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Of genuine woes and fraudulent transactions

Today provides one of those unusual mornings, at only 11.45 I feel almost awake; a rare instance indeed! Just over a week ago I intended to write a posting, more a catharsis for me than a word for others, but an intolerable lethargy weighed far too heavily. My scribbling that day went as follows :

“And wimpishness knows no bounds, the Tears Flow freely, the sinuses discharge an uninfected load as earth’s rotation slows right down A flood of fear and selfishness combines

A flood of fear
Knows no bounds –

The tears Flow freely
And sinuses discharge
An uninfected stream

Of hopelessness …”

My brain seemed blocked; no words would flow until, some twenty-four hours later, the above emotion transmogrified into the following doggerel:

                                            Dog Errol

                                          It never pours
but when
there’s more
to follow.

Rain never follows
an unending drought.

If once a mouse
should catch a cat
the fox would say
I smell a rat

Whereas earlier in the year, despite all too familiar aches, pains, and wooly confusion, I managed to remain quite upbeat, by early March my reserves of emotional and physical stamina had fallen from their quite low plateau. Even the most modest exertion seemed to wipe me out. It was as if I had to make an exhausting conscious effort to persuade my legs to move in the right direction, as I ventured out into the hallway; this would occasionally be followed by a strenuous mental effort to remember why I’d headed there in the first place.

Earlier today it seemed as if the sun would make an appearance but, as I turn back towards the window, hailstones are flailing down from the heavens, their rebound, as they leave the ground, makes mockery of my prevailing inertia.

No sooner had I jotted down the previous paragraph than the sun, in full glory, burst through the residual cloud cover as grey skies turned to blue. The swiftness of this transition would be hard to believe were it not experienced first hand by one’s own senses. So, you may add, “your senses are working, even if much else of your corporeal being seems to be giving up on you. Why don’t you stop moaning?” the latter question I’ve frequently asked myself but, it’s far too easy to succumb to more negative attitudes when your feeling several degrees below an iffy par.


A gum infection, and accompanying toothache, really set me back and, as is its wont, the worst flare-up occurred on a Friday night and the dentist doesn’t work at weekends. Strangely, the pain seemed to emanate from beneath a crown; intellectually this made little sense as I knew that tooth had been root-filled many moons ago. The worst of the pain then presented itself under a wisdom tooth; when I had an emergency appointment with my dentist she noted that I nearly went through the ceiling when she tapped the offending tooth. She duly prescribed a course of antibiotics to combat the infection, halfway through which the pain seemed to have magnified, and with my somewhat iffy immune system sundry familiar ME symptoms returned to bite me, affecting my balance, brain fog, aching muscles, chronic IBS and diverticular disease symptoms seemed to think it was carnival time; they rejoiced as I slid further downhill.

I was feeling so dreadful that when I realized my beloved was going to visit her brother, and would be away overnight, the floods of tears mentioned at the beginning came into play. My only utterance, through my wimpish blubbering, to ma belle was that I was afraid that I was going to die alone.

Matters weren’t helped when an early morning ‘phone call wakened me from my fitful slumbers on the morning of ma belle’s departure. The call was from a Credit Card company suspecting there may have been a “fraudulent use” of my credit card and, I must contact them on an 0845 premium number. I went immediately to where I found an alternative number to contact card services. Just as well that I used a free number as I was talking to (or being talked at) the bank for 40 minutes when palpitations and breathlessness took over. My beloved fortunately had not yet set off, as she had to take over the conversation from me.

The annoying oiks on the banks end of the phone line endlessly repeated the same questions re a gambling website that I’d never heard of and had I made a £500 Payment to that site on that morning. Although they acted on the basis that a fraud had been committed, somehow this payment had been accepted and would appear on my next statement. They then explained that in a fortnight they would be sending me a legal letter which I would have to sign to say I had not made this payment. The attitude of the people I spoke to left much to be desired, especially when dealing with people who have a chronic debilitating health condition. I was definitely made to feel that I was a prisoner in the dock being grilled by a particularly abrasive prosecution counsel.

The card was only renewed earlier this month and has never left the four walls wherein I live, breathe and have most of my being! It had only been used a couple of times online at companies with whom I have had regular secure transaction completed via a “verified by” security check so, one can only surmise that there is somebody either at the bank or one of these companies who has filched my card details.

Sorry for such a sustained moan but, it only serves to illustrate my roller-coaster ride.


This post first appeared on The Word Of Sinna Luvva, please read the originial post: here

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Of genuine woes and fraudulent transactions


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