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...:-)
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