I haven't died yet. I have melted, wilted, and left puddles of sweat all over London-but I haven't died. Pretty good, I'd say-except for the sweat.
This is the first time since I started this blog that I have taken so long to write-I've missed it, too. But the last 11 or 12 days have been a bit tough. And I seem to have developed the British disease-not the rude, obnoxious braindead stuff, thank goodness, but the irresistible need to bang on constantly about the weather. It's always the weather-or football-everyone seems preoccupied with one or the other. Go figure. And everyone I know back home will laugh when I say that it has been a brutal two weeks, because it has been in the upper 80s-and 90s-and that is unheard of here. People can tell you when we had a real summer: 1976, way before I got here, and 2006 (very hot). I said to someone the other day that in 2025 everyone will be saying "do you remember the summer of 2013?". Funny. Boring, but funny.
Add to all this that I never tan. I stopped looking at people's chests-a good thing, because I'm not a perv, I just looked and felt a bit envious-but I have noticed people with huge boobs and huge stomachs-and that's just the men!! Some look like they have swallowed not only the football, but the whole team. It's amazing how sunlight and heat create creepiness...and I do not tan. I turn the color of beetroot, suffer (never in silence, are you kidding?), then peel...and then I revert back to being so pale that I look like I am ready for embalming. Ewww...there is no justice.
Well, I dropped myself in the pile of poo this week-in a big way. And, between the Tamoxifen's side effects and the heat, all I did was what was absolutely necessary: the doctors, the dentist, pre-admission tests at the orthopaedic hospital (I go in at the end of next week), and getting the house ready for my friend to have her holiday from cats, children and her family. She gets to clean and cook, but also to shop and go to museums. A good deal for both of us...
I dropped myself in it because I am indirectly responsible for Andy (the minister) sacking David (he of the let's do a mastectomy film and put it on YouTube) as pastoral associate. Apparently, David had guidelines he was supposed to follow-and he ignored them. Add to this the fact that, when he was visiting, he spent all his time telling me about his depression, suicidal tendencies, and bipolar disorder-for which he takes no medication. So Andy said, that is it, no more. I think he's right to sack the man (it was a voluntary job, unpaid) . Now David is threatening to sue Andy for defamation, and he tells me that I am responsible, and he is spreading the most incredibly nasty (and untrue) stories to anyone who will listen. I had the misfortune to take a call from David last week, and he was very threatening-I advised him (forcefully, I might add) to abandon his vicious and sick vendetta...but he won't do that. Instead, he wants his ten pints of blood. If he can't get Andy's-mine will do.
I think this experience has finally taught me about the value of setting boundaries. My ex-husband used to say that if there was one nutcase in all of London, he would find me (I did remind him that I married him, and that didn't go down very well...but I knew what he meant). Is it empathy? Sympathy? Compassion? Total stupidity? Perhaps a bit of all of the above.
Now I just shut up, and I don't offer sympathy to anyone. Just-shut up, keep my head down, and keep my radar topped up so that if I see a wacko I don't get tempted to be sympathetic. Instead, I will give in to the temptation to run a mile-in the opposite direction!!
There will always be people around who have lost their marbles. The trick is to recognize them-and to run like Hell!!!
Anyway, I'm back. I should probably invest in a mask...
Tuesday, 30 July 2013
Friday, 19 July 2013
And another thing-of vital importance
It's only vitally important if you are a Star Trek fan.
Tomorrow at the Unitarian Church in Islington a group of Star Trek fans (including Reverend Andy, and you would never find that with the Baptists, would you?) are gathering to watch old episodes of Star Trek.
Is there some deep, profound reason for this meeting? Of course not. We just like Star Trek (Spock is my all time favorite, in case you are interested. Or not. But there it is anyway).
It should be all good fun: no air conditioning, of course, but good fun anyway. I need to find my "beam me up, Scotty" t shirt.
What can one say? Easy: live long and prosper....
Tomorrow at the Unitarian Church in Islington a group of Star Trek fans (including Reverend Andy, and you would never find that with the Baptists, would you?) are gathering to watch old episodes of Star Trek.
Is there some deep, profound reason for this meeting? Of course not. We just like Star Trek (Spock is my all time favorite, in case you are interested. Or not. But there it is anyway).
It should be all good fun: no air conditioning, of course, but good fun anyway. I need to find my "beam me up, Scotty" t shirt.
What can one say? Easy: live long and prosper....
Boiling, baking and frying in Britain
I know that my friends in the US will be laughing at me when I say that we have had a heat wave-and by heat wave, I mean that for over a week it has been well over 80F-and into the low 90s. Compared to New York, and Florida, it's probably wintry!! But here, in the land of no (or very little) air conditioning, it is like being fried in Hell. No kidding. I would say that you can find me by following a trail of sweat, but that goes for just about everyone else, too.
You can find me by following a trail of tea and coffee-my balance has gone out the window with the changes in temperature and barometric pressure. Add to that the really strong sunlight, and I have a lot of trouble seeing six inches in front of me. It probably makes for good entertainment when I am trying to walk outside!!
I've been doing the doctor thing all week-and also been doing the cancer centre thing, too. I saw my Macmillan nurse (Fiona) yesterday, and she was just great. These women are so well trained to deal with all kinds of questions-I recommend any cancer patients contacting Macmillan as soon as they are diagnosed. I waited ages after surgery to do that-now I wish I had made the call sooner.
It is eight weeks today since I had the surgery. I wouldn't exactly call that a welcome anniversary-but I'm glad it is today and not eight weeks ago. I wouldn't like to ever have to go through that again. Ever. And, actually, I won't have to!! So there is always a silver lining to every tragedy. Sometimes it takes a lot of looking before you find it.
I looked yesterday. I came back from seeing Fiona, and I made a big mug of coffee (I drink tea everywhere else; English people make coffee that can strip the paint off walls and deep clean your tiled floor. Probably dissolve it, too). Then-I looked.
Most of the swelling and redness has gone, and I am left with some puckering and swelling in the corners, underneath the armpits. There is, obviously, a huge scar from one armpit across my chest, and it stops under the other armpit. When I saw Margaret (my GP, whom I will now call "Doc", since I am meeting a lot of Margarets in the cancer centre), we discussed reconstruction. And it will be risky for me because of the immune deficiency: the possibility of infection is very high. So I have until December to consider my options.
At the moment, I am cleaning. I get depressed, I clean. So my place will be very clear before I go into the hospital for stage 2: my architectural redesign of my knee (in other words, a probable knee replacement). I really prefer the term "architectural redesign"; it sounds better than knee replacement-and I won't know if that is what will be done until I wake in the recovery room. The extent of the damage will not be obvious until Mr. Skinner opens up the leg and takes a look. So-no idea. I just asked him not to remove my leg-and he thought that was funny. Good thing I know him for a long time: he knows when I am joking. Usually.
My friend from up north will have a London holiday from her family-and I will have another hospital holiday. Hospital food: yum. I will probably lose the kilo I've gained (under duress) and then I will be lectured again. Never mind. At least I will have a rest from the neighbor from Hell upstairs. Like I said: silver lining.
That is one of many things that cancer-and the fear of dying from cancer-has taught me: be less critical and judgmental. Cynicism has been part of my personality for as long as I can remember-and old habits die hard. I'm working on it, though. I'm working on it.
I'm going to see a homeopath on Monday. I spoke with my friend Dani, who is an acupuncturist-I see her rarely now, since I haven't been travelling much since 2010. But we spoke about homeopathy and all the various odd ailments I tend to pick up (thanks to CVID). I will happily post after the consultation and give you my take on it all. But I had homeopathy many years ago, and I have to say that it works on many things. And Anil is a fourth generation homeopath: he is very experienced and well trained, not like the people who take a weekend course and call themselves professionals. So-I'll give you the heads up next week.
By September I will have had all the surgery and consultations I can handle! I will only need repairs to my cartilage on my left knee-but that will be done in the spring, and by keyhole surgery. I am not allowed to fall down again after mid-August-so that will be funny, being on crutches and having no balance system to help.
Like I said last time: I may be down, but I am not out. I may be baking, but I am not broken. When I go (hopefully in about 30 or 40+ years), they can put that on my headstone.
I would say I'm like the Energizer bunny-but he turns around in circles, makes a lot of noise-and isn't he really, really annoying!!
You can find me by following a trail of tea and coffee-my balance has gone out the window with the changes in temperature and barometric pressure. Add to that the really strong sunlight, and I have a lot of trouble seeing six inches in front of me. It probably makes for good entertainment when I am trying to walk outside!!
I've been doing the doctor thing all week-and also been doing the cancer centre thing, too. I saw my Macmillan nurse (Fiona) yesterday, and she was just great. These women are so well trained to deal with all kinds of questions-I recommend any cancer patients contacting Macmillan as soon as they are diagnosed. I waited ages after surgery to do that-now I wish I had made the call sooner.
It is eight weeks today since I had the surgery. I wouldn't exactly call that a welcome anniversary-but I'm glad it is today and not eight weeks ago. I wouldn't like to ever have to go through that again. Ever. And, actually, I won't have to!! So there is always a silver lining to every tragedy. Sometimes it takes a lot of looking before you find it.
I looked yesterday. I came back from seeing Fiona, and I made a big mug of coffee (I drink tea everywhere else; English people make coffee that can strip the paint off walls and deep clean your tiled floor. Probably dissolve it, too). Then-I looked.
Most of the swelling and redness has gone, and I am left with some puckering and swelling in the corners, underneath the armpits. There is, obviously, a huge scar from one armpit across my chest, and it stops under the other armpit. When I saw Margaret (my GP, whom I will now call "Doc", since I am meeting a lot of Margarets in the cancer centre), we discussed reconstruction. And it will be risky for me because of the immune deficiency: the possibility of infection is very high. So I have until December to consider my options.
At the moment, I am cleaning. I get depressed, I clean. So my place will be very clear before I go into the hospital for stage 2: my architectural redesign of my knee (in other words, a probable knee replacement). I really prefer the term "architectural redesign"; it sounds better than knee replacement-and I won't know if that is what will be done until I wake in the recovery room. The extent of the damage will not be obvious until Mr. Skinner opens up the leg and takes a look. So-no idea. I just asked him not to remove my leg-and he thought that was funny. Good thing I know him for a long time: he knows when I am joking. Usually.
My friend from up north will have a London holiday from her family-and I will have another hospital holiday. Hospital food: yum. I will probably lose the kilo I've gained (under duress) and then I will be lectured again. Never mind. At least I will have a rest from the neighbor from Hell upstairs. Like I said: silver lining.
That is one of many things that cancer-and the fear of dying from cancer-has taught me: be less critical and judgmental. Cynicism has been part of my personality for as long as I can remember-and old habits die hard. I'm working on it, though. I'm working on it.
I'm going to see a homeopath on Monday. I spoke with my friend Dani, who is an acupuncturist-I see her rarely now, since I haven't been travelling much since 2010. But we spoke about homeopathy and all the various odd ailments I tend to pick up (thanks to CVID). I will happily post after the consultation and give you my take on it all. But I had homeopathy many years ago, and I have to say that it works on many things. And Anil is a fourth generation homeopath: he is very experienced and well trained, not like the people who take a weekend course and call themselves professionals. So-I'll give you the heads up next week.
By September I will have had all the surgery and consultations I can handle! I will only need repairs to my cartilage on my left knee-but that will be done in the spring, and by keyhole surgery. I am not allowed to fall down again after mid-August-so that will be funny, being on crutches and having no balance system to help.
Like I said last time: I may be down, but I am not out. I may be baking, but I am not broken. When I go (hopefully in about 30 or 40+ years), they can put that on my headstone.
I would say I'm like the Energizer bunny-but he turns around in circles, makes a lot of noise-and isn't he really, really annoying!!
Sunday, 14 July 2013
Close encounters of the weird kind
I still haven't died. And-I haven't been bone idle, either. We've had a heat wave. It's been in the 80s-and up to 90+- in the last two weeks, and continues to be so hot I feel like someone has put me in a toaster while I wasn't looking.
I am not good with heat. If it goes above 68F I want to leave town. Or stand in a cold shower until it gets cooler. And my hair frizzes, I melt...well, you get the idea. Add to that the fact that my balance and vision go completely out the window-and it's no wonder I am grumpy and I don't see well enough to go online. But-this is England, and this heat will pass-and then everyone (me included) will be moaning about the cold and wet. I've been here too long; I seem to have contracted the British disease of constantly moaning about the weather!
The thing is, once we have something that looks like sunshine-and heat, too-everyone calls in sick, and people swarm to the parks and strip off to bake, fry, turn beet red...and people who should know better and never show any flesh show entirely too much. I was walking down the street, minding my own business, trying to stay out of everyone's way (as I do), and this huge woman came hurling toward me. I do mean huge: she was like a brick outhouse (over here they say something else, but I am being polite. For once). Cockney accent (which I understand, after all these years). Swearing like a trooper. Skinny top, no bra, and breasts like cow's udders. The very person who should never go braless-and there she was, swinging in the wind. If I hadn't swerved, she would have hit me with one of her breasts and probably knocked me through a glass window. Oh-and she had tattoos. Everywhere- at least, everywhere you could see. From wrists to shoulders, she was covered. I had to avert my eyes-but I really wanted to see what was printed all over her arms! Really-she was like a longshoreman with tits. And a newspaper vendor standing near me said-loudly-it's enough to put me off my tea!! I laughed so hard, I nearly fell over.
Did I mention she had some man with her? Tattoos. Big mouth. And-a gut that looked like he had swallowed a basketball. In fact, it looked like he had swallowed the whole team. Actually, it would have been hilarious if it hadn't been so pathetic.
Tempers are very short here at the best of times. But in central London yesterday, fights were breaking out. Of course, that happens at every football match-but it was happening in the park, and in the street, and on the bus. I was glad to get home and close the door behind me. Let them all kill each other, but leave me out of it.
It is going to be hot like this for at least another week or so-and I will tell you, it's very difficult for me...but I just keep going, keep walking, even though I nearly fall over - and I keep sweating, which isn't a good look, trust me!!
I may be down, but I'm not out. I'm baking, but not done yet. It takes more than 90F to keep me from doing what I need to do. At least I don't have to suffer from cow's udders-that must be really painful, especially in high winds!!
I am not good with heat. If it goes above 68F I want to leave town. Or stand in a cold shower until it gets cooler. And my hair frizzes, I melt...well, you get the idea. Add to that the fact that my balance and vision go completely out the window-and it's no wonder I am grumpy and I don't see well enough to go online. But-this is England, and this heat will pass-and then everyone (me included) will be moaning about the cold and wet. I've been here too long; I seem to have contracted the British disease of constantly moaning about the weather!
The thing is, once we have something that looks like sunshine-and heat, too-everyone calls in sick, and people swarm to the parks and strip off to bake, fry, turn beet red...and people who should know better and never show any flesh show entirely too much. I was walking down the street, minding my own business, trying to stay out of everyone's way (as I do), and this huge woman came hurling toward me. I do mean huge: she was like a brick outhouse (over here they say something else, but I am being polite. For once). Cockney accent (which I understand, after all these years). Swearing like a trooper. Skinny top, no bra, and breasts like cow's udders. The very person who should never go braless-and there she was, swinging in the wind. If I hadn't swerved, she would have hit me with one of her breasts and probably knocked me through a glass window. Oh-and she had tattoos. Everywhere- at least, everywhere you could see. From wrists to shoulders, she was covered. I had to avert my eyes-but I really wanted to see what was printed all over her arms! Really-she was like a longshoreman with tits. And a newspaper vendor standing near me said-loudly-it's enough to put me off my tea!! I laughed so hard, I nearly fell over.
Did I mention she had some man with her? Tattoos. Big mouth. And-a gut that looked like he had swallowed a basketball. In fact, it looked like he had swallowed the whole team. Actually, it would have been hilarious if it hadn't been so pathetic.
Tempers are very short here at the best of times. But in central London yesterday, fights were breaking out. Of course, that happens at every football match-but it was happening in the park, and in the street, and on the bus. I was glad to get home and close the door behind me. Let them all kill each other, but leave me out of it.
It is going to be hot like this for at least another week or so-and I will tell you, it's very difficult for me...but I just keep going, keep walking, even though I nearly fall over - and I keep sweating, which isn't a good look, trust me!!
I may be down, but I'm not out. I'm baking, but not done yet. It takes more than 90F to keep me from doing what I need to do. At least I don't have to suffer from cow's udders-that must be really painful, especially in high winds!!
Sunday, 7 July 2013
Bisphosphonates, saggy bums, and droopy other bits
I haven't died-or been abducted, or been back in hospital, risking them killing me this time. But-when it takes this long to get back to my blog, you know that something has gone very wrong.
First things first: the last post-which, I understand, repeated about half a dozen times. Sorry! I was at the library, as usual-and the library computers are used by everyone. Apart from the fact that they take so much time to power up, you could eat a five course meal and do the washing up before you can get online, the school kids use them. They also eat while online-so there are always interesting materials on the keyboards: peanut butter, jam, bread crumbs, coke (the kind you drink, not the other kind-at least, not that I can see). There are other biologicals of unknown origin-and I mean, unknown-and very sticky. So the keys stick. And I always use Purell, the hand sanitizer of choice of the hospitals, afterward. I use so much Purell, I think the stock must have tripled!!
As difficult as it is to use my own laptop, I am doing that from now on-nobody needs to hear all the swearing when I hit the wrong key-at least, my computer is clean. And fast (ish). No more gooey gunge to scrape off!!
I was going to get on and fix the blog after the weekend-but I ended up doing the hospital rounds again, as I do every few months. The good people at the Royal London decided to give me an intravenous injection of something called "bisphosphonates" (try saying that quickly after a couple of glasses of wine!); these protect the bones against osteoporosis. This is what happens when you are born with CVID: you get all kinds of interesting illnesses, and really strange (and lethal) medications. I suspect that, since they failed to kill me with gentamicin (they came close), they figured they would give me the bis-whatsits. The side effects, according to the insert that comes in the box with the drug, says "feeling flu-ish, aching bones and joints". Huh.
I always read the inserts now. I want to know what to expect, even if it never happens. Of course, it would be a good idea to read the information before taking the drug. Did I? Of course not. So I spent the next three days in bed, in excruciating pain, having a terrible headache, chills, and feeling like my bones were going to explode. And that's what they call feeling "Flu-ish"!
By yesterday I was fed up with feeling sick, and I had to go to Covent Garden, to the Apple Store, to have my IPhone fixed. I was well enough to get there-and I couldn't believe how crowded it was. Another duh moment: Saturdays are shopping days. Ick. All kinds of people were crashing into me. Really, I should invest in shoulder and knee pads! Not a lovely look but at least I wouldn't be bruised.
In case you wondered, that is where the saggy bums come in. It has been really hot here, so people are no longer covering up. And some of them should do exactly that. They sag, they droop, and there are men walking around who have guts the size of bowling balls hanging over their belts. And they call us the fattest people in the West! I knew that would make you smile: the Brits are the fattest in Europe, and, per capita, they are at least as fat as we are. I had a good look around-as I was trying to stay upright, of course-and I can honestly say that when the Brits call us obese, the words "pot", "kettle" and "black" spring immediately to mind. That knowledge should make all Americans smile.
And I always end up sitting next to one of them-I'm surprised I still have two functioning legs!!
Now here's a question: why do men always check out the chest area whenever they look at a woman? They don't think we notice-but we do. Face first (occasionally) -then straight to the chest. But when we look at men, we look at the face, we don't immediately stare at the groin. That would be rude. We would call those people perverts.
There is food for thought until next time-which will be sooner, rather than later. I'm stopping before I throw this machine out the window. Besides-it's 80F, and both machine and I are frying.
.
First things first: the last post-which, I understand, repeated about half a dozen times. Sorry! I was at the library, as usual-and the library computers are used by everyone. Apart from the fact that they take so much time to power up, you could eat a five course meal and do the washing up before you can get online, the school kids use them. They also eat while online-so there are always interesting materials on the keyboards: peanut butter, jam, bread crumbs, coke (the kind you drink, not the other kind-at least, not that I can see). There are other biologicals of unknown origin-and I mean, unknown-and very sticky. So the keys stick. And I always use Purell, the hand sanitizer of choice of the hospitals, afterward. I use so much Purell, I think the stock must have tripled!!
As difficult as it is to use my own laptop, I am doing that from now on-nobody needs to hear all the swearing when I hit the wrong key-at least, my computer is clean. And fast (ish). No more gooey gunge to scrape off!!
I was going to get on and fix the blog after the weekend-but I ended up doing the hospital rounds again, as I do every few months. The good people at the Royal London decided to give me an intravenous injection of something called "bisphosphonates" (try saying that quickly after a couple of glasses of wine!); these protect the bones against osteoporosis. This is what happens when you are born with CVID: you get all kinds of interesting illnesses, and really strange (and lethal) medications. I suspect that, since they failed to kill me with gentamicin (they came close), they figured they would give me the bis-whatsits. The side effects, according to the insert that comes in the box with the drug, says "feeling flu-ish, aching bones and joints". Huh.
I always read the inserts now. I want to know what to expect, even if it never happens. Of course, it would be a good idea to read the information before taking the drug. Did I? Of course not. So I spent the next three days in bed, in excruciating pain, having a terrible headache, chills, and feeling like my bones were going to explode. And that's what they call feeling "Flu-ish"!
By yesterday I was fed up with feeling sick, and I had to go to Covent Garden, to the Apple Store, to have my IPhone fixed. I was well enough to get there-and I couldn't believe how crowded it was. Another duh moment: Saturdays are shopping days. Ick. All kinds of people were crashing into me. Really, I should invest in shoulder and knee pads! Not a lovely look but at least I wouldn't be bruised.
In case you wondered, that is where the saggy bums come in. It has been really hot here, so people are no longer covering up. And some of them should do exactly that. They sag, they droop, and there are men walking around who have guts the size of bowling balls hanging over their belts. And they call us the fattest people in the West! I knew that would make you smile: the Brits are the fattest in Europe, and, per capita, they are at least as fat as we are. I had a good look around-as I was trying to stay upright, of course-and I can honestly say that when the Brits call us obese, the words "pot", "kettle" and "black" spring immediately to mind. That knowledge should make all Americans smile.
And I always end up sitting next to one of them-I'm surprised I still have two functioning legs!!
Now here's a question: why do men always check out the chest area whenever they look at a woman? They don't think we notice-but we do. Face first (occasionally) -then straight to the chest. But when we look at men, we look at the face, we don't immediately stare at the groin. That would be rude. We would call those people perverts.
There is food for thought until next time-which will be sooner, rather than later. I'm stopping before I throw this machine out the window. Besides-it's 80F, and both machine and I are frying.
.
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