The Queen of Farts

I had my lymph node biopsy yesterday. Eeek!! What an ordeal this week has been. The new part of the Royal London hospital looks just like it is: very, very expensive. And so many people who work there are still idiots!! You don't always get what you pay for, that's for sure.

It has been difficult: I have been really exhausted. No surprise there, since I had to do the liquid Drano for three days! I had enough gas to launch the Hindenburg. Since Wednesday, I felt like I was an extra in the campfire scene from Blazing Saddles (google it if you don't know what on earth I am talking about!!).

Happily, that has all been resolved, and I feel like I can actually go outside again!! LOL!!!

I have felt very dizzy this week: my balance has been way off and my nystagmus and visual difficulties were worse, too. I remembered the words of both Dr Dimples and the vestibular physiotherapist: when it rains or snows, or the barometric pressure outside changes, when I haven't had enough sleep, when I haven't been eating right (I guess they mean a bag of Kettle Chips for dinner isn't exactly the best nutritional choice-even though it tastes delish), when I haven't had enough water (I had liquid Drano-so what do they want from me??), when I am upset or unwell, all the symptoms are exacerbated. They did say I would hit a plateau, and then I wouldn't be able to proceed any further, and I would know that I wouldn't get any better. Poster boys for optimism, aren't they??

Whatever. The only thing I have left after this week is a huge bruise on my right wrist, where my lovely consultant Sean beat the hell out of my vein (before he broke it). I like him, he is a good doctor, but I swear, like most of the people at the hospital, he couldn't find a vein (on me, anyway) if it was the size of the M1. But, he didn't poke any holes (that I know of) in my intestines when I made jokes about anal sex and he started laughing. So, what more can a woman ask for?

PC Rathband committed suicide this week. He was the person I was talking about when I said in an earlier post that he was shot in the face nearly two years ago, and blinded by a psychopath who later got himself shot by police. I felt really sad; I guess he couldn't cope, in the end. Perhaps he just didn't have enough support. I still say that he was another casualty of the psychopath Raoul Moat.

This, of course, made me ruminate (everything does make me ruminate!!). It's very difficult to recover from something that destroys the life you had before. I could easily have gone the same way. I thought about it eighteen months ago-I thought about suicide a lot. Now it is 81 weeks later (81 weeks today, as a matter of fact), and I have come a long way, but not without fighting every step of the way to recover as much as I can.

I don't want to stay at this level for much longer. I still find acceptance very difficult, but I am not ready to give up or give in yet. I used to say to people, just sign me up for Dignitas. There were times when I meant it, too.

But suicide? Not for me: I am a devout coward. I might keep falling over, but I will still get up again.