Back for good (ish) - allegedly

As of today, I am five weeks post-op. I don't want to rush my through my life-it is going by at warp speed as it is-but I am so glad it is now and not five weeks ago-or even three or four weeks ago. I'm in much less pain. Of course, I still don't want to look at myself in the mirror-but I think that fear will pass. Eventually.

I went to the cancer center at the Royal Free Hospital on Tuesday. It's good-if you are a member (I am now), you can go in any time and have a cup of tea or coffee, and have a chat with anyone who happens to be around. And-they have Pilates and yoga classes, so I will be signing up for those. They even have exercise classes for women who are at least 12 weeks post surgery. I'll do that in a few weeks. So-there is support out there, I just needed to look for it.

The shock horror of the week is my legal case against Bart's. It is no surprise that people think that the only good place for lawyers is at the bottom of the ocean!! Mine were totally incompetent; they couldn't organize a necrophiliac's convention in the county morgue. So I started phoning around, and spoke with a couple of other firms-and the bad news is that virtually nobody who sues over gentamicin wins. Culpability is extremely difficult to prove. Causation, they all said: it's the doctors' word against mine, and you know who has the money-and therefore the power. My idiots milked the case for all it was worth-they just did it for the money. Because I went privately, rather than try for legal aid, or any of that stuff, I was a bit like the cash cow: ready to be taken for a ride. So-that made it a rather bad week, and that is why I simply hid out and didn't go near my computer.

I will get through this. I will get over this. I always do. People keep telling me how strong I am (they also keep telling me how thin I am, which is annoying, because I can fit into all my old skinny clothes. Yay.). I suppose they are right: I am strong. But I think that most people have more inner strength than they think. It takes a crisis to discover how strong and powerful we really are. And I have had enough crises for ten people!!

So that is my crappy news of the week. And the other crappy news of the week is that Haringey sent a surveyor to examine my flat yesterday. Three people showed up; we could have had a party. The short version is that they won't move me and they won't do anything about the damp and the mold. And I should, they said, be happy to be where I am, because so many people live in places that are much worse. Eeek. What a bloody awful week!! I will do the best I can with the place I've got until I am well enough to go back to private accommodation. This was my first ever council flat-and, trust me, it will be my last. If I stay there long enough, it will be my last flat of any kind, ever. So I am pushing myself to do more vestibular exercises to counteract the cancer, the surgery, the Tamoxifen.

Well, it is true that we don't always get what we want, no matter how many self-help gurus (and retailers) tell us differently. We just make them all rich, and wonder what we've done wrong. We've done nothing wrong-except listen to the wrong people!!! I'm finally learning to deal with whatever is right in front of me-even it I don't like it, and don't expect it.

In the sense that I'm finally able to look at life the way it is-rather than the way I want it to be, and then beat myself up (emotionally, obviously) when things don't go my way because I blame myself for the alleged failure to create what I want-cancer has given me a gift. The rose-colored glasses are now off for good. And-I don't stress over things as much as I did before-things and people. What is most important? My health. Without that, what else is there? There is nothing like cancer to force you to reassess your priorities!

I'm not afraid of kicking someone's ass out the door, either. I've done a lot of ass-kicking lately. It's great exercise!!