MortiBlog

My grandpa’s poem was perhaps a slightly odd “start” to the blog, however it’s an excellent poem written by an excellent man and I thought it was a fitting tribute with which to launch the blog properly (whether or not I can write the same calibur of content remains to be seen).

So my grandpa died recently, and one thing my mum always said about him is that he most likely had Asperger’s Syndrome but at the time it went undiagnosed. This explains me somewhat, Asperger’s tends to run in the family. This is something that I’m fairly confident I have, by the way, but currently goes unstatemented, this shall hopefully be rectified on Saturday when I shall have my mum’s diagnosis of me either confirmed or denied by someone with the proper qualifications to make such a call.

Besides Asperger’s Syndrome, sometime ago I also started to wonder if I may be dyslexic. I have trouble with writing, organisation, I miss the odd spelling, etc. I had an interesting meeting with an educational psychologist today who, after a couple of hours testing, confirmed that I was too intelligent. Quite. It seems that in terms of verbal reasoning and the like my intelligence falls way above average, but in terms of practical applications (where, I understand, dyslexia is most prevalent) I become only slightly above average. Apparently this means that I am dyslexic, but have the raw brain power to bring my dyslexia-affected qualities slightly above that of the average person while the rest of the cognotive processes my brain performs are highly above average.

This is a disability, apparently.

The thing that I’ve learned from this is that most people seem to have specific giftings. Some people may be more gifted in terms of raw intelligence, some may have more common sense, some may have gifts on a more physical level, etc. This makes the term “gifted” in children somewhat of a misnomer, as a child I was considered “gifted” but the dyslexia test as well as my own experience has shown that I’m no more gifted than anyone else. I lack foresight, I lack common sense, social skills have been a learning progress, I’m disorganised and I also find motivation extremely difficult. Sure, I’m very intelligent, but what point is that if I can’t seem to do anything with it? Sometimes I hate my brain. I feel frustrated that, in raw processing power, it is pretty excellent but I don’t seem to be able to drive it.

Now it’s starting to sound more like a disability.

The idea of mental disabilities has always interested me, the idea that a certain set of symptoms in behavioural patterns combine together to form a “disorder” or “syndrome”. I’ve watched a lot of House MD recently though and it’s had me thinking about this, they determine what disease the patient has through differential diagnosis by examining the symptoms presenting and working out what illness they add up to. Similar with mental problems, you take a set of symptoms and apply the name of an illness, but whereas physical illnesses more often have clear, specific causes, mental problems do not. This makes a mental disability no more than a label for a set of symptoms.

This is not to devalue those who have specific disabilities at all, but it does make it rather difficult for those of us who present with symptoms to work out exactly what we have. I’m still not entirely sure if I’m dyslexic, I’m most likely AS but I don’t know, and maybe there are other things. Are those of us caught in the middle considered to be normal people but with heightened strengths and weaknesses (i.e. in such a way that we are entitled to specific support)? Not entirely sure, really, but since most mental problems (perhaps all, I don’t claim to be an expert) are treated by specifically treating the symptoms (unlike diseases where the treatment attacks the cause), does it seem unreasonable that I should be able to go into a disability support unit and say “I have terrible organisational skills” and obtain support without having to be labelled as something? Sure, they need to test me somehow to be sure I do have these difficulties, that’s only fair, but do they have to test a load of other stuff I feel fine with as well?
In this sense the system irritates me. Labels, as always, are simple and comfortable but quite rigid and won’t always apply everywhere. If it turns out that I don’t have dyslexia and I don’t have AS, I’m not sure where that leaves me apart from “a bit funny in the head”, which is difficult to gain support for.

While undiagnosed (unlabelled), the response from many is “pull yourself together” but as soon as I’m diagnosed it would be “poor you, how can we help?”. I don’t know which is worse.

From the Secretariat,

One day in March of ‘94 I had an invitation
To exercise the body, soul & wit.
The mantle of Church Stewardship, this generous oblation
The question though, was “Would the mantle fit?”

I thought about it.

Ability, tranquility, gentility & charm,
The beguiling, smiling Steward has the lot.
Common-sense & eloquence, the manner to disarm,
A rounded Personality - precisely what I’m not.

I recalled last year’s AGM. The church Council needed a Secretary,
- not me, I was a new arrival on transfer from Walcott.

“Right!” said Fred, “You’re in, old man.
The job is yours for free.
The vacant chair’s still waiting there
For a brand new transferee,
Or a Walcott refugee.”

Oops!

The council met just twice a year
(The minimum permitted)
And nitty-gritty issues were
To Satellites committed

The satellite Committees :-

Family & Outreach & Worship Consultation,
Property & Finance there as well.
Pastoral & Neighbourhood made up the integration.
It all worked rather smoothly & as soundly as a bell.

And fringe bodies :-

There were Clubs & Cubs who paid their subs,
Guilds and Guides & Scouts besides,
Art Groups, House Groups, sane & MAD Groups.
Old folk by the score,
Songsters, Ramblers, Toddlers, Handlers -
Who would wish for more?

There were Cooks & Bakers, Coffee-makers,
Washers, Dryers, Deep-fat fryers,
Fixers, Menders, D.I.Y…ers,
Teachers, Preachers (clever creatures!)
Musicians beating time……..

That’s not the lot
But it’s all I’ve got,
If it has to scan or rhyme.

Constitutional Practice.

Then came the Autumn meeting
(The first since my induction)
We talked of Managerial Change
And called it Re-construction.

It was Resolved :-

Henceforward & hereafter,
Church management shall be.
A single tier arrangement,
Just one, not two, not three.
The Council handles everything,
Committees cease to be.
(And everything the Council does is written up by me).

No more these meetings twice a year,
No more that easy rhythm,
It ended just when I began
In sudden cataclysm.
The routine meetings doubled up,
4 times a year, no less,
And extra-ordinary ones
Just added their excess.
The Steward’s conclave reeled me in, to supplement the score,
And Circuit Meetings nudged it up, adding even more.

Last night

I dreamed a dream of joy serene,
Of Rev. Ann and, bless her,
She gently murmered in my ear
“Your Pathway’s rough,
You’ve had enough,
I’ll find you a Successor.”

I smiled; I laid aside my pen
And shelved my Dictionary.
With wistful look, I closed my Book
On the valedictory Minutes of a clapped-out Secretary.

Eric Pestell
31/03/1921 - 04/09/2006