Bad news and worse news...go figure!!

Last night I felt so miserable, I cleaned my kitchen. Then-I still felt terrible, so I cleaned the bathroom. At least, I had a clean house at the end of it all...

This was all self-inflicted. About six weeks ago, I discovered a lump: every woman's nightmare. A lump. Did I do anything about it? No, I did not. Why? Because I don't like mammograms. I know, I know-that was really dumb. So I went about ten days ago, and saw Margaret, who found the same lump and referred me to the hospital breast clinic. That was Thursday. And on Monday I was having my breast squashed.

Mammograms! Talk about an eye watering experience!! Then I had to have an ultrasound, and I blithely said to the doctor that I bet it was just a cyst. You could have knocked me over when she said it wasn't a cyst. So-hours later I was on my way home, after a biopsy (now they use a machine that sounds like a staple gun. So when I was finished, I had to look down just to make sure there weren't any pleats).

I get the results back on Wednesday. And-it has been that kind of week; I kept telling myself that everything would be okay, since whatever it is was caught early. Either I am an optimistic pessimist or a pessimistic optimist-I haven't quite figured that out yet. Still working on it!

The gel used to do the ultrasound is what gets me-after the pain of having my breasts crushed, that is. The gel could be scented, at least. And why doesn't someone come up with gel that could double as a moisturizer? Then at least you would leave with nice smelling goo all over your chest, and be moisturized at the same time. Nobody thinks of that. It's like the speculum: must have been invented by a man. No woman would ever do that to another woman!

So that was my jolly week. On Wednesday I went along to a lecture about Unitarianism. That was very interesting, and very informative, and there were a few people there whom I knew from church. We were all in the same boat: questions, questions and more questions. All good; I left at about 8:45pm, and it was dark, so I was worried. But I did well, and managed to get across a very busy road without getting splattered by a bus. I couldn't have done this last year-or even six months ago-so that was a high point of the week. At least the week had a high point!

Some people reach middle age and go skydiving. Some go on a trek across Tibet. Others learn to surf. And me? I clean. There is definitely something wrong there somewhere. Maybe I should learn to belly dance. That way I could clean and exercise at the same time...

I will learn the results of the biopsy on Wednesday. So I must not allow myself to be worried, since there is nothing I can do about it at the moment. Self-exam, everyone, self-exam.

In a few weeks I go into hospital for my bionic knee surgery. Huh. I'm going to the gym, doing everything right (except self-exams, though), and I creak like a rusty hinge. My friend is a nurse and is calling me the Bionic Woman. I'm telling her I feel more like the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz!

I must need more prunes.

It is what it is, and it isn't what it isn't

Another good saying for a bumper sticker, don't you think? And-it has been one of those weeks. Glad it is nearly the weekend-although, cynic that I am, I wonder what else could happen!!

Monday was Earth Day-not publicized over here, except through a Google Doodle. Love those Google Doodles!! Yesterday was St. George's Day-I discovered that by seeing an absolutely gorgeous Google Doodle. Lovely. And where is St. George when we really need him? Where is the man, here to slay dragons, lay waste to terrorists and pedophiles, beat the crap out of rapists and all manner of felons? Where is he? Out to lunch? Playing golf? At the movies? What a damp squib. I protest. We all should demand a refund.

This, of course, brings me to the Boston Massacre. I cannot avoid saying something about that. When have you known me to avoid saying something about anything? I heard about the bombings on the news-of course-there was extensive media coverage over here, and everyone everywhere must know what happened-unless there are people wandering around with their heads up their behinds. Or-up someone else's behinds (ewww!).

I was so upset, I just didn't know what to say. What do you say? It reminded me of 9/11: innocent people brutally murdered by fundamentalist maniacs who have no regard for human life. Personally, I believe that those feeble excuses for human beings should be rounded up and exterminated. Forgive them? Screw that.

I went along to the Unitarian Church on Sunday, wondering what Andy would say in his sermon. Some events need to be discussed, and this was one of them. Andy didn't disappoint, although I disagree with some of the things he said. But I take a hard line on mass murder.

Andy spoke about love being simple, but not easy. Christ preached loving and turning the other cheek, and all that-and look what happened to him? And the world? Not too successful, I'd say. Martin Luther King-we all know how he ended up. Not being funny, but these men had to deal with-people. And where you have people, you find inconsistency, character flaws, and fundamentalism. And murder. Nobody is perfect, but some people are just plain evil.

Andy is a minister, and I think all (normal) ministers will talk about forgiveness, and remind us that the perpetrators of atrocities like the Boston bombings are still human, regardless of their actions. He said that the one brother who was found hiding in a boat in someone's backyard was probably frightened, bleeding, perhaps feeling remorse. Too late for remorse, and I don't really believe that. If he felt anything he wouldn't have taken part in the first place.

It's very easy for someone who isn't involved in anything like this to feel compassion, love, forgiveness, etc. When it is your child, or sibling, or parent, partner, someone close to you-how easy is it to feel "love" - or, indeed, anything friendly toward the people responsible? I couldn't. If it was my child, or husband (well, maybe not my husband! LOL only joking), I wouldn't be playing let's be saintlike and forgive them. I'd want to take them to a public place, beat the living crap out of them, then cut them into pieces and feed them to the fish - or the pigs - or Mel Gibson.

It seems to me that we should stop funding wars in other countries-stop sticking our noses into places where we don't belong-stop giving money and weapons (weapons!! Are we stupid??) to people who will, eventually, use them against us-and start being more vigilant at home. Sadly, we will all (not only in America, but in Canada-as they just found out this week-and every place else) need to be more than a little watchful, perhaps (sadly) not so innocent and naive and more slightly paranoid- and start watching out for ourselves and each other. If our governments won't protect us, we must protect ourselves. And kick them the hell out of office.

Pardon me while I go and sharpen my walking stick.

Pass the prunes-and the sick bag, please!

I received a comment from someone (identity unknown) who said that she has no eating disorders, but her mother keeps trying to shove her full of cod liver oil, because it is "good for her". So she decided to practice projectile vomiting...and she hit both walls, the floor and the dresser. Too funny. Apparently this bloggee also tweets. I don't tweet. I can only imagine starting a trend!

To the bloggee/tweetie: thank you for your kind words. You are very strange. It's okay, I like strange, as long as you don't show up on my doorstep. And don't tell your mom I approve!!

My dear friend Jessica's husband works abroad. He spends a year overseas and returns for one month a year-which to me is the perfect relationship: no arguments for 12 months, how great is that!! I'm more than a bit cynical about marriage: after many years, I wasn't suicidal, I was homicidal. So I sprinted for the exit, and it's one of the best things I ever did. Men would benefit from a good slapping every so often. Some should be slapped daily.

Jessica's husband decided that she should keep a budget of all monthly expenses; eventually he will finish his contract and return home permanently (it's okay, I've got a spare room for her), and he wants to know exactly what she spends every month. Well-dogs, cats, a house that needs things like new pumps, boilers, and other bits and pieces that drop off - things need doing, and he really has no right to complain, since he isn't there to oversee the work.

Now he said that two people can live as cheaply as one. I nearly gagged on that one, and I said the first thing that came into my mind: yes, two people can live as cheaply as one-but only if one of them is dead.

I'm thinking of making that into a bumper sticker.

Life, the Universe and Everything

What is the answer to the ultimate question of life, the Universe and everything? It's - prunes.

That's what I said: prunes. And here you thought it was 42. Nope!! Prunes.

I started preparing for the colonoscopy on Sunday. I decided to do an old remedy that my mother used to use when I was a lot younger and had a bad stomach. So I went out and bought a huge bag of prunes. Very good for you, prunes. They are supposed to cure what ails you. If they don't, they will just give you agida. And the runs. Probably permanently.

Anyway, I ate a huge number of prunes on Sunday. And I waited. And waited. All this after searching everywhere for prunes that hadn't been sprayed, tampered with, irradiated, shrunk, or shot. I found organic ones in a health food shop, ate about ten, and thought, okay, Bob's your uncle, this will start the process going. It worked a bit-but on Monday I still had to ingest the liquid explosives given by the hospital. The stuff is noxious, called Klean Prep, tastes really awful, and it took two hours to start working. Meanwhile I had another great load of prunes.

I will ignore the ins and outs of the process (what an unfortunate expression-sorry!), but I did the same thing (minus the prunes) on Tuesday. Needless to say, I didn't venture out of the house on Monday or Tuesday! And in keeping with my determination to look at life from a position of gratitude, all I could imagine to be grateful for was the fact that I don't have an outside toilet. Really-there are still a lot of homes in this country that have the toilet at the bottom of the garden. So glad I don't have one of those-I would have spent two days and nights either sleeping (who slept??) outside or standing on my head to try to stop the flow.

Well-the colonoscopy on Wednesday was such a mess. It did get done (finally. After a five and a half hour wait), and I was really pleased that no cancer was found. But when I finally got home, I realized that at the Royal London these procedures were like going on an assembly line: finish one, start the next, no time in between. Why not just instal a conveyor belt, like at Chrysler, and push a button and start the next procedure? It would be faster-and the result would be the same.

I'm not going to even suggest that, since I am already persona non grata at both Bart's and the London! But it is an idea that will, I'm sure, see the light of day at some point.

So I was thinking about prunes, wasn't I? When I was a child and had a bad stomach, my mother used to come at me with a tablespoon of castor oil (prune juice came later). This was supposed to fix whatever ailed me-but what happened instead was that I threw up all over her. Talk about retribution!! After two or three times of having to wash everything, she then tried mineral oil. I was so sure she was trying to poison me!! Castor, oil, mineral oil, cod liver oil-every time she tried to entice me (really. How can you entice a child with castor oil, please tell me that!) and I threw up over her, she finally got the hint and stopped. She then tried prune juice-with the same results. After that she just let me suffer until I felt better. Wisdom at last.

The moral of that story is that you can stop anyone from coming at you with some nasty substance by throwing up all over them. They get the hint after wearing your breakfast a few times. Learn the art of projectile vomiting (obviously this advice isn't for anyone who is anorexic or bulimic-you probably do this anyway!). Learn to aim. Practice.

I'm really good at this-that is from years of practice. I hasten to add I have no eating disorders (unless you count gluttony). But if it is something (or someone) that really disagrees with me, I can puke on demand. And my aim is terrific. Usually.

Nobody will try to get you to ingest anything disgusting if they know they will end up wearing your breakfast. So practice the art of projectile vomiting. Learn to aim. Learn to hit the bullseye. People will write songs about you. They will name boulevards after you. You could end up in the Guinness Book of Records. You will be a world famous vomit meister. Why let such a talent go unrewarded?

Get the prunes. They're good cancer fighters, too (just in case you really need an added bonus). And lay off the cod liver oil.

The end of an era

Everyone knows how I feel about politicians: they are the lowest form of life-apart from certain doctors I could mention, and, of course, people from Essex. Politicians are, by and large, the lying, cheating, stealing bottom-feeders of life. You can't trust them to give you a straight answer, or to tell you the truth, or to answer any questions honestly. Trusting a politician to tell you the truth is like standing face to face with a starving tiger and trusting him not to eat you.

Of course, there are other bottom-feeders-I just mentioned some of them. We all have our examples, don't we? And-that brings me to Margaret Thatcher, who died this week at the age of 87. This really is the end of an era, at least, in British politics.

Love her or hate her (and camps are full on both sides), she wasn't someone you could easily ignore. Thatcher made a lot of mistakes when she was Prime Minister, but she did a lot of good things for the country, too. She brought back the feeling of Britain being a major player on the world stage. This, sadly, has been completely destroyed by the idiots who came after her: Major, the odious Tony Blair, and so on, right up to the constipated coalition, Pinky and Perky. We have Cameron and Clegg, two incompetents for the price of one, and neither is of any value at all. The country is down the toilet-just waiting for someone to do the final flush. Poor old Maggie would be (and probably was) horrified to see the decline in the country she loved.

Thatcher had more balls than all the politicians in Whitehall put together. She was opinionated, strong, forceful, powerful, didn't tolerate stupidity or incompetence-ballsy and gutsy, she said what she thought, and if people didn't agree with her, she didn't care. She knew what she wanted and she went after it-and woe to the people who disagreed. In spirit, temperament and personality-she was the perfect New Yorker!! No kidding!!

There is nobody in this country who has the ability to lead like Margaret Thatcher. Britain is accustomed to wimps and wishy washy leadership-so of course Thatcher was on the weak person's hit list. In fact, I don't know if we in the US have any women who have the Thatcher strength (and determination) to lead and to take the hits for what they believe needs to be done (please don't mention that pipsqueak from Alaska. The very thought of having her anywhere near the White House sent me running for the sick bag!!).

Thatcher's death and the resulting comments from other politicians brought back so many memories-she was PM when I came over here. Some memories were good, some were less good. But I certainly had a few days to consider my life in the years I have lived here. What on earth was I thinking???? No wonder I felt a bit depressed!!!

Honestly, I haven't had the time to feel very down for very long. I had to do the doctor thing this week, I am prepping for my excavation on Wednesday-and yesterday I spent a lot of time on the phone with the people at the RNOH, trying to sort them out about this knee surgery I am dreading. By 5pm it was all sorted. Finally. And I learned something else (well, I really knew this before, but I relearned it yesterday): if you want something done, or you want something straightened out, do it yourself, and don't stop until it's finished. Never let other people do something you can do (and better) yourself. The Royal National Orthopaedic Hospital is one of the best in the country (God help us all), but when the admin people get information and then pass on the wrong information, it takes hours-sometimes days, or weeks-for them to get it right. It's like the old game of telephone we used to play: what you say becomes all distorted by the time you have passed the message on to other people.

Never mind, it has all been sorted out now, and I am still terrified of what will now be a hospital stay of nearly three weeks (assuming, of course,that everything goes according to plan. And when does anything ever go according to plan?). But the doctors and all the hospital staff will be extremely careful during my stay. It seems that I am the only patient they have ever had who was born with CVID-so everyone knows who I am now. I will have to be on my best behavior. I feel like a bug under a microscope.

I saw Margaret, my GP, yesterday, and that was what sparked off all the calls to the RNOH. Someone from there had rung her-and had all the wrong information, so I told her I would fix it. I did just that, and I didn't stop until everything was sorted and everyone had the correct information. But Margaret made a comment that bothered me. She said that I am lucky to have lived this long, and to be this healthy (well, health is a relative term, isn't it?), given that I have CVID and all the genetic problems that go with it.

Well, thanks, just what I didn't need to hear-or perhaps I did need to hear, because the doctor from the RNOH said the same thing. That just reminds me that I need to stop wasting time, wasting my life, and get out there and do things. Every second feeling depressed, or victimized, or dizzy, is a second that I am wasting, and those seconds will never come again.

This will be another challenge-in a life filled with challenges: not only will I need to relearn how to walk after the surgery, but I will also need to do so without the aid of a vestibular system. And I will not be able to fall over, because that will undo all the work that is being done.

Huh. Thatcher wasn't the only one with a good set of balls. I've got a good set of my own. I don't run from challenges (usually I just fall over). I haven't lived this long to quit now. So watch this space.

Never Underestimate the Healing Power of Jack Daniel's

An unremarkable week-except for the fact that I didn't fall over, not even once!

I did go look at other storage companies, since mine has decided to increase the storage unit rent by £52 per four week period. Madness!! That is certainly a strong push for me to get everything out-and I have been really lazy in that respect. I could have bought and sold everything in there at least six times since I took the unit-and, if I really want to torture myself, I can simply ruminate on how much money I spent on storage. I think I will pass.

Next week I go to the London for a colonoscopy. Now I get to have them annually, since they found cancer last year. So I got this load of stuff I need to dissolve in water-it is supposed to clear the pipes, if you will (I will skip the gory details, especially if you are having lunch when you read this! Even I lose my appetite when I think of the gory details).

It's a bit like drinking liquid explosives. I start on the regimen on Sunday, follow it until Wednesday, when I go into the endoscopy unit at the Royal London at 9am. Then they will give me more stuff, just to make sure. Honestly-I asked Sean, my gastroenterologist, if I should go and have a colonic irrigation a few days before the procedure. He laughed at me-and told me that a colonic is just a high priced enema. For those of you who contemplate coughing up £150 or whatever-forget it, do the Fleet's for less than a fiver. Never say I didn't try to save you a few quid. And time. And aggro.

I remember last time-vividly, as it happens. I asked Sean just to give me a few shots of Jack Daniel's and be done with it-I wouldn't feel anything (hopefully). Instead, he had to hunt for a vein so he could give me some sedation. He finally found one: in my ankle. I said that he was the first ever to deflower my ankle-fortunately for me, Sean finds me very funny. And I call him by his first name-after all, he is the one who shoves the hosepipe up my rectum, so I reserve the right to be less formal!!

Speaking of hosepipes: that is what the thing looks like. It is scarily big-it looks like you should put a sprinkler attachment on it and use it in the garden. And that is the bloody big hosepipe that someone shoves up your backside for a colonoscopy. Through the hosepipe (okay, it's a massive tube-looks just like my garden hose. Maybe it is someone's garden hose), an attachment with a light on the end (and a camera) can show what is going on inside your intestines. If there is anything nasty (like there was for me last year), the doctor can cut it out, biopsy it, find out if it is cancer (or not). And-the patient really needs to be sedated.

I remember once having this procedure and not having sedation. Nobody could find a vein that they didn't break, so finally they decided to do it without anesthetic. Bad mistake! I can tell you how painful it is to have someone shoving something up the backside. Wow-after it was over, I went back to the clinic and said to the nurses that I could never understand how anyone in their right mind would ever have anal sex. Anal sex? Are you crazy? Only a masochist would actually enjoy having something shoved up their backside-unless, of course, they're British, in which case it would probably be so small they wouldn't notice. that hosepipe up my backside didn't half make my eyes water.

I naturally didn't slag off the Brits (my favorite pastime, it is so easy to do) when I mentioned about anal sex-and one of the nurses (who was gay) said that, of course, in a committed relationship...he got that far in the sentence and the rest of the staff just went into hysterics. It was really funny-although he didn't speak to me for about a year afterwards.

I will have some JD at the ready when I get home next Wednesday evening-I will need it, I'm sure. After the procedure, you get stuck in a room with a bunch of other patients, most of whom are moaning from one procedure or another...and after an hour of this, someone gives you a cup of very nasty tea (could be worse. Could be coffee. The Brits make coffee that could clean your tiles and peel the paint off your walls. Tea is safer. Usually.) and a biscuit (cookies to the rest of us). Eeek.

Sedation or no sedation, colonoscopies are interesting to watch-as long as you have a numb rear end. Who ever sees what is inside? I find it interesting, anyway-but then I am a bit of an anorak at heart (I was going to say anal, but that would be a really poor choice of words in this case!!).

I'll be fine, after three or four days of walking funny.

Resurrections R Us

Yep-still alive, although I feel like somebody hung ME on the cross this week. What a week! No wonder I didn't feel like blogging. Or doing anything except hiding.

On Friday evening I went along to a Passover Seder at the Unitarian Church. That is what I said: a Passover Seder at church. Go figure! It was interesting. There were 32 of us, and a mixture of Christians, Jews, Pagans, atheists, and everything you could imagine. Andy ran it...and said that it is a holiday to celebrate the liberation of the oppressed from slavery, so it has relevance to everyone. AND-it was more secular than religious. Some of the attendees came every year. Apparently, the big holidays (everyone's) are celebrated, and I thought that was more than cool.

I felt really tired on Saturday, and realized that I hadn't been to the gym, or done anything of note-which got me very down. Plus, it is still bitter cold outside (Happy Spring), so that didn't help the balance, which made me feel even more frustrated and upset. I ended up watching television. How very unexciting.

I really, really, really had to force myself to get up and out on Easter Sunday. I decided that I was going to church, even though I didn't feel like it-and it isn't like the Baptist church, where you are sniffed at and judged if you miss a week. You show up when you show up (at the Unitarian Church), and you are always welcome. And I forced myself to get out of the house-knowing that if I didn't go somewhere, I would just sit at home and feel sorry for myself.

The sermon was on resurrection-not only Christ's resurrection, but everyone's resurrection. Andy did talk about Christ, and the importance of his teachings on the world-but he also spoke about life changes: marriages, divorce, death, the sudden devastating impact of health disasters (and he looked straight at me when he mentioned that, so I was glad I was not only awake, but also listening!!). I got the point. Did I ever!! And afterwards, at the coffee hour, Andy wished me a happy resurrection. Cheeky, wasn't he?

I spent Monday and yesterday at home, sleeping much of the time (noisy prat upstairs kept me awake), but also feeling very, very low. I couldn't figure out why, since the resurrection sermon really got to me...and I wish I had a copy of it so I could read it every time I felt frustrated with the speed (or lack thereof) of anything resembling recovery.

Well. The short version is: every April I am very depressed, and I realized last night that April was when I walked out on my marriage (after so many years of misery, I surprised myself by actually leaving) and ran off back home, only to return two years later-in April. The first two days of April hold really bad memories-so I cope (badly) by hibernating and doing nothing, waiting for the two days and the crappy mood to pass.

It took all my strength and resolve to actually leave the house this morning and get over here to the library to get online. It probably sounds lame, but I knew I had to take some sort of action to get myself back on track-so I dragged myself up - and here I am. I still feel crappy-but I also know very well that the longer I stay in bed, and the longer I remain inactive, the longer it will take to get any more than 50% of balance back-because that is the way the brain works. No challenges-even for a day-or even for half a day-and the brain reverts back to before, and no neural pathways are created. I can feel the difference-even after two days of inactivity.

I have to frighten myself into action-if I don't do that, I will be this way forever-and I really will feel like a cripple. So-onward, upward, forward-and sometimes on my face!-I go. I can decide to be miserable next April-or I can decide that enough is more than enough, and no more of my valuable time-not to mention my valuable life-will be spent on ruminating on the past. It was shitty enough without my constantly dwelling on it. So resurrection is a good idea, I believe. Attitude is everything.

By the way, at the Seder dinner there were matzo balls-they were like lead torpedoes, and I think they might still be in my stomach! But they were delicious. Thanks to the internet, I have a recipe. There might be a lot of swearing, but I am going to try to make a batch. Wish me luck that I don't poison myself! LOL-they were almost as good as Kettle Chips (okay, I will leave the Kettle Chips alone for awhile).

If we are able to talk ourselves into suffering-we must also be able to talk ourselves out of it. Time to walk. Time to kick some serious ass.