When truth got stuck up the chimney

It began to shout – you can’t keep me here forever.  And then, it pushed itself out.

So, here’s what happened.  We’d just unblocked our chimney, in preparation for getting a stove installed.  There was a powerful draught, and on advice, we put a plastic bag in the bottom, to stop the wind howling down.  The plastic bag was a sturdy blue one I was given when I last picked up my interfeon injection pack.  Clearly labelled with my name, the hospital’s name, and what it contained.  It was a good draught-excluder.  For a few days.

Then one night, one very windy night, I was sitting on the sofa, opposite the fire-to-be, when I heard an almighty sucking noise, and whoosh, the bag was gone.  I’ve looked up, my husband’s looked up, as have my dad, my son and even my 4 year old daughter.  None of us can see any blue, only light.  There’s no sign on the roof or the garden either.

Initially, I was concerned about littering, but then I remembered what the bag was, and what information about me was on it.  Information I had not shared with anyone on the street, anyone at the school gates, or almost anywhere really.  When I put up my blue badge so I can get a closer space in the car park at Tesco’s, I get out of the car and distance myself from it as quickly as possible.  I don’t know what that says about my own self-assurance, or my view of disability in general, but it’s not good.  What I do know is that I’m afraid.  Afraid of only being seen and talked about as someone who is sick.  Who’s not your average girl.

Probably, that telling bag will never be found, or read, but if it does, I need to hold my head high, be myself, and let those that discover it draw their own conclusions.

The truth will out, but can you see all its colours, or is it still just monochrome?

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