I got out of the hospital on Good Friday-still alive, so it really was a good Friday.
My total of cannulas was eight. Number 7 broke the vein on Thursday night, and the docs wouldn't let me off with two less doses of antibiotics, so on Friday morning another cannula was inserted. I don't have any good veins left, so I'd better stay healthy-who knows what veins they will be searching for if the ones in both arms don't recover...
I had a severe reaction to something on Friday night-probably the accumulation of what the hospital considers "food"- and my arm became very swollen and I was in terrible pain everywhere. So I decided to go to bed. I rang my sister to tell her I'm still alive-and that was it, I was flat out until yesterday. I did get up to clean the kitchen, do laundry, go out and buy real food-but apart from that, I stayed home. My balance (such as it is) and vision (ditto) paid the price for the strong medication, and I felt like I had regressed two years-I was crashing into things and falling over. So bed was the best place for me.
I went out yesterday-just for a short walk-and some fat Neanderthal crashed straight into me and nearly knocked me in front of a bus. "Sorry, love", he said-I so wanted to call him a fat brain-dead Neanderthal-I really had to hold my tongue. These days, biological males seem to love beating up women-especially the ones who aren't able to fight back. I wonder if this popular, female-hating behavior exists across the Atlantic. I would be very depressed if it is happening so often there, too.
This country (Britain) was founded on genocide, slavery, racism, elitism and cruelty. Americans tend to either not know this fact or forget the world history we learned in school. Since the first person whacked someone weaker (a bigger club, no doubt) and declared himself king, all kinds of abuse have been the state of play here. I see it all the time-not just with the fat Neanderthal, but in other ways, too. Yesterday on the news there was a story about students coming to school with weapons: knives of all sizes, clubs-and axes. Axes? Who brings an axe to school-and where does one hide it? Teachers are afraid to say anything to the students because students will just stab (or beat) them.
I can't help but wonder where societies went so wrong-how did things get so out of hand? And why is it that Americans seem to think that this country is like something out of Four Weddings and a Funeral or Downton Abbey? The myth of British politeness, manners, intelligence-that is a myth, and nothing could be further than the truth. And the only way people will get this is to hear it from someone who has lived here for many years-not some rich actress who names her child after a fruit, or some fading pop star with a fake English accent, but someone who has been part of the workforce for years, and who has had her eyes opened (sadly) to the way things really, truly are. It's sad but true that this country has gone down so far down the toilet that all it needs is one final flush. Even my very English friends (I do have those-but they obviously don't know about this blog!) admit this fact freely.
Do I feel the slightest bit guilty about taking the mickey out of the Brits? Aw, hell, no, not a bit. I just tell it like it is-someone has to do that, or the myth lives on. These guys are the products of centuries of inbreeding, they are descended from a long line of thieves, rapists, murderers and lunatics-and that is just the royal family, sucking the life blood out of the taxpayers while people are dying, waiting for transplants and medication they will never get. We think the American system is unfair-and it is, because if it was the least bit fair I would be able to go home and get treatment I need at home, and beat it out of this dump so fast the door wouldn't hit me in the backside on the way out. But life isn't like that, so here I remain, telling you what is happening here so that you all know the truth.
And now it is nearly a week since I got back, and life begins to return to something that looks like normal. Honestly, I didn't even hit the Kettle Chips since I got out - I had so much while I was inside that I am more than a bit chipped out. I did have a lot of chicken soup, though. My friend tells me that chicken soup cures just about everything. I had so much chicken soup this past week that I am in serious danger of laying an egg.
Thursday 24 April 2014
Monday 14 April 2014
How to speak in idiot-Part 2
Ah, what a joy-hanging out with the mentally deficient (also known as "brain-dead"), culturally dysfunctional, rude, obnoxious, arrogant (for no discernible reason), verbally incontinent, emotionally stunted, completely obtuse-and now we can add completely incompetent. Yes- it's the Brits, you got it in one.
There was a big deal about having me get to the hospital by 5pm-or they wouldn't hold the bed. So I got there at 3:45-and they still didn't hold the bed. Idiots. So I had to wait in a little room for three hours until they sorted the whole thing out. I very nearly left; I said I'm not waiting around all night for them to figure it out. I had a clean (ish) bed by 7pm. The first cannula went in at 9pm. And it was all downhill from there. By the next night I was moved into the bed I was supposed to have when I got to the hospital on Friday. Hmmm...doesn't do much for confidence in the system, does it?
And-it's taken me this long to be able to post, because-this building is less than four years old, has fifteen floors, and-has no Wi-Fi. Who builds a brand, spanking new building and forgets to add Wi-Fi? What can anyone say? This building was built to British standard. So was the Titanic.
I'm on cannula number 6. For some reason, my veins (very tiny and terrible at the best of times) kept breaking. So I finally-after the third one blew my vein after less than two days-went to the senior charge nurse and suggested (politely, naturally. I can be very polite when I want something) that we use a very small cannula and put the antibiotic in a bag and run it over 45 minutes. Do everything very slowly, I said, and let's see what happens. The pain of having veins blow is severe. So they said, good suggestion (of course. I was the one who suggested it. They are the professionals-why didn't they figure it out?). And it worked. At least something got done right.
The food is just horrible. There are no salads. Since this is a hospital, I went to one of the nurses and asked why there are no salads. She told me that everything is cooked. It is: cooked to death. Then they cook it for another couple of hours just to make sure that nothing is moving or breathing. Or in any way nutritious. Yesterday I spent ten minutes pushing something unrecognizable around the plate, just to see if it pushed back. Happily, nothing was moving on its own, but I still didn't eat it. Thank goodness for baked potatoes (they have those a couple of times a week. What can you do to destroy a baked potato-especially when it's been microwaved?
The broccoli is the same color as my walls: tombstone grey. I'm sure they prepare the stuff for people who have no teeth. And I was given chicken something or other (it was hard to tell) that resembled big yellow turds. So I eat the baked potatoes, and Kettle Chips, and fruit that I buy when I walk up the road to the supermarket. I'm starting to look like a Kettle Chip (at least I will resemble something identifiable), so tomorrow I'm going to buy some salads, and for the rest of my time here (I should be finished on Friday afternoon-if they haven't killed me off first) I will eat decent food-that I will buy myself. Mystery meat that looks like regurgitated dog food is something I don't find appealing!
You know you are middle-aged when the doctors who come into the room look like they aren't even old enough to drive. Or vote. Or shave. They look so young-and they are so dishevelled-they look like vagrants, not doctors. One came into the room this morning-and I wanted so desperately to tell him to come back when his voice has changed and his balls have dropped.
No-I didn't. I decided to be a model of restraint, so I said nothing. After all, you never know who will be wielding the next cannula.
If I can get to the computer tomorrow, it will be part 3 of how to speak idiot. Really, there is so much more-and here I thought these ten days in the hospital would be boring!
There was a big deal about having me get to the hospital by 5pm-or they wouldn't hold the bed. So I got there at 3:45-and they still didn't hold the bed. Idiots. So I had to wait in a little room for three hours until they sorted the whole thing out. I very nearly left; I said I'm not waiting around all night for them to figure it out. I had a clean (ish) bed by 7pm. The first cannula went in at 9pm. And it was all downhill from there. By the next night I was moved into the bed I was supposed to have when I got to the hospital on Friday. Hmmm...doesn't do much for confidence in the system, does it?
And-it's taken me this long to be able to post, because-this building is less than four years old, has fifteen floors, and-has no Wi-Fi. Who builds a brand, spanking new building and forgets to add Wi-Fi? What can anyone say? This building was built to British standard. So was the Titanic.
I'm on cannula number 6. For some reason, my veins (very tiny and terrible at the best of times) kept breaking. So I finally-after the third one blew my vein after less than two days-went to the senior charge nurse and suggested (politely, naturally. I can be very polite when I want something) that we use a very small cannula and put the antibiotic in a bag and run it over 45 minutes. Do everything very slowly, I said, and let's see what happens. The pain of having veins blow is severe. So they said, good suggestion (of course. I was the one who suggested it. They are the professionals-why didn't they figure it out?). And it worked. At least something got done right.
The food is just horrible. There are no salads. Since this is a hospital, I went to one of the nurses and asked why there are no salads. She told me that everything is cooked. It is: cooked to death. Then they cook it for another couple of hours just to make sure that nothing is moving or breathing. Or in any way nutritious. Yesterday I spent ten minutes pushing something unrecognizable around the plate, just to see if it pushed back. Happily, nothing was moving on its own, but I still didn't eat it. Thank goodness for baked potatoes (they have those a couple of times a week. What can you do to destroy a baked potato-especially when it's been microwaved?
The broccoli is the same color as my walls: tombstone grey. I'm sure they prepare the stuff for people who have no teeth. And I was given chicken something or other (it was hard to tell) that resembled big yellow turds. So I eat the baked potatoes, and Kettle Chips, and fruit that I buy when I walk up the road to the supermarket. I'm starting to look like a Kettle Chip (at least I will resemble something identifiable), so tomorrow I'm going to buy some salads, and for the rest of my time here (I should be finished on Friday afternoon-if they haven't killed me off first) I will eat decent food-that I will buy myself. Mystery meat that looks like regurgitated dog food is something I don't find appealing!
You know you are middle-aged when the doctors who come into the room look like they aren't even old enough to drive. Or vote. Or shave. They look so young-and they are so dishevelled-they look like vagrants, not doctors. One came into the room this morning-and I wanted so desperately to tell him to come back when his voice has changed and his balls have dropped.
No-I didn't. I decided to be a model of restraint, so I said nothing. After all, you never know who will be wielding the next cannula.
If I can get to the computer tomorrow, it will be part 3 of how to speak idiot. Really, there is so much more-and here I thought these ten days in the hospital would be boring!
Friday 4 April 2014
Ah for another holiday!
I wanted another holiday-but this one isn't what I planned. I'm on my way into the hospital for two weeks of intravenous antibiotics-and I will do my best to stop them from killing me this time!
The builders finally finished-two days ago, would you believe! And they left a mess that will take weeks to clean-after I get out of the hospital, that is. They painted everything in sight: the microwave, the oven, the hob, the fridge, the floor...you name it, they painted it. And the sad thing is that I wasn't even surprised. After all, this is a country that welcomes the brain-dead, rude, nasty, obnoxious, functionally illiterate...I wonder how some of the people I've met ever made it past puberty. It never ceases to amaze me. Really-come here and if you have an IQ that moves into single figures you will feel better than anyone else. In fact, you will be better than anyone else!
I did hide my laptop under the bed to avoid all the dust and debris-but somehow that didn't happen, either. So I wanted to do a quick post just to let you know I am still alive-but I go back to the Royal London, so how long that will be the case is anybody's guess.
They will start me on antibiotics tonight; tomorrow I am going to sneak out as and when I'm able to find an internet café so I can catch you up on the past two weeks. I will say this: I took the job as social justice driver for the Unitarian Church, and we have joined a pressure group called London Citizens. I went on a five day leadership course-so I haven't been bone idle-and now I remember the three pieces of advice my mother gave me (actually, two were from my mother and one was from my granny, who was always the wise one).
1. Always wear clean underwear, you never know when you will get run over (I did listen to this one)
2. Never volunteer for anything (big, big oops! At my age I should know better!)
3.And from granny: do your squats every day, religiously. If you do no other exercise, do squats. That way you will never have to sit on a public toilet.
Not much anyone can say to the last one, is there? I must have the strongest leg muscles in North London (maybe the world).
More later. Ciao-I'm off to speak "medical idiot".
The builders finally finished-two days ago, would you believe! And they left a mess that will take weeks to clean-after I get out of the hospital, that is. They painted everything in sight: the microwave, the oven, the hob, the fridge, the floor...you name it, they painted it. And the sad thing is that I wasn't even surprised. After all, this is a country that welcomes the brain-dead, rude, nasty, obnoxious, functionally illiterate...I wonder how some of the people I've met ever made it past puberty. It never ceases to amaze me. Really-come here and if you have an IQ that moves into single figures you will feel better than anyone else. In fact, you will be better than anyone else!
I did hide my laptop under the bed to avoid all the dust and debris-but somehow that didn't happen, either. So I wanted to do a quick post just to let you know I am still alive-but I go back to the Royal London, so how long that will be the case is anybody's guess.
They will start me on antibiotics tonight; tomorrow I am going to sneak out as and when I'm able to find an internet café so I can catch you up on the past two weeks. I will say this: I took the job as social justice driver for the Unitarian Church, and we have joined a pressure group called London Citizens. I went on a five day leadership course-so I haven't been bone idle-and now I remember the three pieces of advice my mother gave me (actually, two were from my mother and one was from my granny, who was always the wise one).
1. Always wear clean underwear, you never know when you will get run over (I did listen to this one)
2. Never volunteer for anything (big, big oops! At my age I should know better!)
3.And from granny: do your squats every day, religiously. If you do no other exercise, do squats. That way you will never have to sit on a public toilet.
Not much anyone can say to the last one, is there? I must have the strongest leg muscles in North London (maybe the world).
More later. Ciao-I'm off to speak "medical idiot".
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