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!
