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.