I pulled out a t-shirt this morning-and that is how this whole episode began. It was a Berlin t-shirt, and I think you will really like this story-which is absolutely true.
I've upset all the Obama lovers (wake up, you lot, the man is a do-nothing President; let's give someone else a chance to fix the country, instead of swanning around, filled with self-importance, taking credit where credit is most definitely not due-and I don't care if he is green with orange polka dots, he is still a useless prat; I've upset the royalty lovers (wake up, you lot!! I would rather have an NHS that works, than have a bunch of parasites living off the country. We are all far more "royal" than they are; at least, we work for a living, we don't live off the taxpayers. Ask someone who is last on the list for a heart or a kidney which they would rather have: the medical care they need, or a bunch of farts who have never had a real job in their lives!!).
I've upset the French-or have I? Perhaps not-but everyone takes pot shots at the French: remember those "Freedom Fries"? At least the French have their own television system, and their own telephone system-and they won't speak English to foreigners who want to settle in France. Go to France and learn the language!! We should all learn from their example. Well done, Frogs!!
And now it's time to set my cannons on our "traditional" friends; after two world wars, you'd think we would have learned!!! That's right: the Germans-well, one German, anyway. Her nickname of Schatzi the Nazi is so justified!! Read on: it sounds incredible, but is true, and the lesson I learned might benefit-well, everyone!
About four years ago, I attended a weekend conference in Wales. The organizers had to put two people in each room (there weren't enough individual rooms for the 60+ people who attended. I got someone called Maxi Coburg, who came from Berlin. This woman was the most negative and bitter person I'd met in a long while-and when the seminar was over, Maxi drove me to the train station, and we exchanged email addresses. A few months later, she emailed me to say that she was coming to London, and would like to meet for lunch. It actually was a pleasant lunch, and she invited me to come to Berlin for a long weekend.
Lesson 1: if your gut tells you not to do something, listen!! Your gut knows best!!! I didn't listen; I thought that she seemed much nicer than in Wales, and decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. Eeeek!!!!
I flew to Berlin, and Maxi met me at the airport. And things went downhill from there. It was hot in Berlin, but Maxi was incredibly vicious, right from the start. She criticized my hair, my clothes, my personality-she was very vocal about hating everything about me. When she started to pry into my marriage, my finances, my jobs-everything about me-I told her to back off. She only got worse.
What was Maxi's job? She claimed to be a "life coach"!! But she couldn't deal with her own life, let alone sort out any one else's life; she was morbidly obese (to the point where she had difficulty walking-but that didn't stop her from eating everything that wasn't nailed down), she said that her daughter and her mother both hated her...all she did was moan and criticize. In fact, she refused to go anywhere, and when she met anyone she knew, she spoke only German and ignored me as if I didn't exist. I rang the airlines to try to get an early flight back to London-but there were no seats available. I was stuck in Berlin.
Perhaps I should call her Maxi the Maniac, because she seemed to be really deranged. Her friend Connie (a policewoman) came to the apartment to meet me-and she was charming, although Maxi spoke to her in German for the entire evening. At one point (I now was calling her Schatzi the Nazi-not to her face, of course), Maxi said that there are concentration camps all over Britain, Canada and America. She said -and poor Connie sat there, trying to follow all this, but didn't seem to be fluent in English (lucky for her), that Americans and Brits (and Canadians, she had to add) are very stupid people. And we all are in a conspiracy to decrease the world's population by perfecting toxic poisons which we test on all the people in the concentration camps. She then went on to say that her father's family had all been members of the Nazy party (Maxi was nearing 70 at the time, so I wasn't surprised), and that there are about 10,000 Jews living in Berlin, and she couldn't understand why they weren't all killed, since they were evil and useless.
I asked her what she thinks of black people (I couldn't resist cutting into her vicious diatribe to ask, of course-forgetting that she was waving a steak knife around), and she said that they were as bad as the Jews, and that the only good one (Jew or black) was a dead one.
That was it for me. I didn't speak to her for the rest of the weekend (five days of absolute Hell), and on Monday morning, I was so thrilled to get to the airport and get out of Berlin, I could have exploded. Plus, I was still in one piece, thanks very much. I thanked her for an "interesting" weekend, and when I reached Stansted Airport, I wept with relief. What the hell-the woman is nuts. Not just negative and vicious: nuts. She even said (and seriously, too) that everyone would have to move out of Berlin very soon, because the British and Americans were going to use their new biological weapons to kill everyone who lived there.
And that was my weekend from Hell in Berlin. I would like to return to see it properly, since I only was able to take a bus tour of the city. There are parks, and lakes, and loads of museums, and I'm sure that the people who live there aren't all like Maxi Coburg (at least, I hope not!!).
Lesson 2: no more sharing rooms with strangers (and Maxi was about as strange as one could get); if I go to any seminars in the future, I have my own room-or I don't go.
Lesson 3: I will be travelling as soon as I am able to do so-but unless I'm visiting a very good friend, I'm staying in a hotel. And I'm locking the door!!!
Lesson 4: if you ever find yourself in Berlin, avoid Maxi Coburg like a bad case of food poisoning. Watch out for a very fat, short, elderly woman with a face like she has been sucking lemons all her life. And if you happen to meet her: run!!
And all those memories from a simple t-shirt, too!!
Tuesday 31 July 2012
Friday 27 July 2012
Moe, Larry, Curly-and Flopsy
I have been hibernating all week. It's been so hot, I thought my keyboard would melt. In fact, I thought I would melt!! I know it has only been in the 80s-and that would make my friends in New York and Florida laugh, since they've got hit with weather in the 90s-but, at least they've got air conditioning!! When I first came over here, there was virtually no air conditioning. People simply dripped with sweat. And fainted. And expired. That's one way to deal with overpopulation!!
Our mayor-Boris Johnson-has a radio ad about the Olympics. He says "it's here. It's "The Big One". I wonder exactly what he means by that...:-)) Now, joking aside, if you see a photograph of Boris, he has big blonde hair that flops into his eyes. So I gave him a nickname (as I do with a lot of people): Flopsy. But-there is a problem with that name.
I now recall (as I write this) that, about five years ago, I had a boyfriend who had a problem with alcohol. I used to call him Flopsy-but it had nothing to do with his hair. In fact, it had everything to do with another part of his anatomy (still thinking about it? Think: fuurther south). That's one reason (of many) that he is an EX-boyfriend. Whew-limp as an old lettuce leaf. So, I have decided to skip the nickname and just call the mayor Boris. There are other nicknames for him out there, but I think they may be unprintable.
If you don't get the Flopsy connection-where were you in your childhood: unconscious??
I've got nicknames for the toxic triplets in charge (if you could call it that) of this country: the not so Prime Minister, his deputy, and the Chancellor of the Exchequer: Moe, Larry and Curly. No clue? Where were you in childhood: comatose?? Moe, Larry and Curly are also known as the Three Stooges.There is a film out about them.
And what is the Three Stooges connection? Well, if you are reading this and you live in the UK, you will know why I call them the Three Stooges. They have followed in Tony Blair's footsteps to completely destroy this country-and they have done a sterling job of it, too. We should have just all voted for H'Angus the Monkey. Well- I can't vote here unless I relinquish my right to vote for President. I'll never do that, although I doubt very much if my vote makes much of a difference.
And that brings us to Obama. Do I have a nickname for him? Of course I do!!!!! When he had the nerve to insult the American people's intelligence by standing in front of the television cameras and take credit for Bin Laden's capture (something which had nothing whatsoever to do with him-the credit belongs to the Special Forces, not the moron in the White House), but blame everything that has gone wrong with our country on previous administrations (er..excuse me, but what happened to all his typically false politician's promises??), I started to call him "that scum sucking reptile".
When I saw Obama stand up (in an election year, of course) and offer sympathy to the families of the murdered people in Colorado last week, I was furious. How dare he do that, rather than do something to really help-like start fighting for gun control laws? Of couse, that would make him even more unpopular than he is already. He's a typical politician: lie, cheat and steal, promise everyone everything but deliver nothing. He can shove his sympathy. I now refer to him as "the viper". Perhaps I should call him "the coward" instead.
Eeeek!! Politicians-the lowest of the low. And there you have my latest on politics. And there is so much more to life than that!!We have the vote. We have brains (well, some of us do, anyway). Why not use them??
Speaking of balance (which I wasn't, but I will now)-I have gone back to the gym, and I've booked six training sessions, so that I have someone who can tell me if I am doing something wrong. Always a good thing-before I end up rupturing something. I had my first training session yesterday-and my trainer put me through my paces. At the end, just when I thought it was over- he had me stand on a rubber cushion and do squats. Now-squats? On a cushion? With no balance system? I was holding onto a bar-but it must have been hilarious to watch. And-I managed to do three sets of ten without falling on my backside.
That's not bad for someone who could barely stand six months ago. It pushes me to do more.
One last comment about the upcoming election in November: I'm completing an absentee ballot. I'm doing a write-in, if there is space: I'm voting for Mickey Mouse. And why not? As I've said before (repeatedly), a chimpanzee would do a better job in the White House!!
Our mayor-Boris Johnson-has a radio ad about the Olympics. He says "it's here. It's "The Big One". I wonder exactly what he means by that...:-)) Now, joking aside, if you see a photograph of Boris, he has big blonde hair that flops into his eyes. So I gave him a nickname (as I do with a lot of people): Flopsy. But-there is a problem with that name.
I now recall (as I write this) that, about five years ago, I had a boyfriend who had a problem with alcohol. I used to call him Flopsy-but it had nothing to do with his hair. In fact, it had everything to do with another part of his anatomy (still thinking about it? Think: fuurther south). That's one reason (of many) that he is an EX-boyfriend. Whew-limp as an old lettuce leaf. So, I have decided to skip the nickname and just call the mayor Boris. There are other nicknames for him out there, but I think they may be unprintable.
If you don't get the Flopsy connection-where were you in your childhood: unconscious??
I've got nicknames for the toxic triplets in charge (if you could call it that) of this country: the not so Prime Minister, his deputy, and the Chancellor of the Exchequer: Moe, Larry and Curly. No clue? Where were you in childhood: comatose?? Moe, Larry and Curly are also known as the Three Stooges.There is a film out about them.
And what is the Three Stooges connection? Well, if you are reading this and you live in the UK, you will know why I call them the Three Stooges. They have followed in Tony Blair's footsteps to completely destroy this country-and they have done a sterling job of it, too. We should have just all voted for H'Angus the Monkey. Well- I can't vote here unless I relinquish my right to vote for President. I'll never do that, although I doubt very much if my vote makes much of a difference.
And that brings us to Obama. Do I have a nickname for him? Of course I do!!!!! When he had the nerve to insult the American people's intelligence by standing in front of the television cameras and take credit for Bin Laden's capture (something which had nothing whatsoever to do with him-the credit belongs to the Special Forces, not the moron in the White House), but blame everything that has gone wrong with our country on previous administrations (er..excuse me, but what happened to all his typically false politician's promises??), I started to call him "that scum sucking reptile".
When I saw Obama stand up (in an election year, of course) and offer sympathy to the families of the murdered people in Colorado last week, I was furious. How dare he do that, rather than do something to really help-like start fighting for gun control laws? Of couse, that would make him even more unpopular than he is already. He's a typical politician: lie, cheat and steal, promise everyone everything but deliver nothing. He can shove his sympathy. I now refer to him as "the viper". Perhaps I should call him "the coward" instead.
Eeeek!! Politicians-the lowest of the low. And there you have my latest on politics. And there is so much more to life than that!!We have the vote. We have brains (well, some of us do, anyway). Why not use them??
Speaking of balance (which I wasn't, but I will now)-I have gone back to the gym, and I've booked six training sessions, so that I have someone who can tell me if I am doing something wrong. Always a good thing-before I end up rupturing something. I had my first training session yesterday-and my trainer put me through my paces. At the end, just when I thought it was over- he had me stand on a rubber cushion and do squats. Now-squats? On a cushion? With no balance system? I was holding onto a bar-but it must have been hilarious to watch. And-I managed to do three sets of ten without falling on my backside.
That's not bad for someone who could barely stand six months ago. It pushes me to do more.
One last comment about the upcoming election in November: I'm completing an absentee ballot. I'm doing a write-in, if there is space: I'm voting for Mickey Mouse. And why not? As I've said before (repeatedly), a chimpanzee would do a better job in the White House!!
Tuesday 24 July 2012
Empty Gesture/and I saved a life
It was 101 weeks on Saturday-and I will stop counting when I get to 104-two years to the day since my life changed forever.
I was going to write something else, but I will probably do a two-parter today. That is due to the slaughter of 12 people in Colorado the other day. It really upset me-as it upset so many other people.
I said that I don't like-or trust-Barack Obama, and I am sticking to that. He hasn't done a decent job since he took office-and when he looked into the cameras and took sole credit for getting Bin Laden-something that wasn't his accomplishment at all, but for which he took responsibility-I decided that he doesn't deserve my vote. In fact, he doesn't deserve any thinking American's vote. After all, he didn't take responsibility for the banking disasters, or any other disasters in the last four years, for that matter. He pats himself on the back for all the good things (most of which have absolutely nothing to do with him), but neatly avoids taking responsibility for any of the bad things. Typical politician: a low-life to the end!!
Obama took himself to Colorado to meet the families of the victims of the lunatic's slaughter-and his gesture was so empty, it was pathetic. Oh, as a father and a husband, his heart went out to the families. Of course, it went out during an election year. Empty gesture, indeed. Empty and completely meaningless.
It would have meant something if Obama had pushed hard for the gun control that the United States needs so badly. Gun control: very, very strict gun control, in all 50 states. Screw the NRA, there needs to be something very strict when it comes to carrying and using weapons. And the law needs to be airtight and strictly enforced; anyone caught using weapons should be locked up without the possibility of parole until they are, say, 75 years old. If they kill anyone, bring back capital punishment.
Slaughters, as we know, have happened in this country-and on the Continent. The only way to stop this from happening again is to throw the perpetrators into a cell, lock them up, and throw away the key. Until the peanuts like Obama actually take some kind of decisive action (which he won't do-we all know what a weenie he is, after all), slaughters will keep happening.
I've been a Democrat for years-but I'm not voting Democratic this time. And the only way people can take a stand is to vote: force the weenies in charge to do what WE want them to do. After all, we are the ones who are paying them to serve us; it isn't the other way around.
So, part two of this two-parter is to say that I saved a life on Sunday. No, it wasn't something heroic, like stopping someone from being run over by a bus, or from throwing themselves out of a window. Actually-it was a spider. Yep-you read it correctly: a spider. Now, those of you who are scared spitless (notice how I cleaned that up!!) of anything with multiple legs will understand that, when I see a spider, I immediately get a can of Raid and blast the hell out of it. I nearly asphyxiate myself in the process, but I keep spraying until the thing is on the floor-then I stomp on it just to make sure it is dead as a dodo. Of course, I do gas myself in the process, but I then can rest assured that the thing is deceased.
So I bought this thing called a spider catcher. It consists of a solid(ish) handle which encloses a battery, and an on/off switch to activate some suction. It isn't strong enough to take the skin off a rice pudding, but should (in theory) pull the spider into a plastic tube (of about 12 inches long), without harming it. Then there is a plastic cover-and you are supposed to take the thing outside and chuck the spider into the garden.
Well, I saw a spider that was about the size of a penny. I decided to test the spider catcher-and I had a can of Raid with me (just in case). Well, that sucker didn't want to leave the wall-but I persevered, and the thing went into the plastic tube (a clear tube, so you could see exactly where it was), I put the lid on, and took it outside and shook it (holding it well away from me), and there it went, into the garden. I was very pleased with myself.
I have to say that this will only work with really small spiders. The big ones (and by "big" I mean anything larger than a penny), and the ones that are the size of dinner plates, require some more drastic action. Even Raid will gas me, but not hurt them. So they need a brick, or a rolled up newspaper (a thick one). Or, better still, a flame thrower.
Meanwhile, I am going to buy another few cans of Raid-just in case!
I was going to write something else, but I will probably do a two-parter today. That is due to the slaughter of 12 people in Colorado the other day. It really upset me-as it upset so many other people.
I said that I don't like-or trust-Barack Obama, and I am sticking to that. He hasn't done a decent job since he took office-and when he looked into the cameras and took sole credit for getting Bin Laden-something that wasn't his accomplishment at all, but for which he took responsibility-I decided that he doesn't deserve my vote. In fact, he doesn't deserve any thinking American's vote. After all, he didn't take responsibility for the banking disasters, or any other disasters in the last four years, for that matter. He pats himself on the back for all the good things (most of which have absolutely nothing to do with him), but neatly avoids taking responsibility for any of the bad things. Typical politician: a low-life to the end!!
Obama took himself to Colorado to meet the families of the victims of the lunatic's slaughter-and his gesture was so empty, it was pathetic. Oh, as a father and a husband, his heart went out to the families. Of course, it went out during an election year. Empty gesture, indeed. Empty and completely meaningless.
It would have meant something if Obama had pushed hard for the gun control that the United States needs so badly. Gun control: very, very strict gun control, in all 50 states. Screw the NRA, there needs to be something very strict when it comes to carrying and using weapons. And the law needs to be airtight and strictly enforced; anyone caught using weapons should be locked up without the possibility of parole until they are, say, 75 years old. If they kill anyone, bring back capital punishment.
Slaughters, as we know, have happened in this country-and on the Continent. The only way to stop this from happening again is to throw the perpetrators into a cell, lock them up, and throw away the key. Until the peanuts like Obama actually take some kind of decisive action (which he won't do-we all know what a weenie he is, after all), slaughters will keep happening.
I've been a Democrat for years-but I'm not voting Democratic this time. And the only way people can take a stand is to vote: force the weenies in charge to do what WE want them to do. After all, we are the ones who are paying them to serve us; it isn't the other way around.
So, part two of this two-parter is to say that I saved a life on Sunday. No, it wasn't something heroic, like stopping someone from being run over by a bus, or from throwing themselves out of a window. Actually-it was a spider. Yep-you read it correctly: a spider. Now, those of you who are scared spitless (notice how I cleaned that up!!) of anything with multiple legs will understand that, when I see a spider, I immediately get a can of Raid and blast the hell out of it. I nearly asphyxiate myself in the process, but I keep spraying until the thing is on the floor-then I stomp on it just to make sure it is dead as a dodo. Of course, I do gas myself in the process, but I then can rest assured that the thing is deceased.
So I bought this thing called a spider catcher. It consists of a solid(ish) handle which encloses a battery, and an on/off switch to activate some suction. It isn't strong enough to take the skin off a rice pudding, but should (in theory) pull the spider into a plastic tube (of about 12 inches long), without harming it. Then there is a plastic cover-and you are supposed to take the thing outside and chuck the spider into the garden.
Well, I saw a spider that was about the size of a penny. I decided to test the spider catcher-and I had a can of Raid with me (just in case). Well, that sucker didn't want to leave the wall-but I persevered, and the thing went into the plastic tube (a clear tube, so you could see exactly where it was), I put the lid on, and took it outside and shook it (holding it well away from me), and there it went, into the garden. I was very pleased with myself.
I have to say that this will only work with really small spiders. The big ones (and by "big" I mean anything larger than a penny), and the ones that are the size of dinner plates, require some more drastic action. Even Raid will gas me, but not hurt them. So they need a brick, or a rolled up newspaper (a thick one). Or, better still, a flame thrower.
Meanwhile, I am going to buy another few cans of Raid-just in case!
Thursday 19 July 2012
Beam me up, Scotty!!!
This has been a week in which I would have appreciated being abducted by aliens. I hit my saturation point on Monday: the noisy neighbor from Hell, all the rain playing havoc with my balance and my eyesight, people who haven't the brains of a doorknob but who are let out on the street to crash into those who are clearly disabled...it's been that kind of week. And it will be like this until the Olympics are over.Yuchhhhh!!!
I got decidedly fed up with the damp meter in my flat going all the way into the red. This, of course, had something to do with all the rain - but also the fact that these buildings are so badly constructed, all the ground floor flats have the same problem. So I ordered a dehumidifier, since I have no choice but to stay where I am - for the moment. As soon as I reach that all-important 80% (I'll bet you are as sick of hearing that as I am of saying it!!), the door will not hit me in the backside, I will be out of here at the speed of light.
I remember being attacked at Christmas last year-only for confronting someone very politely, and that someone turned out to be a raving lunatic. I promised myself at that time that I would never confront anyone again, for any reason - because I like my face the way it is. If I want it changed, I'll have plastic surgery!!
I mention this for a reason (anyone who has been following my blog knows that there is always a reason in there somewhere). A week or so ago, a story hit the evening news (and all the newspapers). A man was celebrating his birthday, sitting in a cafe with his family, but he went over to someone whose baby was crying constantly. He asked politely if the baby was okay - as anyone would do, given that the kid was screaming. Would you ask someone if their child was all right, or if there was anything you could do? Most people with children might have been concerned. Well...the father of the child went home, got a knife, and returned to hunt for the concerned citizen-and stabbed him to death.
The murderer was sentenced to over 20 years-27, I think. And that is incredible for this country, since animal rights protestors are given more prison time than rapists and murderers. There is even a known terrorist who is fighting extradition to Jordan because he claims that his human rights are being violated. Meanwhile, he preaches hatred and violence-but is on benefits, and the taxpayers' money is paying for his legal case. I find that absolutely disgusting. Why not shove him on a plane to Jordan in the middle of the night and then play dumb??
Now, nobody will confront anyone. Nobody will ask if a child is all right, nobody will offer any help to anyone who needs it-the fear of being stabbed to death is in everyone's minds. I never cease to be shocked by human behavior-or, rather, inhuman behavior.
I never watch soap operas, but I do watch anything that is science-fiction based (Lost, Falling Skies, and one of my favorite films of all time: Close Encounters of the Third Kind). I would be very sad to discover that humans are the most intelligent beings in the universe. We are destroying our planet, decimating our ecosystem. We are needlessly killing our wildlife with absolutely no conscience, or understanding of what this destruction does to us in the long term. And we are the only species that kills for sport. It seems that some of us kill because we like it.
Imagine aliens looking at our planet, and shaking their heads (or tentacles, or whatever) in bewilderment. Would any truly intelligent species behave the way we do? Hardly.
I will probably be one of the very few people who tries to help someone if I think they need help-but I will be very, very cautious in the future. And confrontation? Never.
I feel very sad for the children who are being born today; what kind of society are we leaving them?
I have to walk-every day, rain or shine, whether I feel like it or not. I will persevere, I will never quit, and I will regain as much of my balance and my vision as I can. I'm inspired by the paralympians who have no legs, or who have all kinds of physical challenges, most of them far worse than mine. Of course, "worse" is relative; to me, we have all suffered loss. If they can keep going, I can keep going, too.
However- I'm staying as far away from crowds as possible, staying out of central London, and I'm going to watch DVDs, read books, drink flat whites from Starbucks, and enjoy my Kettle Chips. I'm not into pain; my mother didn't raise an idiot.
And I still am rooting for the American team (just very quietly!!).
I got decidedly fed up with the damp meter in my flat going all the way into the red. This, of course, had something to do with all the rain - but also the fact that these buildings are so badly constructed, all the ground floor flats have the same problem. So I ordered a dehumidifier, since I have no choice but to stay where I am - for the moment. As soon as I reach that all-important 80% (I'll bet you are as sick of hearing that as I am of saying it!!), the door will not hit me in the backside, I will be out of here at the speed of light.
I remember being attacked at Christmas last year-only for confronting someone very politely, and that someone turned out to be a raving lunatic. I promised myself at that time that I would never confront anyone again, for any reason - because I like my face the way it is. If I want it changed, I'll have plastic surgery!!
I mention this for a reason (anyone who has been following my blog knows that there is always a reason in there somewhere). A week or so ago, a story hit the evening news (and all the newspapers). A man was celebrating his birthday, sitting in a cafe with his family, but he went over to someone whose baby was crying constantly. He asked politely if the baby was okay - as anyone would do, given that the kid was screaming. Would you ask someone if their child was all right, or if there was anything you could do? Most people with children might have been concerned. Well...the father of the child went home, got a knife, and returned to hunt for the concerned citizen-and stabbed him to death.
The murderer was sentenced to over 20 years-27, I think. And that is incredible for this country, since animal rights protestors are given more prison time than rapists and murderers. There is even a known terrorist who is fighting extradition to Jordan because he claims that his human rights are being violated. Meanwhile, he preaches hatred and violence-but is on benefits, and the taxpayers' money is paying for his legal case. I find that absolutely disgusting. Why not shove him on a plane to Jordan in the middle of the night and then play dumb??
Now, nobody will confront anyone. Nobody will ask if a child is all right, nobody will offer any help to anyone who needs it-the fear of being stabbed to death is in everyone's minds. I never cease to be shocked by human behavior-or, rather, inhuman behavior.
I never watch soap operas, but I do watch anything that is science-fiction based (Lost, Falling Skies, and one of my favorite films of all time: Close Encounters of the Third Kind). I would be very sad to discover that humans are the most intelligent beings in the universe. We are destroying our planet, decimating our ecosystem. We are needlessly killing our wildlife with absolutely no conscience, or understanding of what this destruction does to us in the long term. And we are the only species that kills for sport. It seems that some of us kill because we like it.
Imagine aliens looking at our planet, and shaking their heads (or tentacles, or whatever) in bewilderment. Would any truly intelligent species behave the way we do? Hardly.
I will probably be one of the very few people who tries to help someone if I think they need help-but I will be very, very cautious in the future. And confrontation? Never.
I feel very sad for the children who are being born today; what kind of society are we leaving them?
I have to walk-every day, rain or shine, whether I feel like it or not. I will persevere, I will never quit, and I will regain as much of my balance and my vision as I can. I'm inspired by the paralympians who have no legs, or who have all kinds of physical challenges, most of them far worse than mine. Of course, "worse" is relative; to me, we have all suffered loss. If they can keep going, I can keep going, too.
However- I'm staying as far away from crowds as possible, staying out of central London, and I'm going to watch DVDs, read books, drink flat whites from Starbucks, and enjoy my Kettle Chips. I'm not into pain; my mother didn't raise an idiot.
And I still am rooting for the American team (just very quietly!!).
Monday 16 July 2012
Bruised (again) but never beaten
Allowing myself to get very depressed over this two-year diabolical period is simply unhealthy. I've discovered what most people probably already know: wallowing is toxic to body and mind (and spirit), and the best antidote is to get off one's bottom and actually do something constructive. So-that is exactly what I did. I got off my bottom.
Yesterday I decided to get up and clean the house. I scrubbed the bathroom and kitchen tiles, the sinks, everything within reach. I got so into cleaning, I turned around and walked into a door and very nearly knocked myself unconscious. Well-at least I would have keeled over onto a very clean floor!!
I've decided that I really need more exercise; I was such a gym bunny before the gentamicin thing, and for two years I have been doing about as much activity as a slug in a puddle. My muscles have all but disappeared. In fact, I think I've got arm muscles the size of a sparrow's kneecaps!!
So-this morning I went to the gym. I really had to force myself, because the noisy neighbor from Hell upstairs had his music blaring at 2AM, and it was still blaring when I finally got disgusted at 4:30 and got up and made myself a very strong cup of coffee!! I forced myself to get out and go and workout-and I am so glad I did. Mind you, I'm walking as if I just lost my virginity-but I still feel like I've accomplished something (and yes, I CAN remember back that far!!).
I read some time ago that it takes 21 days to break a habit-and 21 days to form a new habit. That may or may not be true, but it sounds good!! So if I keep going to the gym, and I decide to be consistent about it, in a month or so I should (allegedly) be able to get up early and get moving. I'll keep you posted.
Olympic athletes are starting to fly into Heathrow, and all the roads are just clogged. Life will be chaos until the whole palaver is over. Really, I've got appointments (hospital ones) smack in the middle of the Olympics, and getting to those will be brutal. I'm not into any of this at all, quite honestly-the hoopla, the xenophobia, the ra ra business, and the tabloids dumping all over everyone else's athletes. I know, of course, that the tabloids (the Sun, the Mail, the Express, the Daily Mirror, the Star, and whoever I missed) are only staffed by Neanderthals who are functionally illiterate and unable to construct a sentence of more than four words. Still, they are massively annoying.
So I'm hoping that the US team will do what it did in 2008: wipe the floor with "team GB".
Why are people in this country unable (and unwilling) to show any grace in both defeat and in victory? They seem to be bad losers-and bad winners, too. I tend to have very little patience with doorknobs (if this is your first time reading my blog, doorknobs are people with the intelligence of a doorknob). I also have very little patience with my own people who come over and apologize for being American. I don't see British tourists apologize for being British-or for Tony Blair, who was (and is) as disgusting and as big a crook as GW Bush.
Can people just grow up and learn how to get along??
Yesterday I decided to get up and clean the house. I scrubbed the bathroom and kitchen tiles, the sinks, everything within reach. I got so into cleaning, I turned around and walked into a door and very nearly knocked myself unconscious. Well-at least I would have keeled over onto a very clean floor!!
I've decided that I really need more exercise; I was such a gym bunny before the gentamicin thing, and for two years I have been doing about as much activity as a slug in a puddle. My muscles have all but disappeared. In fact, I think I've got arm muscles the size of a sparrow's kneecaps!!
So-this morning I went to the gym. I really had to force myself, because the noisy neighbor from Hell upstairs had his music blaring at 2AM, and it was still blaring when I finally got disgusted at 4:30 and got up and made myself a very strong cup of coffee!! I forced myself to get out and go and workout-and I am so glad I did. Mind you, I'm walking as if I just lost my virginity-but I still feel like I've accomplished something (and yes, I CAN remember back that far!!).
I read some time ago that it takes 21 days to break a habit-and 21 days to form a new habit. That may or may not be true, but it sounds good!! So if I keep going to the gym, and I decide to be consistent about it, in a month or so I should (allegedly) be able to get up early and get moving. I'll keep you posted.
Olympic athletes are starting to fly into Heathrow, and all the roads are just clogged. Life will be chaos until the whole palaver is over. Really, I've got appointments (hospital ones) smack in the middle of the Olympics, and getting to those will be brutal. I'm not into any of this at all, quite honestly-the hoopla, the xenophobia, the ra ra business, and the tabloids dumping all over everyone else's athletes. I know, of course, that the tabloids (the Sun, the Mail, the Express, the Daily Mirror, the Star, and whoever I missed) are only staffed by Neanderthals who are functionally illiterate and unable to construct a sentence of more than four words. Still, they are massively annoying.
So I'm hoping that the US team will do what it did in 2008: wipe the floor with "team GB".
Why are people in this country unable (and unwilling) to show any grace in both defeat and in victory? They seem to be bad losers-and bad winners, too. I tend to have very little patience with doorknobs (if this is your first time reading my blog, doorknobs are people with the intelligence of a doorknob). I also have very little patience with my own people who come over and apologize for being American. I don't see British tourists apologize for being British-or for Tony Blair, who was (and is) as disgusting and as big a crook as GW Bush.
Can people just grow up and learn how to get along??
Saturday 14 July 2012
Countdown to 104
It's now been 100 weeks-as of today. I'm not celebrating, because there is nothing to celebrate-except, perhaps, the fact that the two doorknob doctors only destroyed my balance system. They didn't blind me, and they didn't put me in a wheelchair for life. That was more down to luck (and miracles, obviously) than to good (medical) management!
When I reach 104 weeks, I will have endured this for two years-and I said I would stop counting and do what I can to let go and move forward. It isn't an easy thing for me to do; I hold onto things, I have trouble letting the past remain in the past - and I can hold a grudge forever.
I find it marginally easier to cope with the idiots who insist on crashing into me when I am trying to walk (and am clearly having difficulty) by saying to myself (silently, or someone will be taking me away!!) "40" and shaking my head.
I remember the research that concluded that the average IQ of people in Britain is only 80 - so I just look at the really rude people and say "40"-someone else got the rest of their 80!!
As of yesterday, I started calling these people "doorknobs" - as in, they don't have the intelligence of a doorknob. And, I'm very fond of calling blokes "peanuts" (they probably are peanuts, anyway). It makes it a little amusing, and it seems to take some of the heat away from having people who are braindead (and rude) nearly knock me over, and then turn around and curse at me.
Doing this might just help other people who feel vulnerable and delicate (I refuse to refer to myself as either frail or disabled. Those labels are too negative and toxic) cope with any abuse they receive from others who are more able-bodied.
Perhaps I will start a trend...:-)
When I reach 104 weeks, I will have endured this for two years-and I said I would stop counting and do what I can to let go and move forward. It isn't an easy thing for me to do; I hold onto things, I have trouble letting the past remain in the past - and I can hold a grudge forever.
I find it marginally easier to cope with the idiots who insist on crashing into me when I am trying to walk (and am clearly having difficulty) by saying to myself (silently, or someone will be taking me away!!) "40" and shaking my head.
I remember the research that concluded that the average IQ of people in Britain is only 80 - so I just look at the really rude people and say "40"-someone else got the rest of their 80!!
As of yesterday, I started calling these people "doorknobs" - as in, they don't have the intelligence of a doorknob. And, I'm very fond of calling blokes "peanuts" (they probably are peanuts, anyway). It makes it a little amusing, and it seems to take some of the heat away from having people who are braindead (and rude) nearly knock me over, and then turn around and curse at me.
Doing this might just help other people who feel vulnerable and delicate (I refuse to refer to myself as either frail or disabled. Those labels are too negative and toxic) cope with any abuse they receive from others who are more able-bodied.
Perhaps I will start a trend...:-)
A footnote to H'Angus the monkey, mayor of Hartlepool
I told you the story of who hung the monkey-but there is a footnote to that story.
When Stuart Drummond (aka H'Angus the monkey) became mayor of Hartlepool, one of the MPs -Peter Mendelson - told Drummond that he was embarrassing the entire government, and ordered him not to wear his monkey suit. This comes from a government minister who is well known as a thief and a scoundrel, and who defrauded the taxpayers of as much money as he could steal. You and I would be in prison for fraud and theft-but, true to the British government (and it doesn't matter which government, Labour and Conservatives all have the same procedure: steal as much from the people as you can, and you will be rewarded), but Tony Blair's thieves (and Cameron's thieves, too) are rewarded with knighthoods and peerages.
Mandelson is now "Lord" Mandelson (chief thief), and he told Drummond that Drummond was the embarrassment. The words "pot", "kettle" and "black" spring immediately to mind!!!!
Drummond doesn't wear his monkey suit (sadly-they should all wear one, it would be a vast improvement. At least we could ridicule them while they are stealing our money). He was re-elected in 2005, and in 2009, and is still mayor of Hartlepool.
The schoolchildren are still waiting for Drummond to honor his promise of free bananas (as if that will ever happen. A politician honors a promise? Not in my lifetime. Or yours. Or theirs!!).
Party leaders are still handing out knighthoods, peerages and other awards as if they are M&Ms (smarties in the UK).
If you go to Hartlepool, go on a pub crawl, and ask who hung the monkey, you are either a masochist or you have the intelligence of a doorknob: you will still get a beating.
Only in England!!
When Stuart Drummond (aka H'Angus the monkey) became mayor of Hartlepool, one of the MPs -Peter Mendelson - told Drummond that he was embarrassing the entire government, and ordered him not to wear his monkey suit. This comes from a government minister who is well known as a thief and a scoundrel, and who defrauded the taxpayers of as much money as he could steal. You and I would be in prison for fraud and theft-but, true to the British government (and it doesn't matter which government, Labour and Conservatives all have the same procedure: steal as much from the people as you can, and you will be rewarded), but Tony Blair's thieves (and Cameron's thieves, too) are rewarded with knighthoods and peerages.
Mandelson is now "Lord" Mandelson (chief thief), and he told Drummond that Drummond was the embarrassment. The words "pot", "kettle" and "black" spring immediately to mind!!!!
Drummond doesn't wear his monkey suit (sadly-they should all wear one, it would be a vast improvement. At least we could ridicule them while they are stealing our money). He was re-elected in 2005, and in 2009, and is still mayor of Hartlepool.
The schoolchildren are still waiting for Drummond to honor his promise of free bananas (as if that will ever happen. A politician honors a promise? Not in my lifetime. Or yours. Or theirs!!).
Party leaders are still handing out knighthoods, peerages and other awards as if they are M&Ms (smarties in the UK).
If you go to Hartlepool, go on a pub crawl, and ask who hung the monkey, you are either a masochist or you have the intelligence of a doorknob: you will still get a beating.
Only in England!!
Thursday 12 July 2012
Who hung the monkey? A true story!
I sat in Starbucks yesterday, having my usual flat white and contemplating life (as you do), when two older ladies sat near me, trying to figure out how to get to the West End from North London. They had northern accents, so I figured they were in town for the day (it turned out that I was right).
They finally turned to me to ask directions (which I provided), and then asked me if I have a Canadian accent. I get this often; people ask if I am American or Canadian, and if I'm on holiday. After a while, it gets really tedious - especially since I have been here for more than half my life. That is a very long holiday!!
Now-if I say I'm from Vancouver, I will be informed (usually very smugly) that the person thought so; if I say I'm from San Francisco, or Chicago (most of the people don't even know where Chicago is-one person asked if that's in New York. And the Brits make fun of us because they say that we don't know anything about geography!!), or New York, I will be told that it's obvious, because I have an accent from wherever I say I come from. Obviously, they haven't got a clue, but they just don't want to seem like they are one of the ones who have an IQ of 80-or, in so many cases, less than that. The average IQ is 80-I'm happy to say that my friends are considerably more intelligent, which is a good thing, since I have never been able to relate to anyone who has the intelligence of a cannoli.
Both women said they are from Hartlepool; I said I've heard of it, and tried not to laugh. I coughed instead. And when they left, I thought about all that I know about Hartlepool. You know, if you follow my blog, that there is always a story in there somewhere! This is one I really want to share with you - especially if you happen to come across a British tourist who is arrogant, imperious, condescending (many are, but not all)-you can tell them to get stuffed, because we aren't monkey hangers, and they clearly are! Ask who is the idiot, then walk away. Better still, run.
I remember years ago, being told this true story by my ex-husband, who is from the northeast-where everyone knows this story, since it is taught in schools everywhere, and is the subject of much laughter and merriment by northerners-and, of course, the French (obviously).
During the war of 1812, when the British and the French were fighting each other (they have been fighting for centuries. They are still fighting. The French love to insult the British in French-the Brits don't understand, but insults in French can sound like compliments, if offered with a smile), the citizens of Hartlepool (pronounced HEART-lee-pool, if anyone should ask you) discovered a monkey wandering around. They'd never seen a monkey; they'd never seen a Frenchman. So they decided that the monkey was a French spy. They dressed it in clothes they thought Frenchmen would wear (I wish I'd been there-what a Kodak moment that must have been!!), took it to the town square, took a rope, and hung the monkey. Not content to do this once, at a much later date, they did it again, to another poor, unsuspecting monkey! Obviously the monkeys had much more intelligence than the people of Hartlepool, who clearly had the intellect of a doorknob. Someone else got the 80, that's for certain!!
I heard this story and immediately wanted to go and investigate Hartlepool-and go on a pub crawl to every Hartlepool pub and stand up and demand to know who hung the monkey. I was being facetious, of course, but I was told in all seriousness that anyone who was fool enough to do that would be severely beaten, and many pub riots in Hartlepool have been started by outsiders coming into the town to see what would happen if they had the temerity to ask that question!
Fast forward nearly 200 years to 2002. The football team's mascot was - guess which animal? Hint: if you guessed the monkey, you're right. If you didn't, you must be from one of the areas in the county of Essex where the people have an IQ that barely moves into single figures (no, I won't tell you where in Essex!!).
The other teams called the Hartlepool team "monkey hangers". Very funny-unless you're from Hartlepool, of course!
In 2002, the man who dressed in the monkey suit and played the team mascot put on his monkey suit, called himself "H'angus the monkey", and ran for mayor of Hartlepool, promising (this was his platform) free bananas for all schoolchildren.
He won. By a landslide.
They finally turned to me to ask directions (which I provided), and then asked me if I have a Canadian accent. I get this often; people ask if I am American or Canadian, and if I'm on holiday. After a while, it gets really tedious - especially since I have been here for more than half my life. That is a very long holiday!!
Now-if I say I'm from Vancouver, I will be informed (usually very smugly) that the person thought so; if I say I'm from San Francisco, or Chicago (most of the people don't even know where Chicago is-one person asked if that's in New York. And the Brits make fun of us because they say that we don't know anything about geography!!), or New York, I will be told that it's obvious, because I have an accent from wherever I say I come from. Obviously, they haven't got a clue, but they just don't want to seem like they are one of the ones who have an IQ of 80-or, in so many cases, less than that. The average IQ is 80-I'm happy to say that my friends are considerably more intelligent, which is a good thing, since I have never been able to relate to anyone who has the intelligence of a cannoli.
Both women said they are from Hartlepool; I said I've heard of it, and tried not to laugh. I coughed instead. And when they left, I thought about all that I know about Hartlepool. You know, if you follow my blog, that there is always a story in there somewhere! This is one I really want to share with you - especially if you happen to come across a British tourist who is arrogant, imperious, condescending (many are, but not all)-you can tell them to get stuffed, because we aren't monkey hangers, and they clearly are! Ask who is the idiot, then walk away. Better still, run.
I remember years ago, being told this true story by my ex-husband, who is from the northeast-where everyone knows this story, since it is taught in schools everywhere, and is the subject of much laughter and merriment by northerners-and, of course, the French (obviously).
During the war of 1812, when the British and the French were fighting each other (they have been fighting for centuries. They are still fighting. The French love to insult the British in French-the Brits don't understand, but insults in French can sound like compliments, if offered with a smile), the citizens of Hartlepool (pronounced HEART-lee-pool, if anyone should ask you) discovered a monkey wandering around. They'd never seen a monkey; they'd never seen a Frenchman. So they decided that the monkey was a French spy. They dressed it in clothes they thought Frenchmen would wear (I wish I'd been there-what a Kodak moment that must have been!!), took it to the town square, took a rope, and hung the monkey. Not content to do this once, at a much later date, they did it again, to another poor, unsuspecting monkey! Obviously the monkeys had much more intelligence than the people of Hartlepool, who clearly had the intellect of a doorknob. Someone else got the 80, that's for certain!!
I heard this story and immediately wanted to go and investigate Hartlepool-and go on a pub crawl to every Hartlepool pub and stand up and demand to know who hung the monkey. I was being facetious, of course, but I was told in all seriousness that anyone who was fool enough to do that would be severely beaten, and many pub riots in Hartlepool have been started by outsiders coming into the town to see what would happen if they had the temerity to ask that question!
Fast forward nearly 200 years to 2002. The football team's mascot was - guess which animal? Hint: if you guessed the monkey, you're right. If you didn't, you must be from one of the areas in the county of Essex where the people have an IQ that barely moves into single figures (no, I won't tell you where in Essex!!).
The other teams called the Hartlepool team "monkey hangers". Very funny-unless you're from Hartlepool, of course!
In 2002, the man who dressed in the monkey suit and played the team mascot put on his monkey suit, called himself "H'angus the monkey", and ran for mayor of Hartlepool, promising (this was his platform) free bananas for all schoolchildren.
He won. By a landslide.
Wednesday 11 July 2012
Thrones and other oddities
Every country has different terms for things. In the UK, a rubber is an eraser, for example. That got me into a lot of trouble when I first came here, way back in the Jurassic period. I heard a salesgirl say that someone had pinched her rubber-and I turned and said, poor thing, you can get some at the pharmacy. This, of course, led to hilarity among some other members of staff (and customers, too). For anyone who is reading this and hasn't been to the USA< a rubber is a condom.
In the US, the trunk of the car is the trunk; in the UK, it is known as the boot. The hood of the car is the bonnet in the UK-for reasons best known to the Brits. There are lots of terms which are something else. And my personal favorite is the term in the UK for waking someone up in the morning: here it is known as "knocking one up". I know this because I was with a group of Brits in Greece several years ago, and we made arrangements to meet early for breakfast. One of the group turned to me and said "I'll knock you up at eight". I nearly hit him - then I discovered what he meant, and it became a standing joke.
Our term in the US for the toilet is the bathroom, or the john (why the john? I've got no idea, and nobody I know seems to know, either. Or care). Here in the UK, the toilet is known as the loo (don't ask. I have no idea why, either).
I do have a reason (however obscure) for mentioning these things. When I was growing up, the term for the toilet was "the throne". Where is so-and-so? On the throne. Usually, that meant that someone in the family was sitting and reading a magazine; sometimes it felt like someone was reading War and Peace. Luckily, we had more than one "throne". To this day, I hear about the queen or someone ascending to the throne, and I can't help but have a good laugh. Besides, I've been here enough years to find that it is appropriate!!
In my bathroom, the loo is sitting on top of a concrete plinth that is somewhere between 6-8 inches high (to this day, I still work in inches, not centimeters). Why? Nobody seems to know; I think the person who lived in the flat before me must have been eight feet tall, because when I sit down, my feet don't touch the floor. So it really is a throne!! And it only took a year for me to push the landlord hard enough to send someone to remove the plinth. Someone will examine it on Friday. It'll probably take another year for anything to be done. By British standards, that is very quick work. Meanwhile, I have to stand on my toes before I can sit down. A throne, indeed!!
I've had a tough time with the noisy neighbor from Hell upstairs. I'm sure he's lost his marbles: he hammers on the floor in the middle of the night - no idea why. Perhaps he can't sleep, so doesn't want anyone else to sleep, either. I confronted him, and he pretended not to speak English. I'm contemplating violence.
In the US, the trunk of the car is the trunk; in the UK, it is known as the boot. The hood of the car is the bonnet in the UK-for reasons best known to the Brits. There are lots of terms which are something else. And my personal favorite is the term in the UK for waking someone up in the morning: here it is known as "knocking one up". I know this because I was with a group of Brits in Greece several years ago, and we made arrangements to meet early for breakfast. One of the group turned to me and said "I'll knock you up at eight". I nearly hit him - then I discovered what he meant, and it became a standing joke.
Our term in the US for the toilet is the bathroom, or the john (why the john? I've got no idea, and nobody I know seems to know, either. Or care). Here in the UK, the toilet is known as the loo (don't ask. I have no idea why, either).
I do have a reason (however obscure) for mentioning these things. When I was growing up, the term for the toilet was "the throne". Where is so-and-so? On the throne. Usually, that meant that someone in the family was sitting and reading a magazine; sometimes it felt like someone was reading War and Peace. Luckily, we had more than one "throne". To this day, I hear about the queen or someone ascending to the throne, and I can't help but have a good laugh. Besides, I've been here enough years to find that it is appropriate!!
In my bathroom, the loo is sitting on top of a concrete plinth that is somewhere between 6-8 inches high (to this day, I still work in inches, not centimeters). Why? Nobody seems to know; I think the person who lived in the flat before me must have been eight feet tall, because when I sit down, my feet don't touch the floor. So it really is a throne!! And it only took a year for me to push the landlord hard enough to send someone to remove the plinth. Someone will examine it on Friday. It'll probably take another year for anything to be done. By British standards, that is very quick work. Meanwhile, I have to stand on my toes before I can sit down. A throne, indeed!!
I've had a tough time with the noisy neighbor from Hell upstairs. I'm sure he's lost his marbles: he hammers on the floor in the middle of the night - no idea why. Perhaps he can't sleep, so doesn't want anyone else to sleep, either. I confronted him, and he pretended not to speak English. I'm contemplating violence.
Saturday 7 July 2012
The tortoise and the hare, and the fat lady singing
I did manage to fire off some rockets without a huge palaver-except from the upstairs noisy neighbor from Hell, who stuck his head out the window and demanded to know why there was noise-and why there was so much smoke. So I gave him my famous withering look, and said I was setting off fireworks. He mumbled and grumbled-and I said I'm surprised he noticed, since I assumed he's deaf as a post. The man's an imbecile.
So that was Independence Day: some rockets, and a few sparklies, and a few Mojitos, and a good time was had by all. No surprises that the media didn't cover the festivities over the Pond!!!!
I know the story about the tortoise and the hare - and, at the moment, I am certainly more tortoise than hare!! On Thursday I went to what was supposed to be my final vestibular assessment at the National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery. This was delayed because I was in the hospital. I discovered that my physiotherapist is leaving - so I asked (jokingly) if it was something I said, since Izzy is the second person to treat me and leave! I was told that each physio has a nine month rotation, and Izzy's finishes at the end of July. She measured my movements - and informed me that I have regained 55% of my balance and visual mechanisms. Hooray!!
Izzy went on to say that the tests show that I am relying on my legs as well as my eyes-in two years I have been able to get my legs working, too. However-she said that this is probably all I will get back, and I need to prepare myself for the fact that some days (and weeks) will be better than others. In six weeks I return to see her colleague, and I will be remeasured, just to see if there is any progress when I have recovered fully from my chest infection and hospital incarceration.
We'll see. Today marks 99 weeks-and I have set myself a target of 80% (minimum) by the time I hit two years. It's a goal; it's a target. I'm convinced that nobody knows everything about the brain, and therefore new neural pathways can be (and are being) made, even as I write. That is all that keeps me going.
I really expected to be much better in six or eight weeks-but I will just keep going, even though progress is hideously slow.
I know that there are people who are much worse off than I am - but someone else's misery doesn't make me feel any better. It makes me feel like I have to trust myself more, and work harder.
The fat lady hasn't sung yet.
So that was Independence Day: some rockets, and a few sparklies, and a few Mojitos, and a good time was had by all. No surprises that the media didn't cover the festivities over the Pond!!!!
I know the story about the tortoise and the hare - and, at the moment, I am certainly more tortoise than hare!! On Thursday I went to what was supposed to be my final vestibular assessment at the National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery. This was delayed because I was in the hospital. I discovered that my physiotherapist is leaving - so I asked (jokingly) if it was something I said, since Izzy is the second person to treat me and leave! I was told that each physio has a nine month rotation, and Izzy's finishes at the end of July. She measured my movements - and informed me that I have regained 55% of my balance and visual mechanisms. Hooray!!
Izzy went on to say that the tests show that I am relying on my legs as well as my eyes-in two years I have been able to get my legs working, too. However-she said that this is probably all I will get back, and I need to prepare myself for the fact that some days (and weeks) will be better than others. In six weeks I return to see her colleague, and I will be remeasured, just to see if there is any progress when I have recovered fully from my chest infection and hospital incarceration.
We'll see. Today marks 99 weeks-and I have set myself a target of 80% (minimum) by the time I hit two years. It's a goal; it's a target. I'm convinced that nobody knows everything about the brain, and therefore new neural pathways can be (and are being) made, even as I write. That is all that keeps me going.
I really expected to be much better in six or eight weeks-but I will just keep going, even though progress is hideously slow.
I know that there are people who are much worse off than I am - but someone else's misery doesn't make me feel any better. It makes me feel like I have to trust myself more, and work harder.
The fat lady hasn't sung yet.
Wednesday 4 July 2012
Drum roll, please, it's Independence Day!!
I'm in a better frame of mind this morning, despite having a very sleepless night. Some days are better than others, and some days are much worse than others. The good days haven't turned into good weeks-yet-but the bad weeks have certainly moved into bad weeks. I'm working on changing that - but it does take time!
Today is the 4th of July, and I always celebrate by firing off rockets, and Catherine wheels-any fireworks I can get my little hands on. Now-in this country, the only legal day for setting off fireworks is the 5th of November. So I always buy fireworks around the 3rd, and save them for July. The stuff that is sold by the supermarkets is all pretty lame-and expensive-but I buy it anyway, just to have a little firework party to celebrate Independence Day.
Last year, I was in much worse shape than I am now-and I invited two Brits to join me in a firework display in Highgate Wood, which is not far from my house. I found a clearing, and both people acted as my lookouts as I set everything up. It was hilarious-because we could have been arrested on some stupid charge, like disturbing the peace. I doubt very much that the trees and the squirrels would complain-but that's the law, no matter how ridiculous it is!!
So I've got the fireworks, and one rebel, bolshy Brit to stand as lookout. It's raining and is supposed to rain for the rest of the day-but that won't stop us from a short road trip to Highgate Wood when it gets semi-dark. I still am unable to see or stand very well in the dark, so dusk will have to do. And last year we had an audience-about a dozen people watched, rather confused as to why we were setting off fireworks in July. But we cleared all the evidence afterward, and tried to be very nonchalant as we left. Our audience's faces were priceless: another Kodak moment missed!!
It might be only a matter of time before I run out of luck - since I've been celebrating the Fourth for years - but I've decided that, should we get caught, I will appear to be very confused. And deaf. And mute.
Sometimes having a walking stick and no balance can work in one's favor!!!
Happy Independence Day. Celebrate. Set off fireworks. It drives the Brits nuts...
Today is the 4th of July, and I always celebrate by firing off rockets, and Catherine wheels-any fireworks I can get my little hands on. Now-in this country, the only legal day for setting off fireworks is the 5th of November. So I always buy fireworks around the 3rd, and save them for July. The stuff that is sold by the supermarkets is all pretty lame-and expensive-but I buy it anyway, just to have a little firework party to celebrate Independence Day.
Last year, I was in much worse shape than I am now-and I invited two Brits to join me in a firework display in Highgate Wood, which is not far from my house. I found a clearing, and both people acted as my lookouts as I set everything up. It was hilarious-because we could have been arrested on some stupid charge, like disturbing the peace. I doubt very much that the trees and the squirrels would complain-but that's the law, no matter how ridiculous it is!!
So I've got the fireworks, and one rebel, bolshy Brit to stand as lookout. It's raining and is supposed to rain for the rest of the day-but that won't stop us from a short road trip to Highgate Wood when it gets semi-dark. I still am unable to see or stand very well in the dark, so dusk will have to do. And last year we had an audience-about a dozen people watched, rather confused as to why we were setting off fireworks in July. But we cleared all the evidence afterward, and tried to be very nonchalant as we left. Our audience's faces were priceless: another Kodak moment missed!!
It might be only a matter of time before I run out of luck - since I've been celebrating the Fourth for years - but I've decided that, should we get caught, I will appear to be very confused. And deaf. And mute.
Sometimes having a walking stick and no balance can work in one's favor!!!
Happy Independence Day. Celebrate. Set off fireworks. It drives the Brits nuts...
Tuesday 3 July 2012
Turning the corner and hitting the wall
I passed the 98 week mark on Saturday - and I really have decided that, once I get to two years exactly, I will have to stop counting. It just gets me very, very depressed. And I have been pretty depressed since I left the hospital a week ago. I should be both happy and relieved; instead, I'm just very down. Perhaps it is a delayed reaction to the antibiotics. At least my veins are both bleached clean and happy to be cannula-free!! Hospitals are not good places to hang around - they are filled with sick people.
On Saturday afternoon, I decided to take myself to the movies; I thought that if I could actually sit through something I wanted to see, I would feel better. I missed nearly all the films I wanted to see in the last two years-so I went to see Men in Black 3-and I pushed the boat out and saw it in 3-D. Amazing-I was able to sit through it without feeling severe vertigo, and I really enjoyed it! Of course, I stood up when the film was over and nearly fell flat on my face! It took me about ten minutes just to get my eyes back and be able to stagger outside. But-I felt a sense of achievement to be able to go and watch a movie at all. That's a good sign; it lifted my mood a bit, which was, of course, the whole idea in the first place!!
I'm not in a joke-telling mood this morning. For one thing, it's been raining - and rain makes the balance worse. I can report that the specialist consultant who is doing the reports for my solicitor told me yesterday that this case is very complicated, that I have (in his opinion) a very good, strong case-but if Barts fights (and he said they would), this whole thing will be very long and drawn out.
It would be much easier for me to move forward if we could settle early - but it doesn't look like that is going to happen.
I'm discouraged, but I refuse to allow myself to be beaten. This mood will pass (eventually). It always does. Meanwhile, I will keep doing everything that makes me dizzy-and see if I keep improving.
On Saturday afternoon, I decided to take myself to the movies; I thought that if I could actually sit through something I wanted to see, I would feel better. I missed nearly all the films I wanted to see in the last two years-so I went to see Men in Black 3-and I pushed the boat out and saw it in 3-D. Amazing-I was able to sit through it without feeling severe vertigo, and I really enjoyed it! Of course, I stood up when the film was over and nearly fell flat on my face! It took me about ten minutes just to get my eyes back and be able to stagger outside. But-I felt a sense of achievement to be able to go and watch a movie at all. That's a good sign; it lifted my mood a bit, which was, of course, the whole idea in the first place!!
I'm not in a joke-telling mood this morning. For one thing, it's been raining - and rain makes the balance worse. I can report that the specialist consultant who is doing the reports for my solicitor told me yesterday that this case is very complicated, that I have (in his opinion) a very good, strong case-but if Barts fights (and he said they would), this whole thing will be very long and drawn out.
It would be much easier for me to move forward if we could settle early - but it doesn't look like that is going to happen.
I'm discouraged, but I refuse to allow myself to be beaten. This mood will pass (eventually). It always does. Meanwhile, I will keep doing everything that makes me dizzy-and see if I keep improving.
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