Wednesday, 13 August 2014

Sex, politics, money and religion

I put sex first-that will grab your attention.

I was always taught not to discuss any of the above topics, because it will only lead to fights. Everyone thinks differently. Well...I've already talked about politics (politicians are the world's bottom-feeders-they come out of the womb lying, and they've been lying ever since). Money: it would be so lovely to have some! Religion? I'm allergic to religion and churches. I used to sing in the Presbyterian Church choir when I was growing up, and that was enough religion to put me off forever.

Every time I walk past a church I break out in hives. Even the Unitarian Church-I walk through the door and I start to itch. What a great allergy to have (in my opinion, of course).

As for sex, it's been so long since I had any, I forgot who gets tied up.

So there you are, the world's biggest contentious topics, all sorted out very nicely.

All weekend I was very down, since it was exactly four years (on Saturday) that I ended up unconscious (and nearly died), thanks to the incompetent doctors. But that is a story you have already heard-several times, probably. I got through it, and when I posted l was trying to make light of it. However-there isn't really any way to make light of some idiots destroying my life. But that doesn't stop me from trying.

Just when I thought I was going to be able to handle things better, on Monday afternoon John (my nurse) called me. I was already not in a happy place, and then he informed me that the sputum sample I left two weeks ago (nice gift for John: spitting into a cup so he could send it to the lab to be analyzed) showed - pseudomonas. Again. Just like four years ago. I know that once the bug is present, it never goes away. But all the antibiotics I take every day should-allegedly-keep the numbers way down. Only this time they didn't.

So where am I? I'm at home, waiting for transport to take me to the Royal London for a two week course of intravenous antibiotics. Again. I did say to John that they will now have another chance to kill me; they failed miserably in 2010. So we will see. And-the building is a new one, just completed two years ago, costing many millions of pounds-would you believe there is something they forgot (forgot?????) to include: wi-fi. There is NO wi-fi on the ward. I am already prepared to get my little self up and dressed and -once they've given me the armful of toxic substances-to walk outside and find an internet cafe. I will be found outside in Whitechapel, wandering around, sitting in Starbucks having coffee. I'm allergic to hospitals, too!

Yesterday morning I heard on the news that Robin Williams committed suicide. I was very upset; I thought he was incredibly talented. Not all his jokes made me laugh-but not all my jokes make anyone else laugh, either. Still, the man was a comic genius. The comedy world is poorer for his passing.

I am still wondering why, with all his celebrity, and talent, and money, and love from family and friends, Williams still chose to end his life. It saddened me, because there have been times in the last four years that the thought crossed my mind-briefly, but when I was unable to get out of bed for the first two years, I didn't think I could survive as a semi-vegetable. And I still get depressed when I suddenly fall over, or I reach for something and miss it entirely-it still gets me down. The difference is that I refuse to give up, so when I fall I get up and swear (and get the bandages, because there always seems to be blood loss).

I see Dr. Dimples in September, and I know he will tell me that he is discharging me from the neurology clinic because I will have come as far as I am likely to go. Well, that's fine for him to say. I'm not quitting. I'm not giving up. I'll just keep bleeding...

Sunday, 10 August 2014

Five woks and a nutcracker

This last week was the lead-in for yesterday: four years to the day since three cretins refused to stop gentamicin, and they succeeded in destroying my life. Actually, they destroyed my life as I knew it. I need to add that, since I am having to come to terms with it four years later. It has been a very tough week.

Yesterday was really bad. I didn't know what to do with myself; I didn't feel like cleaning (eeesh, I feel like I am always cleaning-especially when stressed), I didn't even go for the Kettle Chips. I must have really been in bad shape. I struggle to overcome the anger, hatred and bitterness I felt for three out of those four years-and, hey, some people hang onto things forever. I know it is unhealthy and unhelpful-I'm working on it. Some days are better than others. Yesterday wasn't one of them.

I was cleaning the kitchen on Friday (you can see I don't have a life, can't you?) and came across some woks. My sister used to tease me about having six woks: nobody needs six woks, what are you doing, opening a restaurant? But I am always ready to move on-wherever I'm living, I seem to be poised and ready to move if somewhere else looks like it might be better. And, every time I move, I'm so loaded with boxes that I can never find anything. So-actually, we are talking about five woks, not six (sorry, Jessie-close, though). One wok is still in storage-along with most of the rest of my life-and four were at home.

I couldn't palm off a wok no matter how much I tried. I gave one to the charity shop-they were delighted, but not as delighted as I was! And Claire decided to take one; she said that, since she is now single, she can cook what she wants, and she wants to learn how to stir-fry without the danger of burning the house down. I did offer Sara one-but she said that if she couldn't microwave it, she wouldn't eat it. That, she stated, is why someone invented the microwave-and the restaurant. So I now have two-and one is a mini-wok, so it doesn't count.

I had an incredible number of glasses. Who needs about sixty glasses? I collected them over the years: wine glasses, tumblers, rocks glasses, any number of glasses-I don't know anyone who drinks that much! So, off to the charity shop: a wok, dozens of glasses, saucepans, all kinds of kitchen stuff, and several nutcrackers. Okay, so who needs five nutcrackers? I don't even use one. I use a hammer. And it works better than any nutcracker I have ever used. Just use a hammer. Bang, wallop, Bob's your uncle: job done.

I remember years ago, in the Middle Ages sometime-I was an antiques dealer. I used to go around all the flea markets, and the antique markets, and one day I was looking in the window of a shop near mine and I had to go in and have a look. There were two items that I found really intriguing: one was (I was told) and old electroshock machine. I did ask the dealer (whom I knew) if it still worked, and he offered to try it on me. Er...no thanks, I said. And what is the other thing-the thing that looks like a medieval torture device?

He said that is really what it was: it was a castrating machine. It wasn't electric; it worked on a ratchet system. Great. I thought every woman in an abusive relationship should have one. In fact, I said I thought every woman should have one. You never know when it will come in handy, do you? But if you slip, it doesn't half hurt your thumbs. I thought it was phenomenal-to this day I wish I had bought it. Would I have sold it one? Hell, no. Now that's what I call a nutcracker.

Monday, 4 August 2014

the Vomit List: everyone should have one

I've had a really rough time. All the things that make standing upright without toppling over are things that appeared: extreme heat, rain, barometric pressure changes, sleeplessness, aggravation- the usual. So I've been struggling. But-in a few weeks time, the weather will have changed-then I can complain about cold and damp. Honestly, sometimes you just can't win.

Debbie has gone back to Oz. We all met on Friday for dinner, and we decided to make it a very low-key affair: no fuss, no fanfare, and who knows? She might be back at some point. What was interesting for me was the fact that if Claire's marriage hadn't exploded when it did (or, rather, imploded), we wouldn't have known anything about it. So three reprobates ended up supporting the fourth. Considering that we only really got together once a year, that was a pretty good outcome, I'd say.

We went for Italian, and the wine flowed very nicely. We were ordering,and Deb asked for a bowl of-okra. Ewww, we all went: okra! Nasty, nasty okra. Even the waiter looked at all our faces and said to Deb, "you're not from around here, are you?"

I said I have had what I call a "vomit list" since I was a child. It's a list of food that I will not eat-because even the thought of it makes me want to vomit. So we all named and shamed our least favorite and most hated foods. Lima beans (in this country known as broad beans). Yuck. Nasty. Mushy peas-whoever thought of mushing peas? Ewww...Black pudding. That is a biggie. I first discovered it when I came to live in this country. It's made with someone's blood. I don't know whose blood, but someone's blood. How can anyone eat something like that? Maybe someone who has been watching too many episodes of True Blood.  Oh, well...for Debbie it was bananas (of course it was; she loves okra, what more can I say?). Claire hates avocados-just the sight of guacamole makes her heave. And Sara and I are in agreement: okra is number one on the vomit list. Does okra belong on the plate? No, it should be put down the toilet.

Okra tastes like stringy, slimy, boiled nylon. Okra looks like snot.

So Debbie was enjoying her bowl of snot, and the rest of us were avoiding looking; instead, we just drank more wine. Lots more wine. And  I'm happy to say that I was absolutely fine the next day. I really must drink more wine more often...good excuse, anyway.

Both Claire and Sara are leaving the country at the end of August-so we will, of course, have another good knees-up before they go. We all came together in a crisis-we all made some life decisions that we wouldn't have made until we were forced to do so. Life has a funny way of slamming you with stuff that you just have to handle. It'll keep slamming you until you do handle it...

I've had enormous trouble because next Saturday will mark exactly four years (to the day) since gentamicin wrecked my life-or, rather, my life as I knew it. If I could just press a rewind button and go back four years and force the idiot doctors to remove the cannula from my arm until they could come up with something other than the poison they gave me, I would hit rewind in a heartbeat. But I can't do that; I'm left with all the destruction, and I need to learn how to deal with it.

I do think back. I think back all the time. I've had people tell me how courageous I am, and what an inspiration I am. Personally, I would trade all that for having my four years back. But-I have to learn to deal with the things that are right in front of me, rather than thinking about how things could have (should have) been. Looking back is, I think, one of the primary reasons for depression. And who needs that? Does it help? Of course it doesn't - depression just keeps us from living the best life we can live.

There is a huge difference between acceptance and resignation. I'm still at the resignation stage: what has happened has happened, nothing I can do now can change it, I'm resigned to having no vestibular system, resigned to the fact that there are things I probably will never be able to accomplish.

Acceptance? Hell, no. I will be seeing Dr. Dimples next month, and he will discharge me from the neurology clinic-because he told me last year that I will have come as far as I will ever go, and no further. Well-perhaps I will tell him that I did the Race for Life and see what he says then.

I'm still improving, even though improvement has slowed dramatically. I'm not dead yet-therefore I am not giving up just yet. The people who succeed are the ones who never give up-who look at the naysayers and say yeah, yeah, whatever-and just keep going.

I guess I have grown a lot stronger in the last four years-out of necessity more than anything else. And we will see how I get on when it is suddenly next Saturday. How positive will I be then? I will let you know. One thing I DO know is this: whatever you want to accomplish, whatever you want to do, don't listen to anyone else. Keep at it. Keep putting one foot in front of the other (even, if like me, you topple over every once in awhile).The naysayers? Just keep thinking that, if nothing else, you will outlive them all. Just lay off the okra.