Ever feel like you're walking on a tightrope,10000 feet above the ground, with no safety net-and a fear of heights?

 And that's how it felt over the past two months (nearly) since I last wrote. It has been a very trying few weeks. I must admit, there were times-many times!-when I just wanted to walk away and go somewhere in the middle of nowhere. I did have to practice a little restraint. So now I will give you a quick (am I ever quick?) overview.

I'm not sure if I told you about my front door. Three months ago (soon to be four months ago) I was coming back from the hospital, very sick with flu that turned into pneumonia. I'd locked my front door, collapsed on the bedroom floor, and lay there for four hours-until the fire brigade had to break down the door so the paramedics could get to me. The landlord, who had everyone's keys (it's the law, apparently. But then, so is murder, and we know how well that is handled), lost (or stole) the key. These idiots - who are supposed to make sure that disabled people are safe and secure, LOST the key.

I'm on an elbow crutch, I just had cancer surgery six months ago, and I'm considered to be very vulnerable. I don't consider myself disabled at all. But that's a story for another time.

Nearly four months later, the door has still only been patched up-it's broken, the door frame is broken (strong, these firefighters), and nothing is being done about it. And they picked on the wrong person. I'm a fighter, and I contacted everyone I could think of: the MP, the Labour councillor, the repairs team (repeatedly. I know most of them by name now-and they're all still as totally useless as  they were at the beginning of February.), the housing people-and all that I accomplished was showing  them firsthand how useless, hopeless, helpless and incompetent they are. So I went to the Ombudsman.

Now, there is a housing ombudsman who handles all manner of housing disputes. I contacted them two years ago, and again at the beginning of last year. They found in my favor both times, and the landlord was fined. It made absolutely no difference-but this year the law changed.

If the housing ombudsman finds in my favor  this time, they have to take the action that is given by the ombudsman. It's now against the law to do nothing, and the landlord will be given a very steep fine if they don't do what they're told to do. I spoke with the ombudsman on Friday, sent photos, explained everything, and the person I spoke to was shocked by the photos and the landlord's refusal to provide a new door. When I told the claim handler that the landlord LOST they keys, he said that I shouldn't worry. They will take action. How long will it take to be resolved? At this point, your guess is as good as mine.

Apart from the door, other things have kept me busy over the last eight weeks. You know that I've had a chemo port in my chest for over 12 years, and last year some bad tempered idiot called Dylan smashed it while doing an ultrasound. It was replaced in September. and the operation was torture, because the radiologist didn't give me enough sedation. Never again, I said at that time. Oops! Never again-until now, that is.

The port has kinked and isn't working. And my veins are practically nonexistent in one arm, so-the current port has to be removed. I've only been fighting and chasing that up for over a month. The port is due to be removed on Friday; a new port will be inserted on the following Friday. Trust me when I tell you that they're not going to screw around with me this time. 

And that is an update-of sorts-of the time it's been since I last wrote. Is there more? Of course there's more, there always is! If I can write before Friday, I'll update you on the rest. If not, I will write after the offending port is removed. I'll only be able to use one arm for a few days, so I'll be writing with my weaker hand. There will be a lot of mistakes and loads of swearing-but hopefully whoever is doing the removal is someone who isn't going to make a total mess because he will know what he's doing.

I almost would prefer walking on a tightrope. Almost. Then again, maybe not! 

Which one is the monkey and which one is the organ grinder?

 It's really so difficult to tell the difference these days. Just look at the governments- everywhere. Honestly, we should have all put monkeys in charge-and I mean real monkeys. They're much more intelligent, more clever, more useful, less antagonistic and egoistic-and, let's face it, they're much better looking. 

You can tell that it's been a rough time since last wrote. I had the super flu-maybe the super duper flu-and I was too sick to get out of bed and create chaos and mayhem. And now I'm back to normal (ish). My cough sounded like a combination of a lawnmower and a chainsaw. It was frightening-but people heard it and got out of my way very quickly. I'd rather just be able to trip them with my elbow crutch. My lungs would thank me.

I'm back in the fight with the hospital. This time it's over the antibiotics that I need to nebulize. The GP refuses to prescribe them because the local plonkers who decide what drugs are acceptable (read that as being what drugs are cheap) have denied a whole family of antibiotics-not the really poisonous and noxious ones, mind you, but the expensive ones that work and don't almost cripple the patients. So I'm in a fight (verbal, obviously. Anything physical and I would just fall over).I'll let you know who ends up with the (virtual) black eye and bloody nose. I'm American. We fight. Then we sue. 

Like I said, it's increasingly difficult to tell the monkeys from the organ grinders. Go to any hospital clinic and everyone-even the receptionists, who sometimes know nothing, act like the organ grinders. This is what happens when you deal with the dross of the NHS.

Something interesting has happened, though. Since my vestibular (balance) system was completely destroyed (by monkeys who thought they were organ grinders), I've had a very tough time learning how to walk again-and a tougher time staying upright. Even my bruises have bruises (just ask them). But-the Dutch have developed a balance belt. It doesn't stop you from falling (I learned that the hard and painful way). It vibrates when the wearer is not standing straight. The belt is filled with electrodes, I switch it on while I'm wearing it, and it vibrates furiously if I'm leaning to either side (or front or back). It is an alert system that tells me when my balance is off kilter. 

The belt doesn't send information wirelessly to the developers. It exists to tell the wearer when they are not standing (or sitting) straight. And it does work, although I wear it around my waist and the vibrations make me feel like my stomach is rumbling and I'm hungry.

The funny thing about the belt is that it emits a low sound to show that it's plugged in and working, If someone is standing close to me they can hear the sound of the motor. It isn't loud, but it is noticeable. I was standing next to a neighbor (one of the gossipy ones) the other day and a few of us were talking. She demanded to know what the sound was-interrupting someone else-so I said: what sound? Don't you hear that? she asked. There's no sound. Are you sure that you don't have tinnitus? I'm going to have this checked out, she said (I'm not being grammatically correct-but today I'm an extremely lazy typist). Now- this is also the person who swore that she was suffering from Ebola when the epidemic began. The rest of us will be hearing about tinnitus forever.

That brings you up to date. On Friday I get to have a frank and open discussion (verbal fight) with the hospital about prescribing the antibiotic I'm supposed to be taking every day. Hopefully no more clattering and sounding like a bag of hammers.

Talk over the weekend. Bloodied but unbroken. 

And here I thought I'd got rid of the worst five years in living memory - wasn't I ever wrong!

 I wrote just before Christmas, and I'd decided to hibernate -as I've been doing for years - until it was all over. Christmas has always been traumatic: deaths, divorces, all manner of things. So I decided to opt out. Unfortunately, life still throws a curve ball. 

Two days before Christmas, I received a phone call from the oncology clinic. They had done yet another PET scan (they just love to irradiate people), and it showed two suspicious nodules. The team met on the 23rd and decided to order yet another scan to see what was going on. I asked if I should be concerned. I was told-after a lengthy silence-that nothing would be done until after the holidays, and everything would be seriously behind, so enjoy the holiday and don't worry. Yet. Wow-thanks for that!

That was Christmas: spent worrying about cancer returning yet again, when I thought that the surgeon got everything except maybe, a lung, my heart...you get the picture. Not a pretty one.

When it was January 1, 2025, I celebrated with friends, and we all commiserated over the preceding five years of torture and angst. There was plenty of that, and we decided that we would make 2025 the start of a terrific five years-to make up for the pandemic years. And then

On 6th January, just when I cautiously thought that I might be out of the woods-hah! In the middle of the night, I got up to go to the bathroom (as you do) and I fell. Hard. On boxes of books and bags that were going to the charity shop the next day. I fell hard, with absolutely no warning, and I broke three ribs, and caused a lot of soft tissue damage. And that was me, completely helpless for a long while. I ended up being unable to move very well for the next six weeks. I was lucky; I could have punctured a lung, broken my back, I could have caused so much more damage. But broken ribs were enough. If you've ever had them, you know exactly how I felt.

Oh, hell, there went the first month of the new year. And then I fell again. Two weeks ago. Now if you've followed this for awhile, you know that my vestibular system was destroyed fifteen years ago, and my balance (such as it isn't) is still an issue. I do work on it as much as I can. The damage was permanent and irreversible, but I never give up, I just push myself as much as I can. Two weeks ago I pushed too hard.

I was coming back from a workshop at the hospital, and I was feeling quite awful. The swabs they took turned out to be positive for Influenza Type A-the worst and most virulent flu virus anyone can get (so the consultant told me). I fell and I couldn't move. I had no strength at all, I just lay on the floor and I couldn't get up. So I had to call for help. I had my phone in my pocket, called for the paramedics, and four hours later they arrived. They brought the fire brigade with them. Did they pick the lock, like a normal person would do? No, they broke in, probably giving the neighbors coronaries. They got me up off the floor, did the usual observations (temperature, etc), and told me that they would take me to the hospital if that was what I wanted. But I didn't have a fever, it was 9pm by the time they left, and they told me that if I felt worse the next day I should go to A&E.

The on call consultant rang me the next evening and told me about the flu diagnosis. I started antibiotics and I was told to stay in and rest (as if I could do anything else), take ten days of antibiotics and let everyone know how I was feeling. Meanwhile, he told me that I was contagious, so I stayed away from everyone. 

I completed the course of antibiotics on Sunday. Yesterday |I felt so sick that I couldn't even get out of bed. So today I decided to make the effort to actually get outside-even though it is absolutely freezing- and bring you up to date. Still here, still alive, feeling like a big bag of total crap-but I can't stay in bed forever. I need to get moving. 

I'm lucky, as far as I am aware I will get over this noxious infection-although I've been told by the consultant that it will take a few weeks for me to return to normal. I'm aware that, once again, it could have been much worse. Now I have to be vigilant-more so than usual- and always keep in mind that I have been very, very lucky. But I know that eventually luck can run out. When in doubt: wear a mask. You can never be too careful.