It was surreal. And it didn’t end well.
To be in a room where people are talking about you. Evaluating and judging you. Above your head. And in my case literary, as I was lying on my portable sun bed during the hearing.
Exposing myself and my most private matters before my opponents the City officials and a stone faced judge and the jurors. Being as vulnerable as someone can be, in my effort to get through that concrete wall up on the podium. To reach them. I failed.
I have never been in a court room before. I entered led by my lawyer. The judge, three jurors and the notary were in their seats at a podium. My lawyer and I on the right side of the room, three City officials on the left. My nephew Johannes and Audrey’s mother Maria were my support team, as well as a friend from my village who happens to work at the court house. They were seated behind me, down by the door. It felt good.
The two officials who are handling my case for the City and the ones who decided on not giving me the assistance that I need (and that’s why we are in the court room in the first place) dislike me. The two women in their early thirties really dislike me. And we are in court. The judge and the jurors are a concrete wall. Not unfriendly, but a concrete wall, as they must be. And that’s the situation in the room where I am lying on my sun bed listening to them talking about me. And when I am speaking, I am naked.
I am thinking, how could I have done this alone? I am so terribly grateful to this sweet lawyer who was by my side through this process and put in I am sure three times as much work as he charged me for.
Afterwords, as I don’t have any references, I couldn’t tell how things had gone. My lawyer felt good about the situation though. And I think we all did a good job. Awara, one of the Civil Care owners (my home care company) and Trouble 2 being witnesses. And the lawyer and me.
The verdict came a week earlier then expected. And it turned out things hadn’t gone well at all. My appeal was entirely rejected.
This I was prepared for, of course. It was my worst case scenario. My appeal was divided in two parts though. We knew one of them would be difficult, as an acclaim would have been precidential, so the chances were not that good. But we were hoping for the other one. It was a minor adjustment in the assistance I have already been approved of. It’s so minor I would like to explain it, to make an effort giving you a picture of how City officials on assignment helping people in need, are operating.
A week before the hearing I was suddenly approved help getting out of and into bed and out of and into my couch, to get to the bathroom. This was originally in my appeal as I had been denied help moving from lying to the bathroom and back to lying again earlier on. But, just days before the court they changed their mind. So we thought. It turned out the approval was only rising and sitting down on bed, toilet and couch. Not the few steps from my bed to the bathroom. Not the few meters from the bathroom to my couch. Now, if that is only steps and meters, can’t I do that myself? No, at my worst, there is not a chance for me to do any of this myself.
This City official procedure made so little sense we actually laughed when we got to know. Are they serious? Someone is going to help me out of bed, then leave me, come back when I have reached the bathroom, help me sit down, leave, return to help me up, leave and return when I am at the couch to help me lie down. So, what are the Civil Care staff supposed to do while I am struggling between bed and bathroom? Drive back to Umeå? Go for a walk? To be back the next minute to help me lie down? Seriously?
The procedure made so little sense we thought the judge and the jurors would see what we saw. We were wrong.
What was the other part, the difficult one? Well, it’s more complicated so it will be a separate blog subject, but it’s a vital issue and it’s crucial for me to get assistance in that matter.
It was this Tuesday when the verdict came. A week early, so I wasn’t prepared. My heart raised. I had to take care of some job issues and some urgent things on my to do list. I knew I would be a mess after opening the document. And I took many deep breaths before.
I read. And was crushed.
The judge and the jurors didn’t only appear as a concrete wall. They were. I had stood (lied) before them exposed, naked and vulnerable. I had told them about my situation, in a court room matter-of-fact way complemented with, before the lawyer’s closing, a more from my heart (but still controlled) testimony. But they didn’t hear me.
My profession is to bring a message through. To tell a story so it touches the heart. I can trust myself on this. It’s pretty much the only thing about myself that I can trust. Until now. I should have been able to find the word that poked a tiny little whole in that concrete wall. The sentence that made the concrete crack. But I didn’t. I failed on the one thing I can do, at the most important message bringing in my life. About my life.
So what now? Well not only did I loose in court what I needed to win, but the two early thirties City officials who don’t like me, deciding about my life, won. Which means they will feel very safe denying me anything I need in the future. 
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