationary two year period. A baptism of fire. I recall very vividly watching a Detective Inspector balling very loudly at a shivering, cold, wet, rape victim in the enquiry office of the station interview room about how she had been asking for it, and what did she expect dressed like that. I think it was at this part in my journey that I started carrying a rucksack for those chips that got gouged out of my shoulders.
As time progressed I developed very chipped shoulders yet I saw them as well earned war wounds. Trophies as you will. I was succeeding where I had been told I would fail, I was proud to be a police officer. The service was the making of me I thought and despite the sexism I enjoyed the camaraderie, I felt like I belonged to something worthwhile and I knew I could be good at it.
The places I visited along the way have shown me the horrors of human nature, I have seen bodies broken beyond recognition, babies raped, and low lives willing to assault and thieve from the elderly. I have held the hands of parents whose children have been snatched, told people their loved ones will never be coming home again and given of myself to allow others a smoother passage.
As I have travelled this route like from all good journeys I have kept images of the things I have seen along the way. The horrors are all stored in my rucksack lest I forget. The sudden deaths, the road traffic casualties, the crashed helicopter pilot, the raped baby, and indeed the sounds of that baby being raped. Many, many memories.
That old adage that the police service deals with five per cent of the population ninety per cent of the time is very true but it was easy to lose sight of this fact along the way. The way I viewed the world and myself was shaped by these experiences and I never really knew what damage they were causing along the way.
The rucksack got heavier and heavier with the flotsam I collected until my first visit to Mental Illness in 2002.
I dreamt about a journey that I've been on from my childhood through to police service and the point at which I find myself now. I saw it as a journey and would like to try and put that into writing thus making sense of what I saw last night.
The Time prior to joining the Good Ship 'Police Service'!
The way I see it at nineteen years old prior to joining the police service of the late 80's, I was a middle class child, and an only child at that, fairly protected from the worlds horrors. My Mother was a bit of a bully and my Dad a respected banker. The bullying had taken quite a toll already leaving me lacking in confidence and somewhat socially reticent.
I left school and worked in a bank where I realised I wasn't as useless as my Mother made out and when a co-worker was accepted as a police officer I also decided to join up, to embark upon the journey it represented. My Mother was adamant that I was making a big mistake but I forged ahead and was accepted starting my voyage aboard the good ship 'Police Service' in August 1989.
The ports visited along the way!
The first port the good ship police service visited was training school. The streets here were littered with sexual discrimination something I had never encountered up until this point. It never really made sense to me back then why I was treated differently because I was female. Of course there were the obvious uniform differences, skirts, tights, a handbag and no truncheon. The commandant demanding of me one parade if I was merely the 'course mascot missy' or are you 'a real police officer?!' The venom in some chaps faces just because I was there, others because I shared a self defence mat with them I was never really prepared for that. It scolded my young self and provided the wake up call I probably needed that this was not necessarily a holiday rather a voyage of self discovery.
The second port was my initial posting and another liberal dose of sexism. I was nicknamed 'the strumpet whore' for no other reason than I was a female. I was naïve sexually so I know for a fact it wasn't due to any promiscuity! I accepted this name willingly as I wanted to fit in and back then I think I even wore it as a badge of honour representing what I felt I had achieved so far. Along sexism street I was pinned against walls, called names, banned from attending certain incidents and touched up by the sergeant in charge of my probationary two year period. A baptism of fire. I recall very vividly watching a Detective Inspector balling very loudly at a shivering, cold, wet, rape victim in the enquiry office of the station interview room about how she had been asking for it, and what did she expect dressed like that. I think it was at this part in my journey that I started carrying a rucksack for those chips that got gouged out of my shoulders.
As time progressed I developed very chipped shoulders yet I saw them as well earned war wounds. Trophies as you will. I was succeeding where I had been told I would fail, I was proud to be a police officer. The service was the making of me I thought and despite the sexism I enjoyed the camaraderie, I felt like I belonged to something worthwhile and I knew I could be good at it.
The places I visited along the way have shown me the horrors of human nature, I have seen bodies broken beyond recognition, babies raped, and low lives willing to assault and thieve from the elderly. I have held the hands of parents whose children have been snatched, told people their loved ones will never be coming home again and given of myself to allow others a smoother passage.
As I have travelled this route like from all good journeys I have kept images of the things I have seen along the way. The horrors are all stored in my rucksack lest I forget. The sudden deaths, the road traffic casualties, the crashed helicopter pilot, the raped baby, and indeed the sounds of that baby being raped. Many, many memories.
That old adage that the police service deals with five per cent of the population ninety per cent of the time is very true but it was easy to lose sight of this fact along the way. The way I viewed the world and myself was shaped by these experiences and I never really knew what damage they were causing along the way.
The rucksack got heavier and heavier with the flotsam I collected until my first visit to Mental Illness in 2002.
Mental Illness the first visit
In 2002 I split with my husband getting divorced. I was appointed Detective Sergeant on a Sex Offender Unit and was dealing with paedophiles, viewing their putrid child abuse images day in, day out. A warped perverse world that somehow became my normality. I didn't cope very well with my personal crisis, the new job, the subject matter and getting in to another relationship with step parenting duties all within a matter of months. In fact it all became too much and I fell ill and had some time off with stress. Now no one ever told me I was visiting mental illness, there were no road signs or maps. In fact it wasn't something I was even aware of until two years ago. The doctor gave me pills which I took for a while but after I was belittled and laughed at by my police officer partner for being a light weight I quickly agreed that I didn't need them, for I was a passenger on the good ship police service. I was therefore invincible.
Mentally Ill people were our 'clients' the people we dealt with, that person in the cells banging their head off the wall or the street wino who seemed to talk utter gibberish about their time in the military. Oh how we laughed about that. no it certainly wasn't us the invincible police officers.
Not very long after returning to work I took a five year career break. Deep down I knew why but I never let on, not even to myself. It's hard to explain, but I knew I wasn't coping, I knew my mind was weakening but I couldn't acknowledge it. I cast out depression refusing to accept that it was actually a part of me now. I left it on the dock and tried to sail away without it.
I had a baby, traumatic in itself with an emergency caesarean, near critical blood loss and a week in hospital being transfused. New baby and parenthood, plus starting a successful property business left me thinking it may just be possible to disembark from the good ship police service. My rucksack was really heavy with life's chattels and challenges, so we did plan that I would leave the service, run the business and bring up our daughter. However the good ship relationship then sank without a trace just as I was trying to board it, my rucksack proving far too heavy, that together with all our extra baggage it disappeared beneath the waves.
So I found myself a single parent facing an unwelcome return to the good ship police service as I needed to support us financially. I returned to a refurbished vessel, departments had changed, policies and procedures with them and it felt much like I was entering a parallel universe, everything the same yet completely different at the same time. New challenges now existed as I tried to balance parental responsibility with the demands of policing and that insatiable see saw between job and your child that can never possibly be balanced. The guilt that goes with that challenge just becomes an extra rock for the rucksack.
Mental Illness the second time around
Four years in to my return to the good ship police service I find myself two years into a posting on the Professional Standards Department. An unforgiving environment dealing with anger and discontent. Members of the public making complaints about police officers or the service in general, people you had to visit and sit and listen to whilst they spat putrid nastiness at you, in turn police officers feeling aggrieved and affronted by you asking them to account for their actions giving you the run around and / or the cold shoulder plus unsupportive line management heaping more muck in your direction regardless of the weight limits or you being obviously off balance. That's all before the IPCC cast their shadow in your direction. It was a hell hole, it is a hell hole.
This is when I visited mental illness again. This is was when I looked in the mirror and finally said hello to my old friend, acknowledging the black dogs reflection for the very first time. Even then it took me six months of physical symptoms, convinced I was dying of some mystery illness before I allowed myself to entertain the dark canine.
Oddly I thought that once I had greeted the black dog and given it a bone it would settle down in it's bed and go to sleep but how wrong I was. It had days when it hassled me non stop always there never silent, and others when it was perfectly happy to curl up in its basket and sleep. But once he's come to you, you have a pet for life. He'll demand attention at the most inopportune moments and sometimes you cannot make any headway through life but for its high jinx.
As I approached the half pay point of having been six months absent from the service and after the captain had commenced the sanctions against me known as UPP (Unsatisfactory performance procedures) for not being at work I forced myself to climb back aboard the good ship police service. Financially I had no choice but I knew it was more a case of when I'd be ill again as opposed to if. The black dog came too, he won't be left alone you see, not under any circumstances. he is very insistent that he stays in your company at all times.
This time I found acknowledging my illness out loud to people very cathartic, it seems to make people very uncomfortable I can see that and honestly part of me enjoys watching them wriggle about when I discuss it. But the captain had the last laugh ultimately as the accommodation was never adapted for keeping a pet nor was the workload or type. Nothing ever changed from before I was ill to when I returned. I even found a good proportion of the work I'd left in my tray was still sat there waiting for me six months down the line.
I battled on for a further two years. Despite my dislike of the work I knew it was a guaranteed desk job, with 9-5 week day shifts and this suited my ever present battle with balancing that damned see saw. I knew I was selling my soul to the devil in some respects but it felt like a necessary evil.
Just before Christmas 2016 I knew I was wobbling, I started getting very tearful at work. I found myself dog tired the minute I sat down at my desk, to the point that I could barely keep my eyes open at nine in the morning. I would get so angry at silly things and I felt a burning hatred for the environment and people around me. Completely paranoid, watching people automatically assuming they were talking about me and burning with resentment. It's like an allergy to work, I could feel myself welling up with tears as I approached the building daily, the hyper ventilation as I approached the office, the nausea as I entered. It repulsed me, I feared it and I'm terrified of returning to it.
Mental Illness revisited
So here I am again. Revisiting my old stomping ground. Sick. Ill. Unwell. Mad. Zombie like. Slightly agro phobic. Battling demon headaches and constant nausea. Joints aching and swollen. Fearful of the telephone ringing, panicked by work emails and sorely tempted to move to the outer Hebrides and an uninhabited island away from people, policing and myself. Except I guess I would sort of have to be there wouldn't I!
My rucksack is overflowing and it feels like I've been cast adrift in a small rowing boat away. Pushed away from the master vessel I'm bobbing around without direction. I'm out of my depth when I look over the side yet I feel too weak to row anywhere. If I stand up the weight of my rucksack rocks the boat. I have a map but cannot seem to make head nor tail of it and instead I find myself staring at it bemused. I sort of know how I might be able to get this boat to the shore, I might even be able to tether it when I got there but I truly cannot be bothered. The captain of the master vessel, police service, hasn't transmitted an SOS message for me and it seems that their expectation is of me saving myself as they have no responsibility or jurisdiction over my predicament.
I am lost on the sea of Mental Illness, my only apparent grid reference is ST1 GMA.
Sunday, 15 January 2017
Self loathing and the FMO
Hello,
Today as I am writing this is Sunday and I have been away from work sick since 28/12 last year, nearly three weeks now.
Tomorrow I have to go and see the FMO or Occupational Health as some refer to it. I'm guessing this early referral is because I was actually honest this time and stated depression was the reason for my absence. The last time just over two years ago I wasn't referred to the FMO for several months but initially I did not know what was wrong. (Full story in earlier blogs x)
I'd like to think the referral this time is out of compassion, concern and a desire to offer me support yet I can't help thinking it's more about bottom covering and the edginess I've created by daring to use 'that' word. In the email from my boss advising me of the need to refer me to the FMO he referred
'to that type of illness'
being the reason for referral?! Which one is that then boss, that illness we must not name?! In not being able to discuss it openly he reinforces my feeling that it is a sordid little secret that should remain covert. Do you know if I am certain of one thing this time it is that I will not be quiet about it anymore. I will not be silenced in discussing mental health, its time the stigma ended.
By the way I am happy the boss emailed as I find telephone conversations with him difficult and my paranoia and anxiety kicks in. I end up hearing all sorts of things he may not actually be saying. I take insinuation and can read between the lines like no other person I have ever met. Even when I'm well I can sense people's emotions like a blood hound, I feel emotional waves coming off them like bad body odour especially if they are talking to me. Times the strength of that scent by infinity if they are talking to me about my sickness record. No it is far safer to see the words written down to have time to evaluate their meaning before I go off at the deep end for no reason whatsoever.
I do feel anger towards this boss, the job as a whole, the department I work in, in fact generally I'm just angry. Angry that I feel the way I do, angry that I can't fix myself, angry that it impacts on my daughter. I am an angry person
Anyways back on to the matter at hand, the FMO. I feel anxious about tomorrow. Anxious that I won't be able to convey just how broken I feel more than anything else. I've been covering my tracks denying my mental health problems for so long that it is a new experience trying to be honest about the state I'm in. I feel confusion at how to explain how muddled my head space feels, how to speak about the fact that I could sleep for a month and yet still feel tired, how I can't remember things at all from one minute to another and just how fragile I feel with life in general. Writing is my only method of communication, ask me to speak out loud and I just ramble, feel stupid and then clam up.
I am finding Twitter an enormous help at the moment for this very reason, I can write it down, I can interact with like minded people and I don't have to speak a word. Bliss.
So as I contemplate tomorrow I feel my head pounding, the start of an anxiety headache, the ones that feel as if your head is in a vice that gets tighter and tighter making you feel like your head will explode. My guts are churning and growling out loud and I want to sit and cry. My joints are swollen and my limbs feel heavy. In fact I feel like the wreck I know I am.
You know I look in the mirror or at photographs and hate what I see. I have a set phrase that rattles around my mind when I am looking at my own reflection, I say to myself over and over 'gee you sure is ugly'.
I feel self loathing and disgust to the point that nothing matters. I don't want to wash or put on clean clothes, I do so for my daughter but not for me. Going out is consuming in a bad way, the thought of seeing real people or more importantly them seeing me gives me chills. I wish I could go out but be invisible then I would know for certain that I'm not being judged or hated. I think I dislike myself so much that I can't help but wonder why anyone else would tolerate me.
I think that is borne from the abandonment of my Mother who always said I was useless and wouldn't amount to much and then is confirmed time and again by a Father that talks the talk but never walks the walk.
It's probably why I rely so heavily on dogs for support. They don't judge, or hate. They're loyal to the bitter end even when you're ultimately taking them to their death. Pure unconditional love, and dogs are the only source I've ever found.
So there I am ready for tomorrows events! NOT!! Laters....
Today as I am writing this is Sunday and I have been away from work sick since 28/12 last year, nearly three weeks now.
Tomorrow I have to go and see the FMO or Occupational Health as some refer to it. I'm guessing this early referral is because I was actually honest this time and stated depression was the reason for my absence. The last time just over two years ago I wasn't referred to the FMO for several months but initially I did not know what was wrong. (Full story in earlier blogs x)
I'd like to think the referral this time is out of compassion, concern and a desire to offer me support yet I can't help thinking it's more about bottom covering and the edginess I've created by daring to use 'that' word. In the email from my boss advising me of the need to refer me to the FMO he referred
'to that type of illness'
being the reason for referral?! Which one is that then boss, that illness we must not name?! In not being able to discuss it openly he reinforces my feeling that it is a sordid little secret that should remain covert. Do you know if I am certain of one thing this time it is that I will not be quiet about it anymore. I will not be silenced in discussing mental health, its time the stigma ended.
By the way I am happy the boss emailed as I find telephone conversations with him difficult and my paranoia and anxiety kicks in. I end up hearing all sorts of things he may not actually be saying. I take insinuation and can read between the lines like no other person I have ever met. Even when I'm well I can sense people's emotions like a blood hound, I feel emotional waves coming off them like bad body odour especially if they are talking to me. Times the strength of that scent by infinity if they are talking to me about my sickness record. No it is far safer to see the words written down to have time to evaluate their meaning before I go off at the deep end for no reason whatsoever.
I do feel anger towards this boss, the job as a whole, the department I work in, in fact generally I'm just angry. Angry that I feel the way I do, angry that I can't fix myself, angry that it impacts on my daughter. I am an angry person
Anyways back on to the matter at hand, the FMO. I feel anxious about tomorrow. Anxious that I won't be able to convey just how broken I feel more than anything else. I've been covering my tracks denying my mental health problems for so long that it is a new experience trying to be honest about the state I'm in. I feel confusion at how to explain how muddled my head space feels, how to speak about the fact that I could sleep for a month and yet still feel tired, how I can't remember things at all from one minute to another and just how fragile I feel with life in general. Writing is my only method of communication, ask me to speak out loud and I just ramble, feel stupid and then clam up.
I am finding Twitter an enormous help at the moment for this very reason, I can write it down, I can interact with like minded people and I don't have to speak a word. Bliss.
So as I contemplate tomorrow I feel my head pounding, the start of an anxiety headache, the ones that feel as if your head is in a vice that gets tighter and tighter making you feel like your head will explode. My guts are churning and growling out loud and I want to sit and cry. My joints are swollen and my limbs feel heavy. In fact I feel like the wreck I know I am.
You know I look in the mirror or at photographs and hate what I see. I have a set phrase that rattles around my mind when I am looking at my own reflection, I say to myself over and over 'gee you sure is ugly'.
I feel self loathing and disgust to the point that nothing matters. I don't want to wash or put on clean clothes, I do so for my daughter but not for me. Going out is consuming in a bad way, the thought of seeing real people or more importantly them seeing me gives me chills. I wish I could go out but be invisible then I would know for certain that I'm not being judged or hated. I think I dislike myself so much that I can't help but wonder why anyone else would tolerate me.
I think that is borne from the abandonment of my Mother who always said I was useless and wouldn't amount to much and then is confirmed time and again by a Father that talks the talk but never walks the walk.
It's probably why I rely so heavily on dogs for support. They don't judge, or hate. They're loyal to the bitter end even when you're ultimately taking them to their death. Pure unconditional love, and dogs are the only source I've ever found.
So there I am ready for tomorrows events! NOT!! Laters....
Wednesday, 29 October 2014
FIRST STAGE UPP MEETING - Reg 15 Police Regs 2012
So Monday the 27th October came and went.
I got up feeling fairly accepting of what the day was going to bring, that was until I read a tweet from my dear friend and it brought home that it was actually a meeting with some quite a serious implications for me. She talked of being with me in spirit and that everything would be okay. Then I started crying and for a while I was quite tearful on and off. I maintained 'my front' around my daughter however and tried to appear nonchalant and looking as if I was at ease with the world. A skill I am becoming used to.
I walked my dogs up and over the hill at the back of the house and it felt weird thinking I was going to a meeting whereby they would be deciding whether or not to start a ball rolling that could eventually sack me and why? ....Because I've been signed off sick by a medical practitioner for five and a half months.
One would think the half pay looming would be motivation enough, but no the Winsor review brought in these new regulations and procedures. I pondered as I walked about the first I had heard of it and them and it was after I had been off work for a month and my boss who had not been in touch at all decided to come and visit me at home. It turned out that he actually wanted to complete paperwork with me in regards of the Unsatisfactory Performance Procedures at that early stage. He sat in my lounge filling out paperwork in regards of my 'unsatisfactory performance'. There was one question that asked him as a line manager how could the officer improve their attendance and performance?! At the time I was incensed by the question and the whole process as it suggested to me I was being unsatisfactory 'naughty' by being off sick.
Then he put that away and went through all thirteen of my case files asking me where I was at with each job and what I had done. Like a progress review. But let's remember I had been off work a month by now, had been in hospital and feeling horrific with crashing headaches, aching body, crippling fatigue and so on. The pressure I felt was immense and I had to read back through my own logs and progress comments to even recall what each job was and where I was at with it.
I spoke to my boss once more between this one month stage and the service of further paperwork relating to the unsatisfactory performance procedures at the five months stage.
I got home from the dog walk and jumped in a bath wanting to get myself washed and dressed with plenty of time to spare. The meeting was at 1400 hours, I had to drop my daughter to a friend around 1315 hours and meet the federation at 1330 hours so I didn't want to be late or rushing which would panic me more especially with 'mini me' in tow! Then came the 'what to wear' dilemma. Business, casual or a mixture? I didn't want to look to obliging or together but on the flip side not too dishevelled or rebellious! I stood staring at a flowery blouse for ages trying to decide if it was so jolly and frivolous for such a serious occasion. I couldn't decide and went downstairs where my daughter said I looked 'weird' which helped immensely as you can imagine! By now my nerves are frazzled and jangling and my next dilemma was whether or not to straighten my hair or not!? Naturally curly unruly hair or straight business like bob?! I decided on frazzled like the inside of my head! I also decided the only make up I would wear would be mascara and a small amount of lippy. Again not wanting to appear too 'with it' or ready for work! Overthinking things or what?!
I kept checking the clock it was now 1130 hours.... the clocks having just gone back 'mini me' then announces 'I'm hungry' grrrr and I try and concentrate hard enough to muster the motivation to go and make her some lunch! Then the federation representative started texting me and I got distracted by that! I decide against my 'financial' better judgement to order a pizza as I just could focus enough to fix food. So an order was placed and I start to feel tight chested again....
Then the fed rep asks me if he can ring me.....urghhh...... last thing I need right now I was thinking BUT he's doing an awesome job and I owe him big style so he rings ......
MEETING CANCELLED MEETING CANCELLED MEETING CANCELLED!!!!
STAND DOWN STAND DOWN STAND DOWN!!!
Turns out that during our text conversation I had told him that I would be returning to work on the 5/11 as I just cannot manage on half pay. He had then gone and fought my corner with my line manager and HR quoting police regulations at them and generally hassling them big style about whose interests it would be in to hold the meeting or to put me onto Stage 1. Initially he said they were not having any of it but eventually they agreed and cancelled the meeting. Never underestimate having federation support and if you aren't a member and you are 'job' get yourself some membership right now. Incredible advice and support when you need it most and in the current shoot them first ask questions later times and with all the tactics being used you never know when you'll be next in the firing line and in need of their help.
So there I was all dressed with nowhere to go and my daughter was sulking as she had to stay with me and not go to the child care!!! CHARMED I'M SURE!
As it was we went to the park and she crushed her foot on a stepper which has left her on crutches!! That's karma for you!!
Now I'm counting down the days until I go back to work :-( a week today.
A phased return a bit at a time.
I'm already looking forward to my leave at Christmas and hoping I get that far without doing something drastic like resign!
The day after the meeting was cancelled a colleague contacted me to ask me how I wanted my 'long service medal' awarded?!!
Ceremony or privately?
Talk about two contrasting days!
I got up feeling fairly accepting of what the day was going to bring, that was until I read a tweet from my dear friend and it brought home that it was actually a meeting with some quite a serious implications for me. She talked of being with me in spirit and that everything would be okay. Then I started crying and for a while I was quite tearful on and off. I maintained 'my front' around my daughter however and tried to appear nonchalant and looking as if I was at ease with the world. A skill I am becoming used to.
I walked my dogs up and over the hill at the back of the house and it felt weird thinking I was going to a meeting whereby they would be deciding whether or not to start a ball rolling that could eventually sack me and why? ....Because I've been signed off sick by a medical practitioner for five and a half months.
One would think the half pay looming would be motivation enough, but no the Winsor review brought in these new regulations and procedures. I pondered as I walked about the first I had heard of it and them and it was after I had been off work for a month and my boss who had not been in touch at all decided to come and visit me at home. It turned out that he actually wanted to complete paperwork with me in regards of the Unsatisfactory Performance Procedures at that early stage. He sat in my lounge filling out paperwork in regards of my 'unsatisfactory performance'. There was one question that asked him as a line manager how could the officer improve their attendance and performance?! At the time I was incensed by the question and the whole process as it suggested to me I was being unsatisfactory 'naughty' by being off sick.
Then he put that away and went through all thirteen of my case files asking me where I was at with each job and what I had done. Like a progress review. But let's remember I had been off work a month by now, had been in hospital and feeling horrific with crashing headaches, aching body, crippling fatigue and so on. The pressure I felt was immense and I had to read back through my own logs and progress comments to even recall what each job was and where I was at with it.
I spoke to my boss once more between this one month stage and the service of further paperwork relating to the unsatisfactory performance procedures at the five months stage.
I got home from the dog walk and jumped in a bath wanting to get myself washed and dressed with plenty of time to spare. The meeting was at 1400 hours, I had to drop my daughter to a friend around 1315 hours and meet the federation at 1330 hours so I didn't want to be late or rushing which would panic me more especially with 'mini me' in tow! Then came the 'what to wear' dilemma. Business, casual or a mixture? I didn't want to look to obliging or together but on the flip side not too dishevelled or rebellious! I stood staring at a flowery blouse for ages trying to decide if it was so jolly and frivolous for such a serious occasion. I couldn't decide and went downstairs where my daughter said I looked 'weird' which helped immensely as you can imagine! By now my nerves are frazzled and jangling and my next dilemma was whether or not to straighten my hair or not!? Naturally curly unruly hair or straight business like bob?! I decided on frazzled like the inside of my head! I also decided the only make up I would wear would be mascara and a small amount of lippy. Again not wanting to appear too 'with it' or ready for work! Overthinking things or what?!
I kept checking the clock it was now 1130 hours.... the clocks having just gone back 'mini me' then announces 'I'm hungry' grrrr and I try and concentrate hard enough to muster the motivation to go and make her some lunch! Then the federation representative started texting me and I got distracted by that! I decide against my 'financial' better judgement to order a pizza as I just could focus enough to fix food. So an order was placed and I start to feel tight chested again....
Then the fed rep asks me if he can ring me.....urghhh...... last thing I need right now I was thinking BUT he's doing an awesome job and I owe him big style so he rings ......
MEETING CANCELLED MEETING CANCELLED MEETING CANCELLED!!!!
STAND DOWN STAND DOWN STAND DOWN!!!
Turns out that during our text conversation I had told him that I would be returning to work on the 5/11 as I just cannot manage on half pay. He had then gone and fought my corner with my line manager and HR quoting police regulations at them and generally hassling them big style about whose interests it would be in to hold the meeting or to put me onto Stage 1. Initially he said they were not having any of it but eventually they agreed and cancelled the meeting. Never underestimate having federation support and if you aren't a member and you are 'job' get yourself some membership right now. Incredible advice and support when you need it most and in the current shoot them first ask questions later times and with all the tactics being used you never know when you'll be next in the firing line and in need of their help.
So there I was all dressed with nowhere to go and my daughter was sulking as she had to stay with me and not go to the child care!!! CHARMED I'M SURE!
As it was we went to the park and she crushed her foot on a stepper which has left her on crutches!! That's karma for you!!
Now I'm counting down the days until I go back to work :-( a week today.
A phased return a bit at a time.
I'm already looking forward to my leave at Christmas and hoping I get that far without doing something drastic like resign!
The day after the meeting was cancelled a colleague contacted me to ask me how I wanted my 'long service medal' awarded?!!
Ceremony or privately?
Talk about two contrasting days!
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