Reasons to be cheerful-part 1

That would make a good song title...in fact, I think it might already be a song title, in which case I nicked it (inadvertently, of course. Oops-whatever!!).

It has been a very challenging week, to say the least-but I suppose I am the poster girl for understatement!! The noisy, insane, nasty old fart from Hell upstairs, the midges, the hideously damp flat, the uncaring landlords who refuse to fix the damp...plus, of course, the chest infection and three weeks of ciprofloxacin-all enough to try the patience of a saint. I am no saint, that's for sure!!

I have been very depressed all week. I've had days and weeks like this for the last two years, but I had to really work hard to bring myself back on an even (ish) keel. I have yet to learn to accept the changes to my life; whether this whole thing could have been avoided (we know it could have been) isn't really relevant  now. The fact is, this happened, and there is no way to reverse the damage or change anything that happened. Like so many people I know, I tend to cling to injustices of the past, even though the anger poisons the present. I know I'm sad and angry; I don't need anyone to tell me that!! Changing my thoughts and my attitudes takes some incredibly hard work. I'm working on it-it takes time.

I remember my old meditation teacher telling me that happiness is a habit, not the result of something happening, not a payoff-but a choice. When you feel like you are a salmon swimming upstream (only to end up as someone's lunch), that is a little difficult to keep in mind. So I thought about what makes me feel grateful, and what cheers me, hoping to pull myself out of this latest low mood.

The biggest event at the moment is my impending trip to New York. I finally decided that, after three years, it is time to go visit everyone, so my friends and family can see that I haven't been abducted by aliens. This is a major deal, believe me: I'm not able to drive long distances, so I will stay in a hotel and take the subway. Eeek-the subway!!! What a challenge!! I'll also fly down to Orlando to visit my very good friend, who is a gourmet cook, among other things-so I must lose some weight between now and then, or I won't be able to fit into any of my clothes!!

I've got other reasons to be cheerful: although I have been really dizzy and falling over this past week, I understand that I also haven't been sleeping, and I've been doing all the things that make me worse-so the setback is a temporary affliction. I'm improving, but very slowly. I still have my arms and legs (complete with midge bites), and I still have all my faculties (except, of course, my balance)-so I'm very lucky. This could all have been so much worse. I have to be a bit more objective.

The big thing is the journey-and, of course, how I will handle many hours on a plane, plus the time difference. This is a challenge-but I always rise to a challenge, no matter how much I complain about it!!

It seems I am famous (or infamous) in Haringey, because I stand up and fight for my rights as a tenant. I'm still fighting-I spent a lot of years giving into other people, and injustice-but I am older and wiser now, and these two years have made me tougher than I was before.

It's interesting that a man who stands up and fights for his rights is considered strong, and assertive, and tough; a woman who fights is called an evil bitch (among other things, if you ask anyone at Haringey!!). I remember seeing a man in Florida (this was years ago) who looked like he had stepped out of the film Deliverance - he was wearing a t-shirt that said "Proud to be a redneck". I did smile at that...now I think I will have a t-shirt printed that says "Proud to be a bitch". Perhaps I will send a photo of it to Haringey council!!

I didn't get this far by being a wimp; I got this far by being a fighter. If that makes me a bitch-oh, well, whatever.

Now you see em, now you don't

In certain parts of this country, they are called "no-see-ums" - another word for midges. Nasty little things, they are like gnats-except they bite. And I left the window open, so now I have a ton of them!!

On Sunday, I thought my eyes were going funny-they sometimes do, although the nystagmus is very small: it only is evident when I concentrate, or look a certain way, or I'm tired. Well-I'm always tired, but this was different. I thought I had floaters. Nope-midges.

My computer has been down for awhile, and I have been blogging from the local internet cafe-but I was home, so I Googled on my trusty phone, and learned that some essential oils will stop them from biting, and will (allegedly) send them to bite someone else. Upstairs, maybe?? LOL!!!

I suffered with them on Sunday-and yesterday, I decided to blast them with Raid. Now, Raid is great: I kill ants that come in from the garden, and spiders, too (as everyone now knows, I have a spider phobia). So I actually read the directions on the can-and I never read directions, I always work things out without them (when I can). I decided to blast.

I also read that some essential oils work well with midges and their non-carnivorous sisters (or brothers?), the gnats. In the event of a nuclear war, the only forms of life left will be cockroaches and gnats-and midges, that will bite the other two!! Anyway-peppermint, lavender and citronella oils can be used to deter the little buggers. So, since I believe in overkill when it comes to bugs-I used all three. I nearly asphyxiated myself, and the whole flat stank of essential oils-and I nearly blinded myself by rubbing lavender oil all over myself (nearly got it in my eyes), but I was able to get some sleep without being bitten within an inch of my life.

I also sprayed Raid everywhere. I think I probably sprayed my computer, too-and my phone, and the television, and-well, I sprayed everywhere, just in case!! I then closed the doors and bid a hasty retreat into the bedroom. If the oils don't get me, the Raid will!!

This is all incentive for me to move out of here-of that I am certain. It is also incentive for me to continue working hard to get more balance back; that way, I can start looking for somewhere else to live-in an area filled with normal people!! 

Meanwhile, there is Raid. And lavender, citronella and peppermint oils. And next time I will wear a mask!!

Suicide, homicide and Dignitas

When I first discovered that I couldn't get out of bed, or see, or do anything without someone having to do it for me-I was so angry, depressed, frightened-I joked about signing myself up for Dignitas, but I think back two years and I think I was only half joking. Two years later, things look different.

I saw a documentary about Dignitas a few months ago-and although I believe in euthanasia, I was shocked at what I saw. In fact, I thought Dignitas would be a lovely country estate in Switzerland-and I couldn't have been more wrong! Eeeek!!

I think the Swiss have the right idea: assisted suicide is legal there, and when someone is so ill, or has no chance of any kind of life, they should be allowed to end it all. And their loved ones shouldn't have to worry about facing arrest if they help them. We should all be in charge of our own bodies, after all.

Dignitas turned out to be situated in the middle of an industrial estate, surrounded by concrete buildings and the noise of a motorway. I could be wrong, but that is the way I remember it; a one story building that looked like a down market shack, with a lovely view of factories. All this for the paltry sum of ten thousand pounds! I thought there would be a very peaceful, elegant house with green fields, and a good view of the Alps. What a letdown! And I thought that the interior would be lovely, not clinical and full of plastic. AND I thought that the staff would be friendly, compassionate, that they would at least give you lunch or tea before they kill you. Nope: the two people they filmed had to complete all kinds of paperwork, and they were asked several times: are you sure you want to go through with this? What-did you get a refund if you changed your mind, or at least get a credit if you decided to postpone it? Of course you didn't.

There was no restful music-there was nothing, only the fact that people were sitting in what could have been an abortion clinic (no, I've never been to one, but in my imagination, it would look like Dignitas), and there was no social conversation; there was only someone with a witness, saying that the patient would drink two glasses, one with something to stop the person from vomiting the poison, and the other glass was poison.

I wondered if you could pick a flavor: orange, maybe, or cherry? Somehow I doubted it.

The wife of the old guy who decided that life wasn't worth living, and that his condition would only get worse, looked frightened, tense, upset, as if she wanted to burst into tears, but she tried to put on a brave face. She's probably going to be in therapy for a long time. In fact, I got so upset, I wanted to go into therapy myself!!

No Dignitas for me; no thought, no contemplation of any form of suicide. I'm lucky that I have worked hard enough to get 55% back; I refuse to give up, no matter how long it takes.

Of course, I mention all this because of two items in the news. The first was a man with motor neurone; he was unable to do anything-and he communicated by blinking his eyes. He wanted the right to die-but the courts denied him this right, telling him some kind of crap about him not being legally allowed to take his own life. In fact, he died shortly thereafter anyway-and if his family gave him a little assistance, I hope they get away with it. What kind of life did he have? He couldn't get up and take a stroll-and I can (even if I do fall over at times). The court had no right to tell him anything.

The second item was about Tony Scott, the British director, who offed himself by leaping off a bridge in California. Now that I have trouble understanding-he seemed to have everything anyone could want, and yet he decided to jump to his death. Obviously there was more to it than most people know-but I couldn't help thinking at the time: what if he got halfway down and thought "oh, crap, I've changed my mind!"? Committing suicide by leaping off a bridge is very final; how long do you have to think about your life? What do you do, think about your bills, or the mortgage-do you whistle on the way down?

Does any leaper (or any suicide, for that matter) think about the family members left behind? What about the people who leap off a tall building? Suppose they hit something on the way down, break their fall (not to mention all their bones), and end up quadriplegic? And do they spare a thought for the person they might land on and therefore take out with them? Or the poor sucker who has to pick up all the body parts, and scrape up the mess on the ground, and put it all in a baggie?

No-the bridge is neater; a tall building is just plain bad manners.

I'm still wishing that someone would throw my nasty upstairs neighbor off a bridge-or a cliff-or out of a building-or in front of a speeding train. I know it's very un-Christian, but who cares? I also know it is very bad karma-but try being kept awake for several nights in a row, being threatened, and having someone pee all over your doormat, and throw all kinds of disgusting trash out his window and have it land right outside yours-and then see how you feel about karma!!!

I'm glad I am getting better, even though it is a very slow process; it means I can move out of here. Maybe the next person to suffer has someone in the family who will beat the idiot to a pulp-so he will have to move!

There is a lot to be said for winning the lottery!! LOL!!!

And another thing!!

Of course, I didn't mention the cowardly rapist Julian Assange, who will forever be remembered for hiding like the coward he is in the Ecuadorian embassy, rather than for WikiLeaks. If he was innocent, he would be a man and return to Sweden and defend himself. Therefore (knowing that where there is smoke there is usually fire), he must be guilty.

I think that all countries should revoke diplomatic immunity. All diplomats get away with any crimes they commit, because the law says they are immune from prosecution. That is utterly ridiculous. And the way to deal with the likes of the lowlife Assange is to freeze all his financial assets, charge him (and enforce payment) for the millions it is costing the taxpayer to try to get him out of the embassy, and then storm into the building and remove him, deport him and hand him over to the Swedes, and inform him that his presence in this country is no longer wanted. Ever.

Ecuador is sending a clear message to the world that it welcomes rapists - and probably murderers and terrorists as well-and it is well past time that we send a message back: we don't allow criminals to hide anywhere. Ecuador doesn't like it? Go jump. There is nothing there that anyone wants.

You see? I told you that women should be in charge!!

Sleepless in London

Well, it doesn't quite have the feel of Seattle, but it will have to do-mostly because I am very sleepless. I keep hoping that someone will come and kidnap the miserable toad who lives upstairs and drop him off somewhere-over a cliff would be perfect!! I know, I know: I should be more charitable, since the noisy old fart clearly has a lot of mental problems-but I'm way past the charitable feelings, and closer to feelings of euthanasia!!

All I was able to do was report him to the antisocial behaviour team-who will, if they are anything like Haringey Council, do precisely nothing! And the worst part of all this is that the police knocked on my door on Sunday morning-they knocked so hard, I thought they were going to break the door in! I opened it when I saw the plastic police uniform through the spyhole (plastic police is my term for the civilians who dress up in uniforms but have no police powers. And they don't get paid. Perhaps they just do it for the uniform, thinking that it provides some miniscule power).

Noisy bugger upstairs called them and told them that I vandalized his plants that he keeps on the landing upstairs. He said he "saw me do it". I just couldn't help myself; I started to laugh. I told them about all the complaints I made against the imbecile for the noise, and that he threatened me-and that this was all in the hands of the antisocial behaviour team. Of course, the plastic coppers backed down-and they said they would let Suzanne (the ASBO lady) deal with it-but that I should dial the emergency police number if I feel threatened by him again. I said I didn't think that would do much good-and I know from past experience that the only way to deal with someone who threatens you is to carry something noxious-like oven cleaner-and be prepared to spray it in his face before he can take the can away and spray it in yours. Brave words!! I would probably just kick him hard where it hurts-that's if he has any balls at all. Bullies usually don't.

So that was my Sunday-I almost wished I had gone to church and missed the whole performance!!

It's been a rough week. I'm on week 2 of a three week course of a nasty antibiotic for this chest infection. One of the many problems with CVID (or, being born without an immune system) is the fact that I tend to get frequent chest infections-and really strange ones. This one is called serratia-really, it sounds like some form of skin complaint. Even the nurse didn't know what it was; she said she had to Google it. Lovely!

I remember growing up wanting to be rare and special-I think we all want to feel special, different, exceptional in some way. Is it fair to say that most (if not all) children want to grow up and be very important, leave a mark on the world, be remembered for something that lasts longer than they do? I know that I felt that way: I wanted to leave some legacy for which I would be remembered-a cure for cancer, perhaps. Of course, I wanted to be remembered in a good way, not like the mass murderers, Australian rapists who are hiding out in the Ecuadorian Embassy in London because they are too cowardly to go to Sweden and face the music (did I mention the name Julian Assange? Of course I didn't), and assorted idiots who run countries (did I say Blair, Bush, Cameron, Obama? Of course I didn't).

Personally I would rather be healthy and without this rare, hereditary condition which doesn't make life any easier. Skip the rare and special!! And-I know it could be so much worse.

I'm stuck where I am (for the moment). But I haven't hit the plateau point where there is no more progress-progress is just very, very slow, and - I was born without the patience gene. I just have to continue to work very hard, and remember that other people notice the difference, even though I don't see any changes at all.

I won't stay in this flat, this area, this condition forever. So pardon me while I hit Starbucks and the Kettle Chips.

Just try not thinking of a lemon

Years ago, I took a meditation course. One of the exercises was to close our eyes and not visualize a lemon. Of course, all we could think about was a lemon: what it looked like, lemonade, lemon juice, vodka and tonic with a slice of lemon-you get the picture. When I said not to think about a lemon, didn't you picture one? Exactly. There are so many schools of thought (including scientific laws of physics) that tell us that we create what we think about-and that if we decide NOT to think about something, we think about it even more. I remember dreaming about lemons the night we did that exercise. Really!!

Last week marked exactly two years since the gentamicin poisoning: 104 weeks. I know I said I would no longer mark the dates on  my calendar-and I don't mark the dates!! - but I have to admit that it is 105 weeks today, and I'm not marking the occasion, but that doesn't mean I still think about it. Think about something long enough and create it: that goes for spiders (trust me when I say I know that-talk about a phobia!!!), cancer, loss of any kind-you name it. I truly feel that this is not something that is simplistic.

It is about 88F outside: sun, humidity, and horrendous heat. That doesn't happen very often in this country-and, thank goodness, it doesn't last very long. But I still feel like a crispy critter: I don't even need to be stuck over a spit to feel deep fried!! I don't like the heat: I sweat, my hair frizzes until it looks like cotton fluff, and all I want to do is sleep-until winter.

So, I decided to think cool thoughts. Hey-it is supposed to work for Yogis-and it most certainly didn't work for me. All it did was make me laugh. So much for creating what you want, not what you don't want. Obviously, I am in need of a lot of practice. By the time it works, it'll be winter. And I will stop complaining about the weather!!

I went to the gym early this morning. My trainer took no pity on me, and worked me very hard. Happily, the gym is air-conditioned-that is progress, given the fact that I have lived here for many years, and a/c was unheard of for years after I arrived. You sweated; you fainted; you had heart failure and heat stroke (really, there were times when the government issued heat warnings. Forget a/c: they gave us heat warnings). I never fainted, but I did sit in the shower until my skin was the consistency of a prune. Not a very attractive look, I might add!!

I went through my paces this morning-armed with a large bottle of water-and I amazed myself by doing squats without either holding on tight to a bar or falling over. So-my brain is making pathways into the legs. Before, I only had the eyes, and we know how fuzzy my vision is, and how that didn't really help very much.

The discovery that I could do squats-which I couldn't do six months ago-gave me more incentive to work harder. After two years of on-and-off depression, and anxiety, and fear, and hopelessness-I have the first inkling that I might actually get more balance back. I know it has taken two years to get 50% back, and that some days I only manage 20%-but I finally feel that there is some hope after all.

What a shame that it took so long!! That's two years out of my life-and, of course, I don't know how much longer I've got (does anyone?). There's hope-and there is progress-and that is what is important.

Attitude is everything.

the noisy old fart from Hell

I read somewhere that there are at least 100 rats for every person in this country. I'm sure that's right; some of them even have four legs.

In a misplaced effort to save money, Haringey has decided to cut refuse collection to every two weeks. So there is garbage everywhere-and rats the size of BMWs running wherever there is a pile of garbage. And I've got one of the two-legged ones living upstairs.

We've all got horror stories about noisy, nasty, inconsiderate neighbors-and I have a few of my own (as you do). But the nasty old fart upstairs is a real piece of work.

This lifeform is from Somalia, or Ethiopia, or some country where women are treated worse than their sheep. In fact, this old guy never washes; he wears robes and a head thing that smell so bad, you know he's in the vicinity when he's two blocks away. When he is upwind, it's even worse. And-it's bad enough that he hammers and bangs things in the middle of the night-and plays what passes for music at top volume in the middle of the night-but I think he's got no marbles at all. He accused me last week of spying on him, making phone calls and writing letters about him, and stalking him. I was so amazed, all I could say was that I don't make a habit of stalking piles of shit. Now the noise and hammering are worse. Of course, I did tell him on Sunday (when he got in my face and accused me again) that he should go back to shagging sheep wherever he came from. That would have gone down badly if he had understood what I was saying. His English is only good enough to get him on benefits, I guess.

Haringey has an antisocial behavior team-and, allegedly, they investigate every accusation of antisocial behavior. It took me four hours on the phone (they certainly don't want anyone to be able to find them!) to get through to that department. I explained what happened, and I also told about the noise-all night, every night. Perhaps he's been watching too many vampire movies and sleeps during the day. So I have an appointment to make a formal complaint tomorrow.

I'm living in an area that is designated for disabled people-but disabled people who are able to look after themselves. I had no idea that the area isn't only for the physically disabled-I spoke with one of the neighbors who told me that there are a few nutcases there, too. Oh, joy.

Along with my seemingly permanent sleep deprivation, I've had a few hiccups this week-and the week isn't even over yet!!! I get hospital transport, and I missed two appointments due to the hospital transport people screwing up in a big way. The car turned out to be an ambulance, and the ambulance showed up at the same time as my appointment. I was very annoyed-especially since my appointment was with Dr. Dimples. Now I don't know when I can get another appointment. Grrrr-incompetence is a pet peeve of mine.

I must be secretly Type A!!

There is a bit of good news, though: even with a new chest infection, I have been able to do some of the balance exercises I couldn't do without falling over. My bruises still have bruises, and my lumps and bumps still have lumps and bumps (I'm quite possibly permanently black and blue and lumpy and bumpy), but I can walk a bit better than I did before. I'm still working on getting off the stick-and I'll get there, or it won't be for lack of effort.

I learned from the hospital transport encounter that it's best to check, double check, and triple check everything myself. Sometimes people let you down-and it's worse when the people who let you down are the ones you don't expect to do so. I'm starting to doubt people's efficiency and competence. I feel like a policewoman!!

Courage, kind words and a sense of humor

Sometimes I think that bravery is highly overrated.

I got quite depressed over the fact that I have now had this condition for two years-and I know I need to have some patience and work hard-but I have to say that I wasn't born with the patience gene. That went missing, along with the genes that provide the immune system!!

There are times I start to think I haven't worked hard enough for that all-important 80%, and I begin to feel discouraged. My friends, my GP, my physiotherapists and others tell me how courageous I am, and I'm such an inspiration...well, there are times my courage fails me. At least I've reached the point where I'm no longer joking about signing me up for Dignitas!!

For the first eighteen months, my sense of humor deserted me, and I felt very, very alone. I was very, very alone! My closest friends aren't in this country. They've all got their own lives, families, dramas-and I won't bellyache to my friends all the time-because if I do, I won't have any friends left!!

Humor is really important-so is a sense of perspective. If I could go back in time two years, I would change everything that happened-but I can't, so I need to learn to live with the situation, and live a life that is forever changed (radically!!). I find forgiveness difficult, but I am working on moving forward, and I suppose forgiveness is part of that. What I find really interesting is that my moods affect the things that happen to me. I will explain.

Yesterday I went out for a walk-and I also went to the gym (I did that today, too-good for me!!). On my way back, a man I've never seen before stopped me in the street and told me that he worked in one of the local shops; he said that he and his partner have watched me struggling to walk by, and they felt badly because I seemed so very unwell. He went on to say that I look like I've made a spectacular improvement, and that they were very happy to see me on the mend. I nearly fell over-I've never seen this man, and he didn't have to say anything, but he made a point of stopping me.

I told him that I have worked very hard-and he said that he could see that-and I thanked him for the kind words and encouragement. We went our separate ways-but I could feel my posture change as I straightened up, and I smiled when I thought of the encounter. Kind words-they do mean a great deal. And yet, most people I have encountered have been anything but kind!!

Tomorrow I return to see Dr Dimples, my neurologist-and we will see what he says. He's always encouraging, treats me like I've got a brain-and he's also very cute!!

I know there is light at the end of this very long tunnel-but I have felt that it is an oncoming express train. I think I'm pushing myself to start moving forward, rather than stay stuck in the past. It's not easy.

Nobody ever said that life was supposed to be easy!!

Tweaking the funnybone and waving the flag

Today marks 104 weeks-exactly two years- and I wanted to have at least 80% of my balance back-but I don't have that, so I will have to be patient and keep working harder and longer.

I have endured two weeks of shouting and screaming at top volume (and that's just from the sports announcers-I'm surprised they haven't worked themselves into a heart attack), rabid xenophobia, pathological envy, enough jingoism and nasty nationalism and backbiting to make me want to vomit-and I'm glad that "sporting event" is nearly over. No kidding!!

So-I will do my little bit of patriotic flag waving, and say: go Team USA, leave them all behind in the dust, grab all those golds!! All Americans are very proud of our team and our great athletes, and we don't have to dump on anyone else's athletes, or teams, or countries in order to feel proud- in order to feel adequate (unlike some countries I could mention!).

The other day, I found myself in a discussion with someone (British) about the Olympics-as if anyone could get away from that topic at the moment!! He said that Lance Armstrong is a cheater, and that Olympic cycling was -and is- filled with drug taking cheats. So-never afraid to stand up for what I believe in (as you know by now)-I said that means that Bradley Wiggins must be a drug taking cheat in order to win the Tour de France for Britain. This guy became really irate: no, Wiggins is just talented. So, I said, was Armstrong. Oh, no, our athletes aren't drug taking cheats, this chap said. Neither are ours, I declared. Stalemate.

Really. Teams USA and China are first and second in the medals table-as they were in Beijing-and they flip between first and second. I notice that our athletes have grace, and exhibit good sportsmanlike behavior; they have no problem congratulating other athletes for beating them, even though they are disappointed. They make no excuses.

The athletes from the country that is in third place (no prizes for guessing who that is), however, are a different story altogether. This is a country filled with sore losers and sore winners alike. They make the most lame excuses for not coming first: the other teams take drugs/the grass is too green/we only can win if there are two Thursdays in the week or there are no Rs in the month/it's not a leap year. You get the idea: nobody else is any good, and nobody else rates. That is why I will be delighted when the Olympics are over.Brits wring their hands with glee when it comes to someone else's misfortune. We don't-and that is the difference between winners and losers.

I've got the ideal solution for the problem of lying, cheating and drug taking in the Olympics (if you think I'm really serious, slap yourself a few dozen times!):  take all the athletes who are cheats, put them in suits, and and give them a place in a profession that requires people who lie, cheat, steal and take drugs. I speak, of course, of politics. You absolutely need to lie, cheat and steal to be a politician; we all know that. You don't need brains, or charm, or looks, or wit (witness Tony Blair, Cameron and Clegg, Obama, and, of course, Bush-proof positive). You just need to be thoroughly odious and unscrupulous. After all, it has worked for all those I just named-not to forget Merkel, and what's his name-the man who replaced the dwarf Sarkozy.

Bolt? Definitely on drugs-either that, or he is used to running from the police. Andy Murray? Drugs-and the only way he would ever, ever beat Roger Federer is if he sedated him before the match. The UK women rowers? Drugs, obviously. Plus, they have the shoulders of linebackers. And they're ugly.

All members if the Olympic committee? Well, obviously. Sebastian Coe? Some idiot made him a peer-he must be on drugs. Oh, and let's not forget David Beckham (much as we would like to!). He's more famous for his underwear commercials than anything else-and let's face it, someone must have shoved a bunch of bananas down his knickers before the shoot. I don't know if Beckham is on drugs, but he certainly makes me want to take drugs: the kind that stop you from vomiting. Him, repulsive? Oh, absolutely.

So there you are: my solution to Olympic drug taking. My solution to everything else that's wrong in the world? Put women in charge!!

Obstinate and opinionated? Me?? Just a pussycat

Okay, well I confess to being opinionated. Obstinate? Perhaps-I don't think I would have survived this long if I didn't have more than a little bit of bloody-mindedness in my nature. That is more from necessity than anything else, though.

I remember being beaten and bullied while I was growing up. I was beaten at home, and bullied (severely) at school-so I can both sympathize and resonate with kids who are bullied today, and I'm not surprised that the rate of suicide among bullied schoolchildren is so high in this country. I grew up being afraid to ever say anything-so introverted that I found it difficult to hold a conversation for fear that I was going to be attacked in some way. That is a very unpleasant way to go through childhood, I can tell you.

Sadly, I married a man who was very bullying and emotionally abusive-and it took years before I finally stood up to him and walked out. So I can also identify with abused women, too. And when this whole gentamicin toxicity event took place, I realized that I was going to have to toughen up if I wanted to survive-and if I wanted to get through this. I did get through it-for two years, I got through it, and I refused to give in.

Anyone who has been following this blog knows the situation with Homes for Haringey-I refused to quit there, too. And-I learned that a woman who asserts herself is called a bitch (and a lot of other unflattering and untrue descriptive words, too)-yet a man who asserts himself is called strong and assertive. Long live the double standard (yeah, right??).

I'm now waiting for my solicitor to return from her holidays; she will be back in the office at the end of August. She wrote last week that Barts (now known as Barts Trust, I think-it should be Barts never trust) has denied all liability for my claim. No big surprise there, since Barts has a long record of being sued for negligence. So I am prepared to go to court-and do whatever it takes to win this case. In this country, people talk a lot about injustice, but do precious little to do anything to create change. Not I-I will stand up for my rights, I will not quit, and the longer Barts drags its feet, the more expensive this will cost them.

I will win. They are messing with the wrong person. Long live strong women! (perhaps I am more of a tiger than a pussycat. Time will tell!)

Jingoism, xenophobia, and porky pies

I certainly stirred up some people when I said that some little white lies are appropriate-necessary, in fact! I received a few comments on that, I can tell you!! So before I get to the rest of the blog, I need to return to the little porky pie (lie) scenario. I stand my ground; certain tiny lies are required-depending on the situation.

For example: you go shopping with a friend, and she tries on a dress that makes her look like an elephant in a tutu. Do you tell her that? Not if you want to keep her as a friend! You might say something like "let's look at a few more; perhaps you'll find something you like a lot" - or something similar. Or-you are shopping with a friend (another one) who has legs like tree trunks, and wants to buy a mini skirt-and she is about 65 years old, and looks like she applies her makeup with a trowel (the Joan Collins look: not just mutton dressed as lamb, but 80 trying desperately to look like she is 30- yuck!!). Do you tell her that she looks like an old porker? Not unless you want the inevitable black eye for the suggestion-you mumble that she would look younger in black/white/red/a black plastic bag- or whatever.

My best white lie example comes from the time when my neighbor, Crazy Carol (of the eyeball searing yellow and Chernobyl green walls) invited me to her flat for lunch. It was God-awful; I mean, I wouldn't serve it to my dog. I wouldn't serve it to anybody's dog-the poor thing would probably bite me. All the way through lunch, Carol kept saying how gorgeous it all was: "if I do say so myself", she kept saying, looking sideways at me for a compliment. What was I going to do: tell the truth and say that she should stick to microwave meals and takeaway? I finally said "mmm, lovely"- which she took as approval, but which I meant as-well, lovely could mean anything, from the trees outside to one of her plastic ducks hanging crookedly on the wall. Needless to say, she kept inviting me back, and I kept being very, very busy. Besides, she makes coffee that could peel the paint off my walls. I'd rather have-Kettle Chips.

Now, that should be enough to explain "little white lies". I do NOT mean anything earth shattering, or "I sent that three weeks ago", when it is still sitting on your desk-that is just plain rude. Or-of course I'm not having an affair-which could get you killed.

Now to jingoism and xenophobia: you guessed it, I'm taking a potshot at the Olympics. The Brits, never to take failure without making feeble excuses and slandering their competition, have been saying that a lot of gold medal winners are drug taking. Of course, this only applies to the American and Chinese teams-who, coincidentally, are well ahead in the medals table. Yesterday I went to our little mindfulness meeting: four of us meet once a month to keep up with the meditation we learned several months ago. Inevitably, we talked about the Olympics. I naturally support Team USA-and I am being very patriotic when I say that I hope our team creams everybody else!!

Out came the comments that Britain has the best athletes, and, of course, other people are the ones who win by taking drugs. Who would that be? I asked. Well, Lance Armstrong couldn't possibly win unless he took drugs, since cycling is full of drug-taking. Oh, I said, then Bradley Wiggins, who just won his first Tour de France, must be taking drugs. I got a very snappy reply: of course not, cycling is in his genes. Yeah, right? And Bolt, I said, must be on drugs to be able to run so fast. And what about the rowers? Well-I gave as good as I got (I usually do). And I said that the Brits are worse winners than they are losers-and they are very poor losers. They have no grace, only excuses.

Well-we agreed to differ, and we were all fine at the end-even Jane, who is Austrian, and took my side. Jane is returning to Austria after many years here in Britain. We started to talk about her decision to return home-she seemed unsure, and I turned to her and said that she could always change her mind and come back. I said that she should follow her heart, and if she made a mistake, she could just change her mind and return, that she would always be welcome. She gave me a big smile-I think I said the right thing.

I tend to listen well to other people-and to give pretty good advice (which I wish I would take-I would be so much better off if I listened to myself!!)-and, for some reason, people tend to confide in me and ask for advice, so I'm very careful to ask them first what they think. I don't ever want to tell someone something and then find out later on down the road that I gave them a load of rubbish!!

I think I missed my true vocation: agony aunt and motivational speaker!!

Sometimes you just have to lie!

It is now 103 weeks-and I said I would stop counting when I reach two years exactly-so that is what I am going to do.

I had to go to the Royal London the other day; it was my quarterly visit to see Matt, the consultant who replaced Hilary (remember, I sacked her last year) Longhurst. It's amazing to me that everyone at Bart's and the London keeps telling me to move to the Royal Free, which is so much closer to my house. Even Matt broached the subject on Wednesday; he is challenging me to go (and I'm fairly certain that is a Bart's management directive), and I am refusing to leave. My thinking is that every time I have to go into the hospital, the staff at the London will be very, very careful.

So, we had this lengthy discussion, and I said that I will never trust Sofia in a million years. Matt said that we then have a stalemate, because I need to trust the entire team to do what is best for me. I said that I trust him, but he is the only consultant I trust.

Eeek-I'm such a liar!! I like Matt, but I have had the worst experience of my life by trusting both Hilary and Sofia to provide good medical care. And it has taken two years for me to be able to begin to move forward. Do I believe they have my best interests at heart? I believe they have their best interests at heart. I'm very wary-wouldn't you be wary?

I remember getting caught cheating on an exam when I was about 14-my classmate copied an answer from the person sitting next to her, I copied from her, and someone else copied from me-and we all got caught. It was the most embarrassing moment of my life (up until then, anyway). The worst part of it all was the fact that we all copied a wrong answer!!!! So we got detention for nothing, and the teacher failed us on the exam, and all our parents were notified. I went home, thinking I was going to get a severe beating-but I got a lecture about honesty and integrity instead. My parents told me how disappointed they were, and that someone who cheats on an exam, or their taxes, or anything else in life is a loser who is fooling nobody but themselves. You don't lie, cheat or steal, they said: what goes around comes around, and whatever you do in life will always come home to roost. Then they grounded me for a month. I never cheated again.

Well-as I get older, I'm beginning to think that little white lies here and there aren't such a major deal. For example: a woman asks her partner if her bum looks big in what she is wearing. We have ALL had that experience! Better to be tactful - at least, if you want to stay in the relationship, and if you prefer not to be thrown out the window or smacked in the face with the nearest heavy object!!- and say you think the style isn't very flattering-or something to that effect.  You do NOT tell her that she has a backside the size of Brazil and anything she wears will make her butt look like a small third-world country!!

White lies: I remember the old one about washing one's hair: I'm sorry, I can't go out with you, I'm washing my hair. Ewww...nobody says that these days (at least, I hope not!). Anything is better than that: I've got a date, I'm very busy, I've got herpes, I'm gay - well, perhaps not the last two, but I think you get the drift. Lie, rather than tell someone he is too creepy-because he just might turn out to be tomorrow's serial killer.

I mention all this because I was just about rupturing myself on the treadmill the other day when the news was filled with accusations about the Chinese athlete who might be taking drugs to win. Typical Olympic stuff: someone is always doping to win. I thought at the time about the Chinese government's somewhat less than sterling stance on human rights. They like torturing and killing people: their own people, anyone else's people, they don't really care. If I was competing, I'd be taking drugs, too-just the thought of what might be waiting for me if I went back with no medals would scare me into doing whatever I needed to do to win!!

There is no greater motivator than fear (except, perhaps, greed: just ask any politician).

So-I'm all for the little white porky-I mean, little, not the mega, cosmic-sized whopper (like, buying a dress and saying it was on sale, rather than paying the mortgage-I actually had a neighbor in North London who did that. She is now divorced. Well, duh!!).

I just had an hour of training at the gym. I've decided that nothing and nobody will stop me from getting that 80% back-and more, if I can do it. No-WHEN I can do it. I think I need CPR.