Actually, I should say that if it's December, it must be raining! December has been so wet, I'm surprised that some entrepreneur hasn't started an ark-building course.
It's been very difficult for me. I've had to choose between going out in the pouring rain and risking getting drenched and developing a chest infection (in addition to the nasty cold I've had all month), plus the possibility of getting shoved in front of traffic by some imbecile who isn't looking where he (or she) is going, or staying indoors and not doing the walking that will help me get more of my balance back. For the most part, I've elected to stay in-and I've really suffered the consequences.
I was walking down the road on Friday-it was actually a dry day. Miracles happen!!! I fell over. Suddenly, with no warning whatsoever, I felt myself go. Luckily, there was a wall right next to me, and I crashed into it. It has been that kind of month - but I have managed to be more philosophical, and to realize that it will take longer than I originally thought to get back that 80%-that magic 80% that I want so desperately. I need to stop feeling both vulnerable and disabled - because I feel that at some point, I will be neither of those. Hopefully - and it will take a lot more work to get there.
One thing I have been thinking about since Christmas is my resolution list for 2013. I have the same resolutions I have every year: put an end to procrastination, change my diet, lose weight, do more exercise, meditate regularly, be more positive...the usual things that most friends feel they want to do, too. And I always break the resolutions within the first week of January! Eeek..does that sound familiar? Everyone I know makes at least one of those resolutions - and everyone I know breaks them around the same time I do: somewhere around the fifth of January. Best not to resolve anything, and just go and do it.
I've got something of a different resolution this year - in addition to the usual ones I listed above. I have had a really tough three years. In fact, I have had a thoroughly abominable decade. These last ten years have been the worst ten years of my life-and that is going some, I can tell you. I've carried a great deal of anger, sometimes fury - and fear, anxiety, tremendous stress - and it has all been magnified since the big deal of 2010. I've also felt a huge sense of betrayal, and I've felt let down and victimized, especially by the hospital. And I have to let all that go, no matter how difficult it is and no matter how long it takes.
So-I know that I can't solve problems with the same mindset that created them. I also know that I do not want to carry the anger and all the other toxic emotions from the last decade into the next one. I've been my own therapist (and at least, in this case, my therapist and I speak the same language!!!). I understand how toxic emotions destroy the person who feels them - even though the perpetrator(s) feel absolutely nothing.
Not everyone thinks or feels the same way I do (which is really annoying!!). Other people don't feel the sense of guilt and remorse I think they should feel. I've been beating myself up over all this injustice for years. Has it changed anything or anyone? No, of course it hasn't. Has it improved my life in any way? No, of course it hasn't - it has done precisely the opposite.
Regaining more of my balance and visual acuity means that I have to work very hard, do what I have been told to do, stay immobile (or in the house) less and walk more, regardless of weather, ignorant people, or the fact that I'm feeling either too tired or too lazy (or both). The brain will not make new neural pathways unless it is constantly challenged - and stress, anger, bad diet, bad weather...all the factors I've written about in the last year-really, really hold back any kind of progress.
So-I need to dump the negative feelings, the negative people, the toxic emotions-and work with a different, more positive mindset. This isn't a maybe I will, maybe I won't kind of thing; it's an absolute necessity, and changing from a glass half empty cynic to a glass half full realistic optimist will be a challenge.
My life has been one challenge after another, and this huge challenge isn't just another one, but one that will be life-changing. If I want to live a better life - and I do - I have to pick up the gauntlet and get to work. No excuse will do; any excuse is just feeble, in my view.
So there you have it. I've got another huge challenge ahead of me for 2013: going into the new year, and a new decade, without the mindset I have dragged with me for the last year (and decade).
Tonight I will raise a glass or three of bubbly (not the domestic, naff Cava that people want to pass off as real champagne!! It's like serving Ripple and telling people it's French wine), toast the end of an era, and realistically will have to stop at two glasses (any more and I'm not on the floor, but under it).
So, fingers crossed, I will keep posting my progress (and more bad jokes every chance I get!), and if you have a challenge, have a go with me. The best revenge is success.
Happy New Year, and I will see you on Wednesday!
Monday 31 December 2012
Friday 28 December 2012
The cornerstones of life
Murphy's Law was in operation this week; I thought I was safe from the vomiting flu, and I was a bit smug-that will teach me not to be smug!! I got through Christmas Day with no problems-but then, it hit. Wham!! Nasty little thing, too. So Boxing Day was-well, not a joy, and I will spare the gories. That isn't my idea of a fun way to lose weight, either - not recommended! All these people spreading germs-the problem is, too many people are breathing. It doesn't seem fair.
When I was a freshman in university, I took this psychology course with a professor who used to come into the room and run his fingernails down the blackboard. It had the desired effect: it shut us all up. And the prof carried this very heavy, very ornate walking stick that had a brass top and a brass base. It was very impressive-a real, handcarved walking stick, not a simple wood cane (althought mine does the job, so I'm not complaining).
I mention the walking stick because the prof used to hurl it across the room when someone wasn't paying attention. Within a week, all of us learned how to duck fast. The thing was heavy! And the prof had really, really good aim. Of course, today he would be charged with assault, but in those days, everyone was too afraid of him to complain. Besides, he was very entertaining when he wasn't trying to brain one of his students.
Prof used to write swear words on the blackboard. He once said that he did this to illustrate the point that words only have the meaning we assign to them; if someone who didn't speak English came into the class and read the swear words, the words would have no meaning. This was a very interesting concept-although it didn't stop anyone from swearing, we all used to tell each other not to be offended. I don't know where those students are now-probably in jail.
Prof also said that he has four cornerstones of life, and if we remember-and follow-those cornerstones, we will have a happy life. I found the index card on which I wrote those cornerstones about a million years ago-not that I have ever followed them, but a new year is coming next week, so doing something really constructive would be a good idea.
Number 1: Life is unfair. Things happen, and there is nothing we can do to change them. Birds eat worms; if you think that's fair, just ask a worm. There are tsunamis, places where there is horrendous poverty, and people killing each other for no reason whatsoever. Fair? Nope, I think not.
Number 2: There are no guarantees in life. We make plans, we get married (and maybe it'll last, and maybe not. I'm a pretty good expert on that one!), we decide where we are going for our holidays- and then we get some debilitating disease, or we get struck by lightning, or we are walking past a building where someone is delivering a piano and the thing slips, drops on our head, and it's goodnight, Vienna. Splat-that's a really quick way to go out, incredibly dramatic-hopefully it will be a Steinway, because if you are going to be splattered all over the pavement, it should be by something that is very expensive and top of the line.
Number 3: Someone is always moving the goalposts. Just when you think you are nearly where you want to be, some prat moves the goalpost. When you think you are within reach of the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, it turns out to be a McDonald's - and someone has moved it!!!!! (this is rather connected to numbers 1 and 2, don't you think?)
Number 4 (my favorite): Never assume anything. For example, someone says something really nasty, and you automatically assume that you have done something to make them angry. Or you see someone you know in the street, and they pretend (or seem to pretend) you aren't there. What's up with that? It could just be that they either didn't see you coming toward them, or (in scenario number 1) they've just been fired, they have a headache, they have PMS, whatever. Never assume it has to do with you, or it's your problem. Nine times out of ten (maybe ten times out of ten) it's their problem, not yours.
I read the card and thought of all the people who have knocked me flat-or hit me-or nearly knocked me in front of traffic-or cursed at me-in the last two and a half years, and I realized that I have been really upset for no useful reason. I decided that these people a) have no manners at all; b)have probably been brought up in a barnyard - or a sewer; c) are total retards who have less intelligence than a cowpat.
Really, that helps; after all, how can you be angry with a retard who doesn't know any better (or seem to care, for that matter?). They are what they are. Sadly. It's as futile to stay angry with them as it is to be angry with a cockroach for being a cockroach. After all, I do live in a place where the average IQ is allegedly 80; really, I think it's closer to 40. A lot of villages are missing their idiots. Anger is futile.
Of course, I could invest in body armor. Or-I will just hope and pray that some (possibly all) of these people get hit on the head with a falling piano. A grand piano. From a great height. And - a cheap one.
When I was a freshman in university, I took this psychology course with a professor who used to come into the room and run his fingernails down the blackboard. It had the desired effect: it shut us all up. And the prof carried this very heavy, very ornate walking stick that had a brass top and a brass base. It was very impressive-a real, handcarved walking stick, not a simple wood cane (althought mine does the job, so I'm not complaining).
I mention the walking stick because the prof used to hurl it across the room when someone wasn't paying attention. Within a week, all of us learned how to duck fast. The thing was heavy! And the prof had really, really good aim. Of course, today he would be charged with assault, but in those days, everyone was too afraid of him to complain. Besides, he was very entertaining when he wasn't trying to brain one of his students.
Prof used to write swear words on the blackboard. He once said that he did this to illustrate the point that words only have the meaning we assign to them; if someone who didn't speak English came into the class and read the swear words, the words would have no meaning. This was a very interesting concept-although it didn't stop anyone from swearing, we all used to tell each other not to be offended. I don't know where those students are now-probably in jail.
Prof also said that he has four cornerstones of life, and if we remember-and follow-those cornerstones, we will have a happy life. I found the index card on which I wrote those cornerstones about a million years ago-not that I have ever followed them, but a new year is coming next week, so doing something really constructive would be a good idea.
Number 1: Life is unfair. Things happen, and there is nothing we can do to change them. Birds eat worms; if you think that's fair, just ask a worm. There are tsunamis, places where there is horrendous poverty, and people killing each other for no reason whatsoever. Fair? Nope, I think not.
Number 2: There are no guarantees in life. We make plans, we get married (and maybe it'll last, and maybe not. I'm a pretty good expert on that one!), we decide where we are going for our holidays- and then we get some debilitating disease, or we get struck by lightning, or we are walking past a building where someone is delivering a piano and the thing slips, drops on our head, and it's goodnight, Vienna. Splat-that's a really quick way to go out, incredibly dramatic-hopefully it will be a Steinway, because if you are going to be splattered all over the pavement, it should be by something that is very expensive and top of the line.
Number 3: Someone is always moving the goalposts. Just when you think you are nearly where you want to be, some prat moves the goalpost. When you think you are within reach of the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, it turns out to be a McDonald's - and someone has moved it!!!!! (this is rather connected to numbers 1 and 2, don't you think?)
Number 4 (my favorite): Never assume anything. For example, someone says something really nasty, and you automatically assume that you have done something to make them angry. Or you see someone you know in the street, and they pretend (or seem to pretend) you aren't there. What's up with that? It could just be that they either didn't see you coming toward them, or (in scenario number 1) they've just been fired, they have a headache, they have PMS, whatever. Never assume it has to do with you, or it's your problem. Nine times out of ten (maybe ten times out of ten) it's their problem, not yours.
I read the card and thought of all the people who have knocked me flat-or hit me-or nearly knocked me in front of traffic-or cursed at me-in the last two and a half years, and I realized that I have been really upset for no useful reason. I decided that these people a) have no manners at all; b)have probably been brought up in a barnyard - or a sewer; c) are total retards who have less intelligence than a cowpat.
Really, that helps; after all, how can you be angry with a retard who doesn't know any better (or seem to care, for that matter?). They are what they are. Sadly. It's as futile to stay angry with them as it is to be angry with a cockroach for being a cockroach. After all, I do live in a place where the average IQ is allegedly 80; really, I think it's closer to 40. A lot of villages are missing their idiots. Anger is futile.
Of course, I could invest in body armor. Or-I will just hope and pray that some (possibly all) of these people get hit on the head with a falling piano. A grand piano. From a great height. And - a cheap one.
Monday 24 December 2012
The origin of the light
For years I've been saying that the light at the end of the tunnel has to be an oncoming express train-such is my luck, if my ship was coming in, it was probably the Titanic. Needless to say, I have always been a glass half empty person, masquerading as a glass half full person!!
It's Christmas-AGAIN- and it always seems to come around so much more quickly than it did when I was growing up!! Funny thing, that...
I speak to people and I get the same messages over and over again, so I know that I am supposed to finally get it: offload, clear out the storage unit, clear out all the old stuff I will never use again-and that includes some pretty negative thoughts.
I had to call the noise people last night-again-and the police rang me yesterday afternoon, because they want to come and see me this afternoon to make a report about the wack job who lives upstairs. Goody. Will anything be done? Probably the same thing that has been done all along: nothing. In this country, you have to be murdered-in front of witnesses-for the police to take any action. They like to do the beating themselves. Am I a total cynic? Hey, I've spent more than half my life in this country-so yes, I am.
I promised myself last year that I would not only get moving on clearing out all the stuff in the storage unit (like NJ says, who needs six woks??), but also the old ways of thinking. And I also promised myself that I would jettison all the people who are - well - total tossers. I don't need negative people around me, I'm negative enough as it is!!! But-I'm working on that.
It has occurred to me lately that I am so lucky to have made it this far; I should have been dead years ago. CVID, cancer, now Ehlers-Danlos (there is a question in my mind about the severity of that one), and bilateral vestibular hypofunction...that has been an awful lot to handle. And I have handled it all pretty well, I think. I just keep getting up every time I get knocked down-and that's a lot. I just refuse to stay down, and refuse to roll over.
My lawyer called me to tell me that Bart's insists that they followed the Trust's protocol, and did nothing wrong. I instructed her to ask them if following the protocol includes ignoring all the symptoms of gentamicin poisoning, even when the patient is clearly exhibiting severe symptoms-and is asking to be taken off the drug. Needless to say, there was hesitation on the line. If Bart's wants a battle, they have one. And, because the laws in this country are so retarded (like a lot of the people!), hospitals everywhere get away with the most horrendous cases of obvious malpractice. I'm not alone there, not by a long shot. But I seem to be different from so many other people who have been abused by the NHS: I won't give up. I will raise a stink that Bart's will never forget, and I will go public: I'll contact every newspaper, television station, anyone else I can think of, because someone has to have the cojones to do it. That would be me. Again. As usual.
And so it is Christmas, and everything will be closed tomorrow; apart from turkey, and all the goodies that go with it-not to mention some really good wine- for me, it's business as usual. And no hospital appointments until January!!! That is a good enough reason to celebrate.
And, by the way, it's raining. It's been like a monsoon. But that is nothing new here. I walk in the rain anyway. I've come that far in two years!!
Merry Christmas to you all, eat, drink, be merry-mostly eat. And drink...And eat some more. And drink some more. Live it up; nobody knows what is around the corner!!
See you Thursday-possibly hung over!!
It's Christmas-AGAIN- and it always seems to come around so much more quickly than it did when I was growing up!! Funny thing, that...
I speak to people and I get the same messages over and over again, so I know that I am supposed to finally get it: offload, clear out the storage unit, clear out all the old stuff I will never use again-and that includes some pretty negative thoughts.
I had to call the noise people last night-again-and the police rang me yesterday afternoon, because they want to come and see me this afternoon to make a report about the wack job who lives upstairs. Goody. Will anything be done? Probably the same thing that has been done all along: nothing. In this country, you have to be murdered-in front of witnesses-for the police to take any action. They like to do the beating themselves. Am I a total cynic? Hey, I've spent more than half my life in this country-so yes, I am.
I promised myself last year that I would not only get moving on clearing out all the stuff in the storage unit (like NJ says, who needs six woks??), but also the old ways of thinking. And I also promised myself that I would jettison all the people who are - well - total tossers. I don't need negative people around me, I'm negative enough as it is!!! But-I'm working on that.
It has occurred to me lately that I am so lucky to have made it this far; I should have been dead years ago. CVID, cancer, now Ehlers-Danlos (there is a question in my mind about the severity of that one), and bilateral vestibular hypofunction...that has been an awful lot to handle. And I have handled it all pretty well, I think. I just keep getting up every time I get knocked down-and that's a lot. I just refuse to stay down, and refuse to roll over.
My lawyer called me to tell me that Bart's insists that they followed the Trust's protocol, and did nothing wrong. I instructed her to ask them if following the protocol includes ignoring all the symptoms of gentamicin poisoning, even when the patient is clearly exhibiting severe symptoms-and is asking to be taken off the drug. Needless to say, there was hesitation on the line. If Bart's wants a battle, they have one. And, because the laws in this country are so retarded (like a lot of the people!), hospitals everywhere get away with the most horrendous cases of obvious malpractice. I'm not alone there, not by a long shot. But I seem to be different from so many other people who have been abused by the NHS: I won't give up. I will raise a stink that Bart's will never forget, and I will go public: I'll contact every newspaper, television station, anyone else I can think of, because someone has to have the cojones to do it. That would be me. Again. As usual.
And so it is Christmas, and everything will be closed tomorrow; apart from turkey, and all the goodies that go with it-not to mention some really good wine- for me, it's business as usual. And no hospital appointments until January!!! That is a good enough reason to celebrate.
And, by the way, it's raining. It's been like a monsoon. But that is nothing new here. I walk in the rain anyway. I've come that far in two years!!
Merry Christmas to you all, eat, drink, be merry-mostly eat. And drink...And eat some more. And drink some more. Live it up; nobody knows what is around the corner!!
See you Thursday-possibly hung over!!
Saturday 22 December 2012
Only five more days to go
Oh joy-nearly Christmas. Escuse me, but wasn't the world supposed to end? Honestly, I am less worried about the world ending and more concerned about the world continuing as it is!!
I had a major disagreement (okay, a fight-verbal, though) with the nutjob upstairs. He was hammering all night Wednesday-who hammers all night? These aren't large flats-who hammers incessantly for two years? I swear, the man is bonkers and should be locked up somewhere.
So, on Thursday night-when it started again-I went upstairs and pounded on his door. He was shouting from behind a closed door, so I started to go back downstairs-and suddenly he came hurtling out of his flat, with his lodger hanging onto him to keep him from attacking me (or for whatever reason), and I had a go. He started to swear at me, and threaten me, and at one point he grabbed his groin and started to pull the zipper down, telling me he was going to urinate on me. Such class!! Such insanity!! I told him to go ahead, that it is probably so small that nobody could find it-but, I said, I will find it even if I have to use a microscope-then I will cut it off.
I was fuming. I went downstairs, rang the Haringey noise team (they are so useless), and yesterday morning I rang the antisocial behaviour team, the council, and the police. We will see what happens-probably nothing.
I wish I knew the kinds of people who would go up there and beat seven kinds of crap out of him, and tell him that if he doesn't stop, they will beat him some more!!!
Obviously he comes from a country where women are treated as less than cockroaches. Grrrr!!! Too bad I don't have a black belt. I would hit him with it.
I had a major disagreement (okay, a fight-verbal, though) with the nutjob upstairs. He was hammering all night Wednesday-who hammers all night? These aren't large flats-who hammers incessantly for two years? I swear, the man is bonkers and should be locked up somewhere.
So, on Thursday night-when it started again-I went upstairs and pounded on his door. He was shouting from behind a closed door, so I started to go back downstairs-and suddenly he came hurtling out of his flat, with his lodger hanging onto him to keep him from attacking me (or for whatever reason), and I had a go. He started to swear at me, and threaten me, and at one point he grabbed his groin and started to pull the zipper down, telling me he was going to urinate on me. Such class!! Such insanity!! I told him to go ahead, that it is probably so small that nobody could find it-but, I said, I will find it even if I have to use a microscope-then I will cut it off.
I was fuming. I went downstairs, rang the Haringey noise team (they are so useless), and yesterday morning I rang the antisocial behaviour team, the council, and the police. We will see what happens-probably nothing.
I wish I knew the kinds of people who would go up there and beat seven kinds of crap out of him, and tell him that if he doesn't stop, they will beat him some more!!!
Obviously he comes from a country where women are treated as less than cockroaches. Grrrr!!! Too bad I don't have a black belt. I would hit him with it.
Wednesday 19 December 2012
Nurse Ratched and the laws of karma
I tried to get onto this blog on Monday-with no luck at all. Talk about the laws of karma!!
For those of you who either aren't of a certain age or have never seen Jack Nicholson's movies-there is always Google!! Google is great...
I had a nurse years ago-before the gentamicin palaver-who was called Daphne. She was really evil-not only to me, but to all the other patients in the clinic. I nicknamed her Nurse Ratched-very appropriate, I thought!! And-I called her that to her face. I think that if you are going to call a spade a spade, or a bitch a bitch-do it to their face. And if they are bigger than you, prepare to run.
So Daphne (Nurse Ratched) walked around like she had swallowed a ton of prunes but still suffered from terminal constipation. She was nasty, and rude-and, at one point, another patient called across the room to me that I had given her the appropriate nickname (I sometimes get it right!!). One day I came into the clinic for my semi-annual exam and bloodletting, and Ratched wasn't there. I asked one of the nurses if she was gone, and I was told that she had retired. We patients all celebrated that day. What a great day!
And-I mention this for a reason. I got an email on Monday from a nurse I knew well in those Ratched days; Jess had moved on, but we email each other every Christmas, just to catch up and to send holiday greetings. It seems that our Nurse Ratched was walking along Whitechapel - just near the Royal London Hospital- and had a temporary lapse in concentration, and was hit by the 106 bus. Really, how funny-if I'm ever going to be hit by a bus (heaven forbid), at least it should be an upmarket bus, not the 106!! Jess said that people saw Daphne bounce (she's put on some weight since she retired-nobody to bully, I suspect). But the bus was only just pulling away, so Daphne wasn't hurt, just embarrassed (I wonder if any patients witnessed this and cheered). I wrote back to Jess and commented that it was too bad that she wasn't put onto a ward and treated by another Nurse Ratched just so she would be able to experience the same kind of damage she caused all of us...in any case, we had a good laugh over it.
Christmas, to me, is the season to be grumpy, pissed off, and generally cold (it's bloody freezing outside-and inside). And I start to think about what I wanted to accomplish during the year, but didn't. That makes me even more grumpy. So I thought about mortality, and how I need to let go of a lot of bad feelings and start really living in 2013. It's a new year-and each year I say I won't carry the same old crap around, because it's in the past and there is nothing I can do to change it. No resolutions, though-I break them all within a week!!
I thought about my grave, and my headstone (a bit macabre, that, but necessary at some point).
I decided that the inscription would read like this:
She lived to a hundred years old, and was completely healthy in body, mind and spirit. She was kind, compassionate, wickedly funny, and a good friend; she outlived (by some thirty + years) three incompetent medical consultants, some very stupid nurses, loads of completely braindead neighbors, a bunch of very obnoxious cousins, and one evil brother whom she called "the Antichrist"- and an ex-husband, about whom the less said, the better. She lived her life to the full, and the last words she said before she keeled over were: "at least I never got hit by the 106 bus to Whitechapel".
It will have to be a very large headstone. With very small printing.
For those of you who either aren't of a certain age or have never seen Jack Nicholson's movies-there is always Google!! Google is great...
I had a nurse years ago-before the gentamicin palaver-who was called Daphne. She was really evil-not only to me, but to all the other patients in the clinic. I nicknamed her Nurse Ratched-very appropriate, I thought!! And-I called her that to her face. I think that if you are going to call a spade a spade, or a bitch a bitch-do it to their face. And if they are bigger than you, prepare to run.
So Daphne (Nurse Ratched) walked around like she had swallowed a ton of prunes but still suffered from terminal constipation. She was nasty, and rude-and, at one point, another patient called across the room to me that I had given her the appropriate nickname (I sometimes get it right!!). One day I came into the clinic for my semi-annual exam and bloodletting, and Ratched wasn't there. I asked one of the nurses if she was gone, and I was told that she had retired. We patients all celebrated that day. What a great day!
And-I mention this for a reason. I got an email on Monday from a nurse I knew well in those Ratched days; Jess had moved on, but we email each other every Christmas, just to catch up and to send holiday greetings. It seems that our Nurse Ratched was walking along Whitechapel - just near the Royal London Hospital- and had a temporary lapse in concentration, and was hit by the 106 bus. Really, how funny-if I'm ever going to be hit by a bus (heaven forbid), at least it should be an upmarket bus, not the 106!! Jess said that people saw Daphne bounce (she's put on some weight since she retired-nobody to bully, I suspect). But the bus was only just pulling away, so Daphne wasn't hurt, just embarrassed (I wonder if any patients witnessed this and cheered). I wrote back to Jess and commented that it was too bad that she wasn't put onto a ward and treated by another Nurse Ratched just so she would be able to experience the same kind of damage she caused all of us...in any case, we had a good laugh over it.
Christmas, to me, is the season to be grumpy, pissed off, and generally cold (it's bloody freezing outside-and inside). And I start to think about what I wanted to accomplish during the year, but didn't. That makes me even more grumpy. So I thought about mortality, and how I need to let go of a lot of bad feelings and start really living in 2013. It's a new year-and each year I say I won't carry the same old crap around, because it's in the past and there is nothing I can do to change it. No resolutions, though-I break them all within a week!!
I thought about my grave, and my headstone (a bit macabre, that, but necessary at some point).
I decided that the inscription would read like this:
She lived to a hundred years old, and was completely healthy in body, mind and spirit. She was kind, compassionate, wickedly funny, and a good friend; she outlived (by some thirty + years) three incompetent medical consultants, some very stupid nurses, loads of completely braindead neighbors, a bunch of very obnoxious cousins, and one evil brother whom she called "the Antichrist"- and an ex-husband, about whom the less said, the better. She lived her life to the full, and the last words she said before she keeled over were: "at least I never got hit by the 106 bus to Whitechapel".
It will have to be a very large headstone. With very small printing.
Saturday 15 December 2012
If you win the rat race - you're still a rat!
Am I growing grumpier as I get older, or am I just a bit fed up with old sayings and platitudes that mean nothing? I get all this old crap from one of the nurses at the London: remember, God never gives you more than you can handle. That's a good example; I want to slap her sideways and say "handle this!!". But I'm not a hitter; I just think it, I never do it. I have to say, it is so tempting sometimes, though!!
Then there is that other ridiculous saying that people trot out when you are in deep doodoo-and they probably have never seen deep doodoo, not to mention ever having found themselves in it up to the eyeballs: what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Ewwww...really? Who said that, anyway? Someone dead, probably.
I've had this wretched flu for ten days, and I'm still coughing, spluttering, sneezing, and my voice has gone very deep (I wish I could keep the deep voice but get rid of all the other stuff. I always wanted a deep voice, like Lauren Bacall. Nope-only when I'm sick. There is no fairness in life). When I went along to the hospital last week (the Royal London. Where else are people so incompetent?), I was coughing so hard, you could hear me all the way down the corridor. I thought I was going to burst a blood vessel, that is how hard I was coughing. And don't you know, the same nurse (Lorena, she of the constant platitudes-as above- a real idiot if there ever was one) ignored me for about twenty minutes, and then, as she was passing me, smiled and said "oh, hello, how are you today?". I just looked at her and said "how do you think I am?" I was able to resist telling her that if she couldn't tell by my coughing and choking, she should change jobs-but I resisted, because there could come a day when she is the one who will take my blood. And, as far as I am concerned, Hell will freeze over before I will ever let that happen!!
The longer I remain here, the more irascible I seem to become. I know I should be looking on the bright side-but sometimes it is very difficult to find a bright side!!
I put this down to the fact that we are nearing the end of another year-and I always get disgruntled at Christmas, because it was at Christmas that I decided I'd had enough, and I wanted a divorce. I'm sure I'm not the only person in the world who decided at Christmas that enough was enough, and it was time to beat it out of Dodge. It hasn't been easy-but it beats the hell out of being abused and miserable.
'Tis the season to be grumpy. But-I'm still here, and I'm not planning on checking out any time soon. I want to be around for a very long time-and be a pain in the ass to everyone who deserves it!!
Then there is that other ridiculous saying that people trot out when you are in deep doodoo-and they probably have never seen deep doodoo, not to mention ever having found themselves in it up to the eyeballs: what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Ewwww...really? Who said that, anyway? Someone dead, probably.
I've had this wretched flu for ten days, and I'm still coughing, spluttering, sneezing, and my voice has gone very deep (I wish I could keep the deep voice but get rid of all the other stuff. I always wanted a deep voice, like Lauren Bacall. Nope-only when I'm sick. There is no fairness in life). When I went along to the hospital last week (the Royal London. Where else are people so incompetent?), I was coughing so hard, you could hear me all the way down the corridor. I thought I was going to burst a blood vessel, that is how hard I was coughing. And don't you know, the same nurse (Lorena, she of the constant platitudes-as above- a real idiot if there ever was one) ignored me for about twenty minutes, and then, as she was passing me, smiled and said "oh, hello, how are you today?". I just looked at her and said "how do you think I am?" I was able to resist telling her that if she couldn't tell by my coughing and choking, she should change jobs-but I resisted, because there could come a day when she is the one who will take my blood. And, as far as I am concerned, Hell will freeze over before I will ever let that happen!!
The longer I remain here, the more irascible I seem to become. I know I should be looking on the bright side-but sometimes it is very difficult to find a bright side!!
I put this down to the fact that we are nearing the end of another year-and I always get disgruntled at Christmas, because it was at Christmas that I decided I'd had enough, and I wanted a divorce. I'm sure I'm not the only person in the world who decided at Christmas that enough was enough, and it was time to beat it out of Dodge. It hasn't been easy-but it beats the hell out of being abused and miserable.
'Tis the season to be grumpy. But-I'm still here, and I'm not planning on checking out any time soon. I want to be around for a very long time-and be a pain in the ass to everyone who deserves it!!
Thursday 13 December 2012
So much for "call me bionic"
I went to the gym yesterday-and did upper body exercises, nearly rupturing myself in preparation for using crutches after the operation. Well- I am exaggerating! I worked hard, though, and I'm paying for it the next day! But that was fine, because I'm one of those strange people who actually likes the gym (once I force myself to get up and go, that is). But, then, I like brussels sprouts, too, so what can one say??
At 9:00 last night, I received a phone call from the anesthetist at the RNOH (the same person who kept me waiting for forty minutes outside his office the other day, you might remember...I still don't know what he was doing, but at least I didn't hear any heavy breathing when I stood outside his door). The surgery has been cancelled-or, rather, postponed-and no date has been set.
Apparently, there seemed to be a question about an echocardiogram I had when I was an inpatient in 2010-the rather infamous period of the gentamicin poisoning-and the people at the RNOH are not very happy. They want me to have another echo and they want me to be seen by a cardiologist. It seems I have something called "Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome". I did see this on various pieces of correspondence from Barts in the last two years-but when I questioned it, I was dismissed by the immunology consultant: it's nothing, it has to do with the gut problems, I was told. Now the RNOH wants to be certain that there is nothing wrong with my heart.
Clearly, the people at the RNOH are far more thorough and competent than the people at Barts and the London-no wonder so many people sue them!!! And-since my heart is one of my all time favorite organs (and I never had a problem with it before), I discussed with the doc last night about contacting my GP and having her refer me for an echocardiogram. Best to be on the safe side, after all. I learned that after dealing with the three dumb monkeys at the Royal London!
So, the surgery will be rescheduled once the echo has been done. And I was not a happy bunny last night, I can tell you! I rang the office number at the Royal London, and who should pick up but Hilary Longhurst (the immunologist I fired last year)? I was shocked: it was after 9pm, so what was she doing there? Anyway, I left a message for Matt (the new Hilary), and Longhurst proceeded to tell me that I would have to go through my GP for the echo (I knew this anyway, and that was my intention, but Longhurst also pointed out that they are immunologists, and don't have anything to do with ordering other tests. That's another lie out of her mouth, because the immunologists ordered the test in 2010). It never ceases to amaze me, how the people at Barts and the London just lie without even thinking about it!!
I must admit I felt upset at having to wait an unspecified period of time for the surgery-but I'm not fussed about being bionic at the moment! I decided to put a positive spin on this new development: now I have more time to get myself really fit for surgery. So it'll be the gym at least three times a week (preferably four) and I will heal more quickly. Well-either that, or fall flat on my face when I try to master crutches!
I will have a bionic-free Christmas, and actually have muscles by the time I have surgery. I can do a lot between now and then (and all those Kettle Chips...yum).
At 9:00 last night, I received a phone call from the anesthetist at the RNOH (the same person who kept me waiting for forty minutes outside his office the other day, you might remember...I still don't know what he was doing, but at least I didn't hear any heavy breathing when I stood outside his door). The surgery has been cancelled-or, rather, postponed-and no date has been set.
Apparently, there seemed to be a question about an echocardiogram I had when I was an inpatient in 2010-the rather infamous period of the gentamicin poisoning-and the people at the RNOH are not very happy. They want me to have another echo and they want me to be seen by a cardiologist. It seems I have something called "Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome". I did see this on various pieces of correspondence from Barts in the last two years-but when I questioned it, I was dismissed by the immunology consultant: it's nothing, it has to do with the gut problems, I was told. Now the RNOH wants to be certain that there is nothing wrong with my heart.
Clearly, the people at the RNOH are far more thorough and competent than the people at Barts and the London-no wonder so many people sue them!!! And-since my heart is one of my all time favorite organs (and I never had a problem with it before), I discussed with the doc last night about contacting my GP and having her refer me for an echocardiogram. Best to be on the safe side, after all. I learned that after dealing with the three dumb monkeys at the Royal London!
So, the surgery will be rescheduled once the echo has been done. And I was not a happy bunny last night, I can tell you! I rang the office number at the Royal London, and who should pick up but Hilary Longhurst (the immunologist I fired last year)? I was shocked: it was after 9pm, so what was she doing there? Anyway, I left a message for Matt (the new Hilary), and Longhurst proceeded to tell me that I would have to go through my GP for the echo (I knew this anyway, and that was my intention, but Longhurst also pointed out that they are immunologists, and don't have anything to do with ordering other tests. That's another lie out of her mouth, because the immunologists ordered the test in 2010). It never ceases to amaze me, how the people at Barts and the London just lie without even thinking about it!!
I must admit I felt upset at having to wait an unspecified period of time for the surgery-but I'm not fussed about being bionic at the moment! I decided to put a positive spin on this new development: now I have more time to get myself really fit for surgery. So it'll be the gym at least three times a week (preferably four) and I will heal more quickly. Well-either that, or fall flat on my face when I try to master crutches!
I will have a bionic-free Christmas, and actually have muscles by the time I have surgery. I can do a lot between now and then (and all those Kettle Chips...yum).
Tuesday 11 December 2012
Something I forgot to add
Yes, I forgot to add that the next time you are waiting forty minutes for your doctor-remember to wear gloves!! And a mask!!
Back from the (walking) dead
I know that sounds so dramatic!! I have had the nastiest flu for the past week-the usual symptoms: headache, fever, joint pains, etc. If you've had it (and just about everyone has), you will know what I mean. So I have been in bed, complaining (I am the world's worst patient: some people want to be left alone, I want to complain!).
I did go to see the consultant at Whitechapel on Wednesday, the day the flu really came out. And I also had to go to Stanmore yesterday for all the pre-admission testing, since my bionic knee surgery is scheduled for the first week in January. So-that is a rather neat intro into my observations about doctors.
Vast experience tells me that many (perhaps all) doctors have three genes that most of us lack. The first is the "I must be at LEAST forty minutes late for my appointments, because that makes me feel important". Perhaps it's a gene; perhaps it's a virus. Whatever. In all my years in this country, I have never known a doctor to be on time. Really! I'll bet it's the same everywhere.
There is also the apology gene: no matter how late the doctor is, he (or she) must never apologize - not for being late, or for screwing up and crippling a patient, nope. Never apologize. That is a sign of good manners, after all, and so many doctors think they are God, so why apologize for being an insensitive jerk??
Then there is the "when in doubt, medicate" gene. Never allow a patient to leave the office without at least one prescription. It might be the WRONG prescription, but, hey, it's a prescription. Do doctors have some quota to fill, or do they just feel that they are making the patient feel that they have been properly cared for (having been kept waiting for at least forty minutes!)??
At the Royal London last week, I was coughing so much I could feel my face turning beet red-I thought I would cough until I expired. And all Matt said was: how are you feeling? What? How the hell do you think I'm feeling? I was starting to develop all the symptoms of flu-just flu, I thought (sometimes we can diagnose ourselves better than anyone else can), and he decided that I have an inflammation (yes, you idiot, and it's caused by flu!!!), so I should take oral steroids for a week (I didn't). I know that Barts wants me to change hospitals, but please do NOT kill me off (at least, not until after I sue your behinds in court).
So yesterday, I went to Stanmore and had the usual tests before admission: an xray, ECG, and some bloodwork (which was hilarious, because the nurses couldn't find a vein if it was the size of the motorway). I then saw the anesthetist, who kept me waiting-yes, you guessed it, forty minutes!!! There was nobody in his office, and nobody else waiting, but he still kept me sitting outside for forty minutes, and then came out and told me that he was going to go get my chart.
So what was he doing for forty minutes in his office, keeping me waiting outside (no apology, naturally)? I don't know, but I certainly hope he washed his hands afterward. Heh. Ewwwwwww....!!!
Never mind-I don't even want to think about that! All I know is, I still have the head cold part of this flu, but I haven't been to the gym, and I have felt too dreadful to do my exercises-so my balance and vision have both really suffered. Time to get moving and regain some of what I lost by being sick.
It's interesting that I would have been devastated (and very depressed) if this had happened six months ago; I would have thought I would never get that bit back-but now I understand that I just have to persevere, flu or no flu. So that is exactly what I am going to do: persevere, and go back what I temporarily lost-that, and more.
You'll have to excuse me while I go outside and cough all over everyone!!!
I did go to see the consultant at Whitechapel on Wednesday, the day the flu really came out. And I also had to go to Stanmore yesterday for all the pre-admission testing, since my bionic knee surgery is scheduled for the first week in January. So-that is a rather neat intro into my observations about doctors.
Vast experience tells me that many (perhaps all) doctors have three genes that most of us lack. The first is the "I must be at LEAST forty minutes late for my appointments, because that makes me feel important". Perhaps it's a gene; perhaps it's a virus. Whatever. In all my years in this country, I have never known a doctor to be on time. Really! I'll bet it's the same everywhere.
There is also the apology gene: no matter how late the doctor is, he (or she) must never apologize - not for being late, or for screwing up and crippling a patient, nope. Never apologize. That is a sign of good manners, after all, and so many doctors think they are God, so why apologize for being an insensitive jerk??
Then there is the "when in doubt, medicate" gene. Never allow a patient to leave the office without at least one prescription. It might be the WRONG prescription, but, hey, it's a prescription. Do doctors have some quota to fill, or do they just feel that they are making the patient feel that they have been properly cared for (having been kept waiting for at least forty minutes!)??
At the Royal London last week, I was coughing so much I could feel my face turning beet red-I thought I would cough until I expired. And all Matt said was: how are you feeling? What? How the hell do you think I'm feeling? I was starting to develop all the symptoms of flu-just flu, I thought (sometimes we can diagnose ourselves better than anyone else can), and he decided that I have an inflammation (yes, you idiot, and it's caused by flu!!!), so I should take oral steroids for a week (I didn't). I know that Barts wants me to change hospitals, but please do NOT kill me off (at least, not until after I sue your behinds in court).
So yesterday, I went to Stanmore and had the usual tests before admission: an xray, ECG, and some bloodwork (which was hilarious, because the nurses couldn't find a vein if it was the size of the motorway). I then saw the anesthetist, who kept me waiting-yes, you guessed it, forty minutes!!! There was nobody in his office, and nobody else waiting, but he still kept me sitting outside for forty minutes, and then came out and told me that he was going to go get my chart.
So what was he doing for forty minutes in his office, keeping me waiting outside (no apology, naturally)? I don't know, but I certainly hope he washed his hands afterward. Heh. Ewwwwwww....!!!
Never mind-I don't even want to think about that! All I know is, I still have the head cold part of this flu, but I haven't been to the gym, and I have felt too dreadful to do my exercises-so my balance and vision have both really suffered. Time to get moving and regain some of what I lost by being sick.
It's interesting that I would have been devastated (and very depressed) if this had happened six months ago; I would have thought I would never get that bit back-but now I understand that I just have to persevere, flu or no flu. So that is exactly what I am going to do: persevere, and go back what I temporarily lost-that, and more.
You'll have to excuse me while I go outside and cough all over everyone!!!
Tuesday 4 December 2012
What I want for Christmas: amnesia
I've been through so much in my life-and through all of it, I managed not to be depressed for long. I get down, but I stay there for a few days at the most. At least, I thought so-until now.
These two years have been really very difficult-dire, in fact-and, really, I find myself occasionally envying people who have amnesia, because they can at least forget everything that happened in the past. History? What history? I'd like selective amnesia: I would like to be able to choose what to forget. I wonder how many other people feel that way! Someone would make billions if they could invent a pill that would accomplish that; it would probably put all the shrinks in the world out of business!!
And, speaking of shrinks...I went to my GP a few months ago and asked her to refer me for psychotherapy. I figured: I'm not bipolar, or schizophrenic, or psychotic, or psychopathic (well, perhaps a little, but only when I see the people who crippled me!! That's a joke, by the way...). But I do have periods of depression that last anywhere from a few hours to a week at a time. And, frankly, I'm boring myself by hiding out in my little apartment, stuffing myself with Kettle Chips and watching mindless junk on television. So I think I could benefit from some professional help with finding my way through this minefield. Am I still angry? Well-is the Pope Catholic? If I didn't feel angry, depressed, fearful-I would really be completely bonkers.
So I went yesterday for an assessment by someone who is (allegedly) a qualified shrink. Now, I don't need (and would never take) any medication; I have to get through this either by myself or with the guidance of someone who is professionally trained. I figured that maybe a psychiatrist would know the best way forward.
I think I expected a nice office in a pleasant, small building in an equally pleasant location. I think I also watch too many movies!! This is a large building, very clinical, very impersonal, in the middle of town, with lots of offices and lots of people around. As we all know, a lot of people coming at me make me very dizzy. So I staggered a little, but I managed not to fall over.
Well-I met the psychiatrist for the assessment, and I discovered that he speaks practically no English. Imagine: this man didn't smile at all, was very unwelcoming, and took no notes. Who takes no notes? And he was so dour; it would have cost nothing to smile. And he kept repeating what he thought I said-except that what he thought I said wasn't what I said. I put this down to the fact that he didn't understand me. Why on earth would they get someone to assess me who doesn't speak (or understand) English? And then he would mumble something that he clearly thought was intelligent, and I would have to ask him to repeat it, because I couldn't understand him. It was almost comic-and would have been, if it hadn't been infuriating.
So he said at the end of the session that he believes that my problems stem from the fact that the people in the hospital didn't listen to me, and their ignorance caused the gentamicin toxicity that ruined my life and incapacitated me for life. No shit-I said that at the very beginning of the assessment session!
I can look back on this and laugh, since it is now a day after this ridiculous farce occurred. I think that shrinks become shrinks because they are crazier than the rest of us. In fact, I'm now sure of it!
You know what? I think that (compared to this guy yesterday, at least) I'm normal. And I also think that I can find a way forward without the "help" of someone who never cracks a smile and who doesn't speak the language. A rhesus monkey would have been of more help. AND it would have smiled.
These two years have been really very difficult-dire, in fact-and, really, I find myself occasionally envying people who have amnesia, because they can at least forget everything that happened in the past. History? What history? I'd like selective amnesia: I would like to be able to choose what to forget. I wonder how many other people feel that way! Someone would make billions if they could invent a pill that would accomplish that; it would probably put all the shrinks in the world out of business!!
And, speaking of shrinks...I went to my GP a few months ago and asked her to refer me for psychotherapy. I figured: I'm not bipolar, or schizophrenic, or psychotic, or psychopathic (well, perhaps a little, but only when I see the people who crippled me!! That's a joke, by the way...). But I do have periods of depression that last anywhere from a few hours to a week at a time. And, frankly, I'm boring myself by hiding out in my little apartment, stuffing myself with Kettle Chips and watching mindless junk on television. So I think I could benefit from some professional help with finding my way through this minefield. Am I still angry? Well-is the Pope Catholic? If I didn't feel angry, depressed, fearful-I would really be completely bonkers.
So I went yesterday for an assessment by someone who is (allegedly) a qualified shrink. Now, I don't need (and would never take) any medication; I have to get through this either by myself or with the guidance of someone who is professionally trained. I figured that maybe a psychiatrist would know the best way forward.
I think I expected a nice office in a pleasant, small building in an equally pleasant location. I think I also watch too many movies!! This is a large building, very clinical, very impersonal, in the middle of town, with lots of offices and lots of people around. As we all know, a lot of people coming at me make me very dizzy. So I staggered a little, but I managed not to fall over.
Well-I met the psychiatrist for the assessment, and I discovered that he speaks practically no English. Imagine: this man didn't smile at all, was very unwelcoming, and took no notes. Who takes no notes? And he was so dour; it would have cost nothing to smile. And he kept repeating what he thought I said-except that what he thought I said wasn't what I said. I put this down to the fact that he didn't understand me. Why on earth would they get someone to assess me who doesn't speak (or understand) English? And then he would mumble something that he clearly thought was intelligent, and I would have to ask him to repeat it, because I couldn't understand him. It was almost comic-and would have been, if it hadn't been infuriating.
So he said at the end of the session that he believes that my problems stem from the fact that the people in the hospital didn't listen to me, and their ignorance caused the gentamicin toxicity that ruined my life and incapacitated me for life. No shit-I said that at the very beginning of the assessment session!
I can look back on this and laugh, since it is now a day after this ridiculous farce occurred. I think that shrinks become shrinks because they are crazier than the rest of us. In fact, I'm now sure of it!
You know what? I think that (compared to this guy yesterday, at least) I'm normal. And I also think that I can find a way forward without the "help" of someone who never cracks a smile and who doesn't speak the language. A rhesus monkey would have been of more help. AND it would have smiled.
Saturday 1 December 2012
Regress-not progress
I'm glad to see the back of November. It hasn't been the greatest of times for me. I wanted to chart my progress this week-but instead I am charting regress. I turned around this morning and fell over. Just like that - no warning, just no balance, and over I went. I was surprised, to put it mildly! If I'd done this in the living room, I could have crashed into my glass coffee table. That means-I will have to move the table, just to be safe. I thought those days were behind me. Obviously not.
I seem to go through stages: two steps forward, five steps back! I went to my GP on Thursday-because I check in with her every month to let her know how I am progressing-but this week I have been feeling awful: my balance has been very poor, my eyesight has been really bad, and those are clues to the presence of a chest infection. And-when it rains (which is much of the time), and when the weather changes, I find the same difficulty with both balance and vision. On Thursday, my doc took my temperature, and, sure enough, I've got a fever. At least that explains the sudden drop in the gains I've made in two years.
I keep telling myself that this is only a temporary setback, nothing more-but it's really hard for me to believe that. I've always been hopelessly cynical-and I seem to be growing moreso with age!! Sometimes that is a good thing-and sometimes it isn't. Oh, well!!
I've had discussions (some could say arguments) with the people at the Royal London about this infection. One registrar actually rang me back on Friday and advised me to take the antibiotics that were prescribed by my GP. Am I taking them? Well-no, I'm not. I'm supposed to see the immunologist on Wednesday, and I am going to see if I can hold out until then; it seems rather stupid to take this stuff until we actually know what is causing the infection. To me, that is simple logic. To them-well, they have made it very obvious that they would love for me to change hospitals. What the hell-Sofia Grigoriadou is still at the London, so the crippling goes on. And the NHS is closing the medical records department as of January 1st (so the secretaries told me)-so 30+ people will be out of work.
The government is bitching (and so is the media) about companies like Google and Starbucks, who pay minimum company taxes in this country-but nobody moans about the NHS fat cats making all the money while the NHS is falling apart. Huh-one benefit (if you can call it a benefit!) of living in this country for a very long time is that I can be more objective about what is going on than people who just come over for a short while and don't notice anything. You need to live here to see the rot; it's just like anywhere else, really.
So many times I just want to quit: quit the medication, quit the exercises, just basically quit. But I fought so hard to get this far, I force myself to step back, to remember that I didn't get this far to give up now. I can still live a good life-it will just take more effort for me than for others. So what? I'm not dead yet!!
And it will soon be 2013-so I can say goodbye to another rather less than happy year, and work harder to make the next one better. I'm like the Energizer bunny: as long as my batteries hold out, I just keep going!
I seem to go through stages: two steps forward, five steps back! I went to my GP on Thursday-because I check in with her every month to let her know how I am progressing-but this week I have been feeling awful: my balance has been very poor, my eyesight has been really bad, and those are clues to the presence of a chest infection. And-when it rains (which is much of the time), and when the weather changes, I find the same difficulty with both balance and vision. On Thursday, my doc took my temperature, and, sure enough, I've got a fever. At least that explains the sudden drop in the gains I've made in two years.
I keep telling myself that this is only a temporary setback, nothing more-but it's really hard for me to believe that. I've always been hopelessly cynical-and I seem to be growing moreso with age!! Sometimes that is a good thing-and sometimes it isn't. Oh, well!!
I've had discussions (some could say arguments) with the people at the Royal London about this infection. One registrar actually rang me back on Friday and advised me to take the antibiotics that were prescribed by my GP. Am I taking them? Well-no, I'm not. I'm supposed to see the immunologist on Wednesday, and I am going to see if I can hold out until then; it seems rather stupid to take this stuff until we actually know what is causing the infection. To me, that is simple logic. To them-well, they have made it very obvious that they would love for me to change hospitals. What the hell-Sofia Grigoriadou is still at the London, so the crippling goes on. And the NHS is closing the medical records department as of January 1st (so the secretaries told me)-so 30+ people will be out of work.
The government is bitching (and so is the media) about companies like Google and Starbucks, who pay minimum company taxes in this country-but nobody moans about the NHS fat cats making all the money while the NHS is falling apart. Huh-one benefit (if you can call it a benefit!) of living in this country for a very long time is that I can be more objective about what is going on than people who just come over for a short while and don't notice anything. You need to live here to see the rot; it's just like anywhere else, really.
So many times I just want to quit: quit the medication, quit the exercises, just basically quit. But I fought so hard to get this far, I force myself to step back, to remember that I didn't get this far to give up now. I can still live a good life-it will just take more effort for me than for others. So what? I'm not dead yet!!
And it will soon be 2013-so I can say goodbye to another rather less than happy year, and work harder to make the next one better. I'm like the Energizer bunny: as long as my batteries hold out, I just keep going!
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