Another Monday, another week. Just when I think I have the Black Dog housetrained, it reaches up and bites me in the backside!! That is what happened in the early hours of Saturday morning...and I was completely incapacitated for the entire weekend. Couldn't function at all. I wonder if that happens to anyone else??
It was 76 weeks on Saturday. And I suspect that had a lot to do with my feelings of despair, despondency, hopelessness. I couldn't put a name to my emotions-perhaps I really wasn't willing to do so.
I began to ruminate-always a negative thing to do when the dog bites. I thought-well, perhaps if I hadn't blown the whistle on that abusive racist, my car would have been fine where it was and I wouldn't have been in for a shitload of abuse. My Victim Support worker said that I am too feisty for my own good-and my friends said the same thing!!
I have a Victim Support worker-heh. Victim Support phoned me just after the attack. They said they wanted to send me a personal alarm-which is exactly what they did, and it is loud enough to wake the dead. But will it stop a nutjob who is in the middle of a frenzied attack? Hardly!! It will just deafen us both-and probably anyone else within 50 feet. So-I carry the alarm, but I also carry something noxious. I couldn't care less about the police telling me that I would be the one to get done if I fight back with a weapon. I would rather be alive to face the court.
Honestly-what a moronic and archaic system of justice there is in this country! My VS worker told me that a solicitor friend of hers-who handled assaults in court-has just retired; he told her that, out of 500 cases of ABH (Actual Bodily Harm) and GBH (Grievous Bodily Harm) only 30 cases were actually brought to court. Thirty out of 500- well, isn't that peachy! No wonder nobody wants to report a crime. No wonder nobody trusts the police. Better to trust a hungry piranha-at least you always know what it is going to do next!!
I'm going back to the gym this week. I had to take last week off-I really overdid it. I was walking like I'd just lost my virginity (yes, I CAN remember back that far!!). It was not a pretty sight. I'll be far more sedate this week. At least, that is what I tell myself!
Monday, 30 January 2012
Friday, 27 January 2012
Hindsight is always 20/20
Another quote that was passed down from my grandfather-one that has helped me over the last 76 weeks: hindsight is always 20/20. It is so easy to see what we could have/should have/might have done-not so easy to see it at the time, though.
I suppose this is an alternative to all the "if only" thoughts we have when something goes radically wrong. I always dismissed it as a child-but now I think that my grandfather was right. If only I had acted more strongly when I knew I was having a reaction to the gentamicin, instead of being such a wimp (although I was so ill at the time, I couldn't really do anything except shout. I should have jumped up and down-preferably on Phil Bright's head). If only I had walked out on my husband after I saw clearly what a bully he was, instead of waiting so many years to tell him to shove it. If only I had followed my solicitor's advice and fought for a fair share, instead of telling him to just get me out of the marriage-even though I walked away with nothing.
I've decided to stop calling the gentamicin disaster by any other name except "the event". Everything else just keeps me stuck in anger and bitterness, and these are such toxic emotions that I feel robbed of any joy in living. Toxic emotions lead to depression, unhappiness, and, ultimately, physical diseases like cancer. Who needs that? The people who are responsible don't give a monkey's-so why allow them to run my life any longer than I have done already? It's the "event". And, 76 weeks later, I can't change anything that happened. I can only change my attitude toward it, and resolve to start living again, and create a good life for myself: free of anger, hatred, bitterness, and all the other negative (and toxic) emotions I have been carrying around for nearly 18 months. All that unhealthy stuff won't change anything. Sod the "if onlys"-they never make life better.
I received a call from my closest and dearest friend (of nearly 20 years) at 5:50 this morning (12:50am her time). I was surprised, to say the least, because I usually call her in the evening (my time). She is keeping up with my posts, and wanted to encourage and support me. I'm so lucky to have such a good friend! We have been there (or, rather, here) for each other through thick and thin (a lot of thin for both of us, too). I feel happier now-and she reminded me that this could be the path I am supposed to take: to get my story out, because someone, somewhere will get something positive out of my experiences. Maybe my life isn't such a train wreck after all.
The trick is to stay positive, and to be grateful for everything, even the piles of crap. Er..that is much easier said than done!! If I could go back and change it all, would I? Are you kidding??
I suppose this is an alternative to all the "if only" thoughts we have when something goes radically wrong. I always dismissed it as a child-but now I think that my grandfather was right. If only I had acted more strongly when I knew I was having a reaction to the gentamicin, instead of being such a wimp (although I was so ill at the time, I couldn't really do anything except shout. I should have jumped up and down-preferably on Phil Bright's head). If only I had walked out on my husband after I saw clearly what a bully he was, instead of waiting so many years to tell him to shove it. If only I had followed my solicitor's advice and fought for a fair share, instead of telling him to just get me out of the marriage-even though I walked away with nothing.
I've decided to stop calling the gentamicin disaster by any other name except "the event". Everything else just keeps me stuck in anger and bitterness, and these are such toxic emotions that I feel robbed of any joy in living. Toxic emotions lead to depression, unhappiness, and, ultimately, physical diseases like cancer. Who needs that? The people who are responsible don't give a monkey's-so why allow them to run my life any longer than I have done already? It's the "event". And, 76 weeks later, I can't change anything that happened. I can only change my attitude toward it, and resolve to start living again, and create a good life for myself: free of anger, hatred, bitterness, and all the other negative (and toxic) emotions I have been carrying around for nearly 18 months. All that unhealthy stuff won't change anything. Sod the "if onlys"-they never make life better.
I received a call from my closest and dearest friend (of nearly 20 years) at 5:50 this morning (12:50am her time). I was surprised, to say the least, because I usually call her in the evening (my time). She is keeping up with my posts, and wanted to encourage and support me. I'm so lucky to have such a good friend! We have been there (or, rather, here) for each other through thick and thin (a lot of thin for both of us, too). I feel happier now-and she reminded me that this could be the path I am supposed to take: to get my story out, because someone, somewhere will get something positive out of my experiences. Maybe my life isn't such a train wreck after all.
The trick is to stay positive, and to be grateful for everything, even the piles of crap. Er..that is much easier said than done!! If I could go back and change it all, would I? Are you kidding??
Thursday, 26 January 2012
Life as a train wreck
Just when I think life is improving, something else happens!! What the hell, I don't seem to be able to live an easy life. Huh-welcome to reality...
When I first had the "event" (a kind way to put some imbeciles crippling me for life), I lived in a second floor flat; it had internal stairs up to the third floor. I kept falling down the internal stairs. In fact, the landlord (it was rented) left really ratty carpet downstairs and on the stairs. I can truthfully say that I contributed to the nasty carpet on the stairs! All the times I fell down, complete with a mug of tea or coffee in my hand! I decorated his carpet with tea. Happily, I didn't decorate it with blood, although I did nearly knock myself unconscious a few times.
So-the hospital (probably out of guilt more than any sense of compassion) went to the local council and insisted that I needed to move to a ground floor apartment before I cracked my skull open. Kind of the hospital, wasn't it? And the council responded by telling the hospital that there would be a 7 year wait for a flat, because there was a huge waiting list. I couldn't walk, so going out to look at places was pretty much out of the question.
In September, 2010, some bright soul decided that I needed an assessment by social services. I could have replaced my front door with a revolving door, there were so many people coming in to see me. It was like Piccadilly Circus: swarms of people from social services, people sent to help me cook, and to wash me (now, I am neither old nor senile, so how humiliating was that!!!!), to help me walk, to help me exercise-and the conclusion was that I needed to move, whether I liked it or not. So someone found me a council place, only a mile from my lovely second floor flat. I moved just prior to New Year's Day, 2011.
Now I've called me life a train wreck, because every time it looks like things are getting better, it's a matter of one step forward, three steps back. In every council block there is a housing manager-the manager collects the rent, and does - well, I don't think the one I have does anything except bully, abuse and threaten tenants who are disabled, and, therefore, vulnerable. This one is called Anna Philippou, and she is a monster. I complained about her abuse and her racist behaviour three times - and three times my car was nearly destroyed. We have a private car park, other cars are parked there, and mine was the only one that was targeted. Last week. Coincidence? No way!!
My car is an old (but very reliable) 3-door hatchback. The locks on both front doors were broken (my mechanic says that this was a deliberate act of viciousness). You would laugh at what I had to do to get it to my garage! I was able to get into the back door, crawl up to the front door, and open the door so I could then crawl out and get in and drive it near the garage. Then I had to crawl out the same way, because I could only lock the door from the inside.
The next day I went back to the car, got in the same way, crawled over the back seat, opened the front door, drove the car to the garage-where they had to order a whole new set of locks, because individual locks for this car are no longer sold. I cursed Anna Philippou, I can tell you!!
My friend in New York told me that I need to look as optimistically as I can at life, and be grateful for everything I have, rather than being negative and concentrating on the things I can't do, or don't have. Very good advice, but not always so easy to do!! If I could get to Wood Green and confront Anna Philippou directly, I don't know what I would do.
If I weighed more than 8 stone (112 pounds), if I was any taller than 5'4", if I was less agile, I would never have been able to get into the boot of the car, never mind crawl over the seats and get to the door handle. It must have looked hilarious to anyone who was passing by or looking out the window!! Of course, I could have found myself stuck as I tried to get over the back seats. Imagine someone having to try to get me out!!
Well-that was my week. And my vestibular rehab physiotherapist is leaving the hospital at the end of this week-and my time there is over, since there is nothing else they can do for me. The job of the vestibular physio is to get me to the point where I can do daily tasks (like cook without setting either myself or the kitchen on fire), and I am able to do that.
Where I go from here is anybody's guess- so keep reading, because I will keep writing!!
When I first had the "event" (a kind way to put some imbeciles crippling me for life), I lived in a second floor flat; it had internal stairs up to the third floor. I kept falling down the internal stairs. In fact, the landlord (it was rented) left really ratty carpet downstairs and on the stairs. I can truthfully say that I contributed to the nasty carpet on the stairs! All the times I fell down, complete with a mug of tea or coffee in my hand! I decorated his carpet with tea. Happily, I didn't decorate it with blood, although I did nearly knock myself unconscious a few times.
So-the hospital (probably out of guilt more than any sense of compassion) went to the local council and insisted that I needed to move to a ground floor apartment before I cracked my skull open. Kind of the hospital, wasn't it? And the council responded by telling the hospital that there would be a 7 year wait for a flat, because there was a huge waiting list. I couldn't walk, so going out to look at places was pretty much out of the question.
In September, 2010, some bright soul decided that I needed an assessment by social services. I could have replaced my front door with a revolving door, there were so many people coming in to see me. It was like Piccadilly Circus: swarms of people from social services, people sent to help me cook, and to wash me (now, I am neither old nor senile, so how humiliating was that!!!!), to help me walk, to help me exercise-and the conclusion was that I needed to move, whether I liked it or not. So someone found me a council place, only a mile from my lovely second floor flat. I moved just prior to New Year's Day, 2011.
Now I've called me life a train wreck, because every time it looks like things are getting better, it's a matter of one step forward, three steps back. In every council block there is a housing manager-the manager collects the rent, and does - well, I don't think the one I have does anything except bully, abuse and threaten tenants who are disabled, and, therefore, vulnerable. This one is called Anna Philippou, and she is a monster. I complained about her abuse and her racist behaviour three times - and three times my car was nearly destroyed. We have a private car park, other cars are parked there, and mine was the only one that was targeted. Last week. Coincidence? No way!!
My car is an old (but very reliable) 3-door hatchback. The locks on both front doors were broken (my mechanic says that this was a deliberate act of viciousness). You would laugh at what I had to do to get it to my garage! I was able to get into the back door, crawl up to the front door, and open the door so I could then crawl out and get in and drive it near the garage. Then I had to crawl out the same way, because I could only lock the door from the inside.
The next day I went back to the car, got in the same way, crawled over the back seat, opened the front door, drove the car to the garage-where they had to order a whole new set of locks, because individual locks for this car are no longer sold. I cursed Anna Philippou, I can tell you!!
My friend in New York told me that I need to look as optimistically as I can at life, and be grateful for everything I have, rather than being negative and concentrating on the things I can't do, or don't have. Very good advice, but not always so easy to do!! If I could get to Wood Green and confront Anna Philippou directly, I don't know what I would do.
If I weighed more than 8 stone (112 pounds), if I was any taller than 5'4", if I was less agile, I would never have been able to get into the boot of the car, never mind crawl over the seats and get to the door handle. It must have looked hilarious to anyone who was passing by or looking out the window!! Of course, I could have found myself stuck as I tried to get over the back seats. Imagine someone having to try to get me out!!
Well-that was my week. And my vestibular rehab physiotherapist is leaving the hospital at the end of this week-and my time there is over, since there is nothing else they can do for me. The job of the vestibular physio is to get me to the point where I can do daily tasks (like cook without setting either myself or the kitchen on fire), and I am able to do that.
Where I go from here is anybody's guess- so keep reading, because I will keep writing!!
Monday, 23 January 2012
Rats
It has taken me nearly 76 weeks - and I am now having to accept that my life has changed forever. Believe me when I say that it is hard as hell, the most difficult thing I have ever had to do. But-for my own sanity, and the ability to create some kind of life for myself, I am telling myself that I need to accept this thing that I cannot change. It happened. Tough s**t. Like my friend says, bad things happen to good people!
I have a recurrent nightmare, though. I dream that I will end my life being sick, broke, old and alone. Well-some of that has already happened-sadly. Last night I slept badly (as I do every night). I broke out into a sweat and I started to weep. Depression hits just when I least expect it. Depression is that insidious black dog that is always with me-always. Sometimes I can look at something beautiful: a sunset, a lovely flower, a beautiful baby, a dog...and I thank my lucky stars that I can see (not very clearly, but I can still see!!),and walk, and appreciate the world around me. Other times, I feel despondent, and I deal with this by withdrawing, hiding at home, feeling miserable and alone. I fight it. I do fight it. Nobody ever said that life has to be easy.
This is where my friends come in. Honestly, you can pick your friends, but you can't pick your family. I don't do facebook, or any of those social networking sites-who needs to count a thousand "friends", when only one or two are really there when you need them? I've got three-three people who have known me for years, and who have been with me through thick and thin. And there has been an awful lot of thin, I can tell you!!
But I won't abuse my friendships by constantly complaining-if I do that, I won't have any friends at all.
I recall a story someone told me a very long time ago. It's about rats. When a rat is cornered, when it is trapped, it starts to rock from side to side. That is the signal that it is about to attack. I don't have anyone (or anything) to attack- but I can feel myself starting to rock.
I really need to get out and start living, in spite of the idiots who practically knock me over and then turn and swear at me. I cannot be afraid any longer-fear makes the balance worse. And fear cripples the spirit.
A good friend of mine emailed me the other day-and reminded me that anything is possible. The jury is out on that, too. I could get shoved in front of a bus tomorrow. Anything can happen-at any time. So I need to buck up and get out there, because I'm allowing fear to run my life-run it and ruin it. If I don't start living every day as if it could be my last day-well, it just might be. Or, it might as well be.
I have a recurrent nightmare, though. I dream that I will end my life being sick, broke, old and alone. Well-some of that has already happened-sadly. Last night I slept badly (as I do every night). I broke out into a sweat and I started to weep. Depression hits just when I least expect it. Depression is that insidious black dog that is always with me-always. Sometimes I can look at something beautiful: a sunset, a lovely flower, a beautiful baby, a dog...and I thank my lucky stars that I can see (not very clearly, but I can still see!!),and walk, and appreciate the world around me. Other times, I feel despondent, and I deal with this by withdrawing, hiding at home, feeling miserable and alone. I fight it. I do fight it. Nobody ever said that life has to be easy.
This is where my friends come in. Honestly, you can pick your friends, but you can't pick your family. I don't do facebook, or any of those social networking sites-who needs to count a thousand "friends", when only one or two are really there when you need them? I've got three-three people who have known me for years, and who have been with me through thick and thin. And there has been an awful lot of thin, I can tell you!!
But I won't abuse my friendships by constantly complaining-if I do that, I won't have any friends at all.
I recall a story someone told me a very long time ago. It's about rats. When a rat is cornered, when it is trapped, it starts to rock from side to side. That is the signal that it is about to attack. I don't have anyone (or anything) to attack- but I can feel myself starting to rock.
I really need to get out and start living, in spite of the idiots who practically knock me over and then turn and swear at me. I cannot be afraid any longer-fear makes the balance worse. And fear cripples the spirit.
A good friend of mine emailed me the other day-and reminded me that anything is possible. The jury is out on that, too. I could get shoved in front of a bus tomorrow. Anything can happen-at any time. So I need to buck up and get out there, because I'm allowing fear to run my life-run it and ruin it. If I don't start living every day as if it could be my last day-well, it just might be. Or, it might as well be.
Saturday, 21 January 2012
To Believe or Not to Believe: The Jury is Out
Well, hello, and I cannot believe I last posted on the 10th!! What the heck!! I've had so many problems getting online-now there is a message above saying that my browser is no longer supported by Blogger. Huh. What's next: smoke signals??
These last 11 days have been pretty dire-not only because I've had computer and internet "challenges", but also because I have been running to various consultants, physios, and bloodletters. I feel like I'm a hamster on a treadmill.
The police have informed me that they will not prosecute my attacker, since we have no CCTV in the area, and there are no credible witnesses to be found. This is, of course, British justice in all its' glory!! Let's just tell the whole world that all their criminals can come over here and do exactly what they want, and get away with it all. Never mind: they all know this already!! No surprise that this country is the laughing stock of the world!!
One of the things I've considered over the last 75 weeks (yes, it is 75 weeks today. What a joy) is the God issue. I'm not getting into a religious post here, because I could debate both sides-and then I will offend everyone. I've already been beaten up once, thanks very much, and once was more than enough. So....
I will only say that I believe in a Higher Power. We can call it God, or Goddess-since earth-based religion predates Christianity, the first God(dess) was female, and a lot of people still worship her. I don't go for the old man with the long white beard, sitting on a throne and passing judgment. For one thing, if he is omniscient, omnipotent, and omnipresent, why does he need a throne? Really, let's be logical. Like I said, I could very easily offend everyone, including my very best friends, and I don't want to do that. Suffice to say, I have thought about the religious issue and what I believe for the last 75 weeks. I have a feeling that most (if not all) people who have had somethingike this happen go through a crisis period where they no longer believe in anything.
So, my dilemma is, where was God while I was being incapacitated by the incompetent medical community? And, of course, the usual phrase: "why me?".
My very good friend Nancy says that bad things happen to good people. Look at those people a mentioned a few posts ago. They didn't deserve what they got. So the next thing to say is: "why NOT me?". Not a clue.
All the people-like Katie, who was so severely disfigured, and the PC who was blinded up in Northumberland, and all the people who lost limbs serving for their country (and in other ways)-don't make me feel better because my disability is minor if compared to theirs. I don't compare. I admire them for refusing to give up, for carrying on with their lives as best as they can, and for refusing to let the "other guy(s)" win.
So I will keep working, and walking, and doing the exercises, even though I've been told by the vestibular physiotherapist that I seem to have come as far as I ever will when it comes to the amount of balance and vision I will get back.
Unacceptable!! I have a sneaking suspicion (either that or I am really ridiculously neurotic) that, since the brain is not completely understood by the medical community (just like competence is not completely understood by them), I can get more back. I'm working on it.
These last 11 days have been pretty dire-not only because I've had computer and internet "challenges", but also because I have been running to various consultants, physios, and bloodletters. I feel like I'm a hamster on a treadmill.
The police have informed me that they will not prosecute my attacker, since we have no CCTV in the area, and there are no credible witnesses to be found. This is, of course, British justice in all its' glory!! Let's just tell the whole world that all their criminals can come over here and do exactly what they want, and get away with it all. Never mind: they all know this already!! No surprise that this country is the laughing stock of the world!!
One of the things I've considered over the last 75 weeks (yes, it is 75 weeks today. What a joy) is the God issue. I'm not getting into a religious post here, because I could debate both sides-and then I will offend everyone. I've already been beaten up once, thanks very much, and once was more than enough. So....
I will only say that I believe in a Higher Power. We can call it God, or Goddess-since earth-based religion predates Christianity, the first God(dess) was female, and a lot of people still worship her. I don't go for the old man with the long white beard, sitting on a throne and passing judgment. For one thing, if he is omniscient, omnipotent, and omnipresent, why does he need a throne? Really, let's be logical. Like I said, I could very easily offend everyone, including my very best friends, and I don't want to do that. Suffice to say, I have thought about the religious issue and what I believe for the last 75 weeks. I have a feeling that most (if not all) people who have had somethingike this happen go through a crisis period where they no longer believe in anything.
So, my dilemma is, where was God while I was being incapacitated by the incompetent medical community? And, of course, the usual phrase: "why me?".
My very good friend Nancy says that bad things happen to good people. Look at those people a mentioned a few posts ago. They didn't deserve what they got. So the next thing to say is: "why NOT me?". Not a clue.
All the people-like Katie, who was so severely disfigured, and the PC who was blinded up in Northumberland, and all the people who lost limbs serving for their country (and in other ways)-don't make me feel better because my disability is minor if compared to theirs. I don't compare. I admire them for refusing to give up, for carrying on with their lives as best as they can, and for refusing to let the "other guy(s)" win.
So I will keep working, and walking, and doing the exercises, even though I've been told by the vestibular physiotherapist that I seem to have come as far as I ever will when it comes to the amount of balance and vision I will get back.
Unacceptable!! I have a sneaking suspicion (either that or I am really ridiculously neurotic) that, since the brain is not completely understood by the medical community (just like competence is not completely understood by them), I can get more back. I'm working on it.
Tuesday, 10 January 2012
Trust in God but Tie Your Camel
Well, the holidays are finally over, and I can come out of hibernation!! Hooray.
I remember a saying my mother taught me when I was a child; it came from her grandfather, and his father, and - well, who knows who made it up? It's a keeper, though: Trust in God but tie your camel. I asked her what it meant, and she told me that I needed to have faith and trust, but also be sensible, be cautious, don't do things haphazardly. Lock the front door, don't just assume you're safe. Lock your car door, don't walk down dark alleys at night...that sort of thing. It isn't being paranoid, but it is being smart. Don't confront (however politely) someone who turns out to be a deranged psychopath who will then beat the living crap out of you!! Well, okay, she didn't tell me the last bit, I had to learn that the hard (and painful) way!!
So the police told me last week that my attacker would probably get away with only a warning - because there were no credible witnesses and no CCTV. Every other block in London has so many cameras, I'm surprised the posts to which they are attached are still standing!! But not where I live - and the Crime Prosecution Service (I call it the Criminal Protection Service, and with very good reason) won't take any case to court unless they are certain they will win. So it's pretty obvious why everyone from everywhere comes to London: rob someone, beat someone, kill someone - unless it is on film, you will get away with it. That tells you a lot about the legal system in this country: it's barbaric.
I've been pretty freaked out about the whole thing since it happened-more than three weeks ago - and I didn't leave the house for the first two weeks, unless I absolutely had to go out. And I have decided that I will not let the lunatic win. She had me concussed, in pain, and fearful for three weeks, and I'm not giving her any more of my time. My time is precious. This has been a wakeup call.
My physiotherapist got it right yesterday when he said that bad things happen to good people. I realize now that I have to accept that, and accept that those bad people will go on doing what they are doing until someone stops them. Time for me to mind my own business, and stop trying to be a one-person neighborhood watch. Let someone else get the crap beaten out of them. I'm done.
Last year at this time I still could barely get out of bed without falling over. I was thinking about that over the past three weeks: last year I was in a second floor flat with internal stairs going up to the kitchen and living room, and I kept falling down those stairs. For several months, I needed physiotherapists to help me walk, because I couldn't do it on my own. And I needed an occupational therapist to come in to help me wash myself. How humiliating is that, not being able to wash yourself!!!!!! I cried, I cried buckets of tears, wondering if I would ever be able to do anything on my own. I couldn't shower; I had to strip wash: sit on the toilet and fill the sink, use a washcloth to clean myself. I hope I never have to do that again. It was degrading and humiliating. Imagine being old and having someone have to wash you, without ever being able to do it yourself!!!!
It has taken nearly 18 months: it will be 74 weeks this weekend. I have come a long way. AND-I will NEVER forget where I was this time last year. It took from August (2010) to December (2010) for me to even be able to go up and down a flight of ten steps-holding onto the banister to keep from falling over. If there was no banister, I had to go up and down while sitting on my backside. I did a lot of that; I'm surprised my backside isn't smaller!!!
I'll write more next time about the way things were last year, and about the changes I have seen since this whole thing happened. I can sit in front of a computer and write this blog: that is one of the biggest victories I have experienced in 18 months. How great is that! And-I can get into a shower without falling over and cracking my skull open. The first time I was able to do that was in January, 2011. I remember that vividly; I got out of the shower and sat and cried.
We take so much for granted. I will never again take anything for granted.
I remember a saying my mother taught me when I was a child; it came from her grandfather, and his father, and - well, who knows who made it up? It's a keeper, though: Trust in God but tie your camel. I asked her what it meant, and she told me that I needed to have faith and trust, but also be sensible, be cautious, don't do things haphazardly. Lock the front door, don't just assume you're safe. Lock your car door, don't walk down dark alleys at night...that sort of thing. It isn't being paranoid, but it is being smart. Don't confront (however politely) someone who turns out to be a deranged psychopath who will then beat the living crap out of you!! Well, okay, she didn't tell me the last bit, I had to learn that the hard (and painful) way!!
So the police told me last week that my attacker would probably get away with only a warning - because there were no credible witnesses and no CCTV. Every other block in London has so many cameras, I'm surprised the posts to which they are attached are still standing!! But not where I live - and the Crime Prosecution Service (I call it the Criminal Protection Service, and with very good reason) won't take any case to court unless they are certain they will win. So it's pretty obvious why everyone from everywhere comes to London: rob someone, beat someone, kill someone - unless it is on film, you will get away with it. That tells you a lot about the legal system in this country: it's barbaric.
I've been pretty freaked out about the whole thing since it happened-more than three weeks ago - and I didn't leave the house for the first two weeks, unless I absolutely had to go out. And I have decided that I will not let the lunatic win. She had me concussed, in pain, and fearful for three weeks, and I'm not giving her any more of my time. My time is precious. This has been a wakeup call.
My physiotherapist got it right yesterday when he said that bad things happen to good people. I realize now that I have to accept that, and accept that those bad people will go on doing what they are doing until someone stops them. Time for me to mind my own business, and stop trying to be a one-person neighborhood watch. Let someone else get the crap beaten out of them. I'm done.
Last year at this time I still could barely get out of bed without falling over. I was thinking about that over the past three weeks: last year I was in a second floor flat with internal stairs going up to the kitchen and living room, and I kept falling down those stairs. For several months, I needed physiotherapists to help me walk, because I couldn't do it on my own. And I needed an occupational therapist to come in to help me wash myself. How humiliating is that, not being able to wash yourself!!!!!! I cried, I cried buckets of tears, wondering if I would ever be able to do anything on my own. I couldn't shower; I had to strip wash: sit on the toilet and fill the sink, use a washcloth to clean myself. I hope I never have to do that again. It was degrading and humiliating. Imagine being old and having someone have to wash you, without ever being able to do it yourself!!!!
It has taken nearly 18 months: it will be 74 weeks this weekend. I have come a long way. AND-I will NEVER forget where I was this time last year. It took from August (2010) to December (2010) for me to even be able to go up and down a flight of ten steps-holding onto the banister to keep from falling over. If there was no banister, I had to go up and down while sitting on my backside. I did a lot of that; I'm surprised my backside isn't smaller!!!
I'll write more next time about the way things were last year, and about the changes I have seen since this whole thing happened. I can sit in front of a computer and write this blog: that is one of the biggest victories I have experienced in 18 months. How great is that! And-I can get into a shower without falling over and cracking my skull open. The first time I was able to do that was in January, 2011. I remember that vividly; I got out of the shower and sat and cried.
We take so much for granted. I will never again take anything for granted.
Sunday, 1 January 2012
72 Weeks and a brand new year
It's New Year's Day...2012...a brand new year. I'm looking at my life over the last 72 weeks, and I am deeply saddened by what has happened - but - I have decided that I have to be more positive about life! Huh??
I took a long walk this morning, and I thought about all my friends - the real, true ones, the ones who not only encouraged me, but also had a go at me when I became depressed, anxious, despondent, on the verge of giving up. Those friends!!!!
I'm really lucky, when I think about it all objectively (and I haven't been very objective of late, I can tell you!). I'm not disfigured, I'm not blind, I haven't lost any limbs, I'm not confined to a wheelchair - I've got no terminal diseases...the list can go on and on, if I think about it. I suppose people who are worse off than I would just sniff and tell me off, tell me that what I have is minor (in the scheme of things). Perhaps so; I don't feel any better, though. I'm never grateful for other people's misfortunes, and I don't look at anyone else and think "there but for the grace of God"...these 18 months have been as traumatic and awful for me as worse things are for other people. It is all relative, isn't it?
I know that the loss of vestibular function is both total and permanent. And I have a choice-probably the same choice as those people I mentioned in this (and my previous) posts: I can be bitter, and angry, say "why me?" (there is no answer to that one, except "why not me?"), or I can roll over, stick my legs in the air, and just quit. Huh. I have been lazy, I have been a world class procrastinator, but the one thing I am NOT is a quitter!!
Now I have to look at my life and adjust it to include the things I CAN do! By "adjusting" I mean, really, "accepting". I won't be able to ride a bicycle, or pilot a hot air balloon, or balance on a wobbleboard at the gym. So what? Okay, I need someone to come with me if I want to go out when it's dark, because my eyes don't focus in the dark, my balance is non-existent, and I don't really want to fall over in front of a moving bus. That would be decidedly unfortunate-and very painful, too! I need someone else to drive (the way people in this country drive, I could close one eye and do a better job than 99% of them!!! In fact, when I couldn't stand up at all, I was probably a better driver than 99% of them!!).
I have to be very careful around the house, because I still will suddenly turn my head and fall over. Even my bruises have bruises. And if I turn around suddenly, I can walk into a wall. Ouch. Very unpleasant. Just ask my face. I'm not as bad as I was last year-or even six months ago. When I would leave the house, I would look as if someone beat me up before I left. I'm sure the neighbors all thought that I was living with an abuser!!! Of course, I staggered badly, too, so they probably thought I was either an alcoholic-or on drugs. Or both. It took more than a year for me to finally admit that I couldn't give a monkey's what people think.
I have to walk. I have to turn my head. I have to do all the exercises the vestibular physiotherapist gave me, and I have to do them religiously. No fooling around there!!! If I don't do the work, I don't get whatever balance and vision I can, and I will forever be a disabled cripple-certainly in my own eyes.
Happy 2012 to anyone reading this. Happy, healthy 2012 to my friends, all of whom are reading this (I hope!). My hope is that all my readers (or-any readers!!) will pass this on, and that this blog will go global; my hope is that someone who can benefit from my experience will read these posts, and will understand that they are not alone. If I can push myself to carry on regardless, if I can refuse to give up, or give in to depression and feelings of hopelessness, so can someone else. It takes a lot of determination NOT to give up, I can tell you that. So- Happy New Year. Back into the fray. This is a battle I cannot afford to lose.
I took a long walk this morning, and I thought about all my friends - the real, true ones, the ones who not only encouraged me, but also had a go at me when I became depressed, anxious, despondent, on the verge of giving up. Those friends!!!!
I'm really lucky, when I think about it all objectively (and I haven't been very objective of late, I can tell you!). I'm not disfigured, I'm not blind, I haven't lost any limbs, I'm not confined to a wheelchair - I've got no terminal diseases...the list can go on and on, if I think about it. I suppose people who are worse off than I would just sniff and tell me off, tell me that what I have is minor (in the scheme of things). Perhaps so; I don't feel any better, though. I'm never grateful for other people's misfortunes, and I don't look at anyone else and think "there but for the grace of God"...these 18 months have been as traumatic and awful for me as worse things are for other people. It is all relative, isn't it?
I know that the loss of vestibular function is both total and permanent. And I have a choice-probably the same choice as those people I mentioned in this (and my previous) posts: I can be bitter, and angry, say "why me?" (there is no answer to that one, except "why not me?"), or I can roll over, stick my legs in the air, and just quit. Huh. I have been lazy, I have been a world class procrastinator, but the one thing I am NOT is a quitter!!
Now I have to look at my life and adjust it to include the things I CAN do! By "adjusting" I mean, really, "accepting". I won't be able to ride a bicycle, or pilot a hot air balloon, or balance on a wobbleboard at the gym. So what? Okay, I need someone to come with me if I want to go out when it's dark, because my eyes don't focus in the dark, my balance is non-existent, and I don't really want to fall over in front of a moving bus. That would be decidedly unfortunate-and very painful, too! I need someone else to drive (the way people in this country drive, I could close one eye and do a better job than 99% of them!!! In fact, when I couldn't stand up at all, I was probably a better driver than 99% of them!!).
I have to be very careful around the house, because I still will suddenly turn my head and fall over. Even my bruises have bruises. And if I turn around suddenly, I can walk into a wall. Ouch. Very unpleasant. Just ask my face. I'm not as bad as I was last year-or even six months ago. When I would leave the house, I would look as if someone beat me up before I left. I'm sure the neighbors all thought that I was living with an abuser!!! Of course, I staggered badly, too, so they probably thought I was either an alcoholic-or on drugs. Or both. It took more than a year for me to finally admit that I couldn't give a monkey's what people think.
I have to walk. I have to turn my head. I have to do all the exercises the vestibular physiotherapist gave me, and I have to do them religiously. No fooling around there!!! If I don't do the work, I don't get whatever balance and vision I can, and I will forever be a disabled cripple-certainly in my own eyes.
Happy 2012 to anyone reading this. Happy, healthy 2012 to my friends, all of whom are reading this (I hope!). My hope is that all my readers (or-any readers!!) will pass this on, and that this blog will go global; my hope is that someone who can benefit from my experience will read these posts, and will understand that they are not alone. If I can push myself to carry on regardless, if I can refuse to give up, or give in to depression and feelings of hopelessness, so can someone else. It takes a lot of determination NOT to give up, I can tell you that. So- Happy New Year. Back into the fray. This is a battle I cannot afford to lose.
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