No black eyes this week-how boring (and painless)! But I had the tiler last Monday. And Tuesday. And Wednesday. And the bathroom isn't quite finished yet. Go figure.
On Friday Mulalley was supposed to send someone to actually finish the kitchen-after 11 months. Really-I'm amazed that Mulalley is still in business. And-I've given up demanding that they fix the things they broke. I've started step 1 of a formal complaint to Haringey. And I've got help from John (another John-I know about eight people called John. So now I have to differentiate by career, not by name). This is surveyor John, who worked for the company that gave Mulalley the contract in the first place. It gets very complicated: Haringey gave the contract to Frankham's surveyors, they gave the contract to Mulalley, and Mulalley sub-contracted a bunch of useless idiots called Greyline. And everyone is passing the buck. So now, it's time for war. I'm very good at war.
I've now been on this really nasty antibiotic- called Ciprofloxacin- for nearly three weeks, and I have five more days to go. In theory, it should kill off the pseudomonas, and I won't need to go back into the hospital for IV antibiotics. Well- we shall see. I saw Matt, my consultant, yesterday (at last-someone NOT called John!!), and he said we will see what all the tests next week show. So my fingers are crossed. I said that I don't want to be one of those people who carries around an oxygen cylinder-and he reassured me that my lungs aren't getting any worse, but I'm on the right course of treatment, so I should be okay. He said I'll probably live longer than he will. I said that if he puts me back into the hospital when Sofia is on duty, he can count on it! He actually smiled at that. He was almost in a good mood. Hmmmmm.....good night last night?
Aren't I rude.
I've got a new project. This is what happens when I ignored my mother's second-best advice (the first was-move out, or else). This was, of course, never volunteer for anything. And I ignored it. Again.
My neighbor is 78 years old, and she and her husband are not at all well. So-apart from my few days of bad flu-I stopped in to see how they are and if they needed anything. She told me that an organization called AgeUK is closing down. She was most upset, because AgeUK provides a weekly dementia group for patients and their carers, as well as other social groups and advice for anyone who needs it. There is no funding after August this year. Haringey decided to pull the plug-and hundreds of elderly people will have no place to go. And I think that is disgusting. So-I decided to help.
I emailed the coordinator for London Citizens. If you remember back about 100 posts (wordy, aren't I), I mentioned that the Unitarian Church is part of London Citizens, and I am leading the social justice team at the church (eeek. Fool!!!). But now-I can use that position to get to see the people at Citizens and put together a petition. If we can circulate on online petition, as well as petitions in all the churches and organizations that are part of Citizens, we just might be able to shame Haringey to provide the funds for AgeUK to stay afloat. So I'm contacting people, calling people, and knackering my keyboard. But this is important. I might surprise everyone-especially myself!- and live to a ripe old age. I might need AgeUK. Who knows?
I'll let you know how it goes-and if it goes-power to the oldies, I say! Nobody in London Citizens has any initiatives for older people; they are concerned with housing, and immigration, and safety, and the cost of living-but not about older people. In this country, older people are considered a nuisance. For now.
I'm back on my soapbox. I'm back in the fight. Really, if I didn't have something to fight about I would be terribly bored. Now I can type until I develop carpal tunnel.
Somebody get me an icepack...
Thursday 29 January 2015
Monday 19 January 2015
The exploding head-and a black eye, too...
Technically, it is one and a half black eyes. Now you know why my mother didn't call me Grace.
On Friday morning (only three days into the noxious Ciprofloxacin, so it wasn't working yet) I went to the kitchen cabinet to get some Excedrin-I've had the mother of all headaches since this flu thing developed. And what did I do? I noticed that there was one sideways movement that made me feel a little dizzy, so I repeated the movement a few times, then opened the cupboard door-right into my face. Bang, wallop, I smacked myself really hard. And did I ever swear!
I did this once before: when I had the old kitchen, I did the exact same thing: I opened the door absent-mindedly, and smacked myself right in the face. Only the last time, it was on the other side. So never let it be said that I play favorites. I am an equal-opportunity smacker...and I have the shiner to prove it. And what a whacking big shiner it is, too.
So I then had to go to see my GP for my usual monthly update. I walked into the office, went up to the receptionist-and she just looked at me, wide-eyed. "Oh", I said, "you should see the other guy. But the other guy", I added hastily, "happens to be a door." She laughed, I laughed, I went in to see Margaret, and all she said when she looked at me was "what? again?". Now I feel like a real klutz. And Margaret told me to be more careful when I am doing anything with doors. And walls. And-anywhere.
So don't you know-yesterday I did the same thing, only I didn't whack myself completely, just right above my eye. What an oops! Luckily I didn't have to go anywhere, so I have been rubbing in the Arnica to bring the swellings down. Arnica: great stuff for bruises, I can tell you. I've got tubes of Arnica stashed everywhere- that is because I keep forgetting where I put them. CRS again: can't remember shit. I'm blaming it on being 80% antibiotics, rather than being middle-aged. Eighty per cent antibiotics, twenty percent Kettle Chips. And Kettle Chips are good for you, according to the hospital dietician. Now I'm getting hungry...
The tiles started to fall off the bathroom walls-very exciting-and it has taken since October for the landlord to send someone in to fix the problem. So I am hearing a lot of banging and crashing as all the tiles are being removed. The walls either need replacing or need replastering-or both. Then new tiles need to be put back on. It's a two day job. Between Mulalley and the landlord's lot, my patience is being tried to the limit. But-at the end of the ordeal (or, rather, ordeals) I should be able to walk into the bathroom without wondering if a wall is going to fall on my head. And I should be able to get all the kitchen stuff put somewhere in the kitchen, rather than everywhere else. It will feel so strange to have a place that even looks a little bit like a home.
I'm going to sign off now-I just heard a huge crash coming from the bathroom, and I need to see if a wall fell on the poor workman's head. Never mind, though: I can do CPR. Practice, anyone?
On Friday morning (only three days into the noxious Ciprofloxacin, so it wasn't working yet) I went to the kitchen cabinet to get some Excedrin-I've had the mother of all headaches since this flu thing developed. And what did I do? I noticed that there was one sideways movement that made me feel a little dizzy, so I repeated the movement a few times, then opened the cupboard door-right into my face. Bang, wallop, I smacked myself really hard. And did I ever swear!
I did this once before: when I had the old kitchen, I did the exact same thing: I opened the door absent-mindedly, and smacked myself right in the face. Only the last time, it was on the other side. So never let it be said that I play favorites. I am an equal-opportunity smacker...and I have the shiner to prove it. And what a whacking big shiner it is, too.
So I then had to go to see my GP for my usual monthly update. I walked into the office, went up to the receptionist-and she just looked at me, wide-eyed. "Oh", I said, "you should see the other guy. But the other guy", I added hastily, "happens to be a door." She laughed, I laughed, I went in to see Margaret, and all she said when she looked at me was "what? again?". Now I feel like a real klutz. And Margaret told me to be more careful when I am doing anything with doors. And walls. And-anywhere.
So don't you know-yesterday I did the same thing, only I didn't whack myself completely, just right above my eye. What an oops! Luckily I didn't have to go anywhere, so I have been rubbing in the Arnica to bring the swellings down. Arnica: great stuff for bruises, I can tell you. I've got tubes of Arnica stashed everywhere- that is because I keep forgetting where I put them. CRS again: can't remember shit. I'm blaming it on being 80% antibiotics, rather than being middle-aged. Eighty per cent antibiotics, twenty percent Kettle Chips. And Kettle Chips are good for you, according to the hospital dietician. Now I'm getting hungry...
The tiles started to fall off the bathroom walls-very exciting-and it has taken since October for the landlord to send someone in to fix the problem. So I am hearing a lot of banging and crashing as all the tiles are being removed. The walls either need replacing or need replastering-or both. Then new tiles need to be put back on. It's a two day job. Between Mulalley and the landlord's lot, my patience is being tried to the limit. But-at the end of the ordeal (or, rather, ordeals) I should be able to walk into the bathroom without wondering if a wall is going to fall on my head. And I should be able to get all the kitchen stuff put somewhere in the kitchen, rather than everywhere else. It will feel so strange to have a place that even looks a little bit like a home.
I'm going to sign off now-I just heard a huge crash coming from the bathroom, and I need to see if a wall fell on the poor workman's head. Never mind, though: I can do CPR. Practice, anyone?
Thursday 15 January 2015
The exploding head: to flu or not to flu
Ah, the danger of complacency! Everyone I knew had the dreaded flu-the one that hangs around for weeks and weeks-and I was congratulating myself on avoiding it. Until January 2nd-now there is an oops for you!
I woke in the middle of the night with a headache that was so bad I thought my head was going to explode. Plus-the streaming eyes, streaming nose, nasty cough-and a very, very sore throat. And fever-mustn't forget the fever. It wouldn't be a vicious flu without the fever. Yuch-what a way to start the new year. And I am such a drama queen! But it was bad enough to keep me in bed for the past two weeks. I only went out when I really had to-then it was back to bed and suffering (I told you: drama queen).
On Monday the 5th I dragged myself to the National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery (aka Queen Square. Everyone calls it Queen Square; it's shorter, and I'm being lazy.). Dr. Dimples wanted me to go back and see Dr. Davies, who is well known for her work in vestibular loss. But it took several letters to my GP before I was finally referred; apparently it costs the GP's surgery to refer patients to consultants. Go figure!
I was there for five and a half hours. I had to do several of the tests I had done in 2011-and then I had to wait an hour and a half before seeing Dr. Davies for the results. I practically took root. But I'm glad I waited, even though it was a real pain to do so.
Davies told me that the results were the same-and she showed me all the graphs and explained everything to me. In 2011, the registrar dismissed the fact that there was a minimal response to the tests, saying that the response was so small as to be insignificant. That isn't exactly what Davies said this time. She said that even a tiny response was enough for her to refer me for balance physiotherapy. She seemed to think that physio would help me deal with the condition-and she did say that there are things I will never be able to do again: go out after dark without someone going with me (I have no balance or night vision once it's dark), and so on. But-she also said that she couldn't say that I will ever be without the elbow crutch...she went on to say that she will state in her report that I am now handicapped-disabled, and permanently. That really hurt.
So what do I get for being disabled? A gold star? A badge? A certificate? Maybe a little statuette (of a pair of crutches)? I think she could be trying to get me to fight harder, but I'm not certain. I do know that there is a three month waiting list for physio-and she suggested that I use the waiting time to challenge my brain as much as I can by doing everything that makes me dizzy-over and over and over again. Davies pointed out that if I don't challenge the brain constantly, I will regress (how far, she doesn't know). So-I was glad about the balance rehab, sad about the waiting list, and more determined than ever to challenge myself to improve. After all, there is nothing wrong with my brain; it's one of my favorite organs. And if there is one thing I do-it's rise to a challenge.
Monday (the 12th) I had to go back to the London for my infusions. The last time I was there for more than five and a half hours (is that the magic number, I ask myself?)-this time I was only there four and a half hours. But that is because one of the registrars came to examine me. For one thing, my voice is gone. For another, it seems that I have pseudomonas again, according to the last sample they took in December. You'd think someone would have told me...so now I am on these huge antibiotics for the next three weeks. Bummer. But they are the last defense against my being shoved into the hospital for two weeks, so I'm taking them and not complaining (much).
And here I was, on New Year's Day, making a list of things I want to accomplish this year, and giving myself two weeks to sort it all out. Now two weeks have become four weeks-and the guys from Mulalley came to inspect what needs to be done to finish off my kitchen. So it will have taken them 11 months to do a job that could have been done in a week. Huh. And where is their head office? Essex-where else??
I feel that I need to mention the slaughters last week in Paris. I need to be a little bit political-because everything that happens (both inside and outside) affects my balance in one way or another. And Paris - I cried. I just could not believe it. I take pot shots at the Brits because it's fun-and it's deserved-and they're idiots. They take shots at us, I take shots at them-but nobody is coming up to anyone and stabbing, or shooting, or beheading them because people are terribly offended.
People call me courageous, determined, an inspiration (Davies said that, too: I just refuse to quit) - but really, the cartoonists who kept going and put out the latest magazine, complete with Mohammed on the cover- they are the brave ones. They refust to quit, and they refuse to be intimidated, to back down, to give in to terrorists. Those people are as gutsy as they come. I don't know where this is all going to end-anyone else feel that way? His Impotence (Cameron, the inept prime minister who is Britain's equivalent of Bush) won't issue a top security warning until a few bombs go off and a bunch of people are killed. He continues to maintain that nothing will happen. But these jihadists have no regard for human life. They're like cockroaches: kill a few and a hundred more jump up to take their place. I know that people want to think this is a safe world, that we are safer than we ever were before. But ask the families of the 17 murdered French people-or the families of the journalists and aid workers who were beheaded by IS. Are we safe? Hell no!
I'm keeping my head down. I have to do that anyway-or I'll fall over. But I won't let anyone stop me from blogging. Or fighting.
I woke in the middle of the night with a headache that was so bad I thought my head was going to explode. Plus-the streaming eyes, streaming nose, nasty cough-and a very, very sore throat. And fever-mustn't forget the fever. It wouldn't be a vicious flu without the fever. Yuch-what a way to start the new year. And I am such a drama queen! But it was bad enough to keep me in bed for the past two weeks. I only went out when I really had to-then it was back to bed and suffering (I told you: drama queen).
On Monday the 5th I dragged myself to the National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery (aka Queen Square. Everyone calls it Queen Square; it's shorter, and I'm being lazy.). Dr. Dimples wanted me to go back and see Dr. Davies, who is well known for her work in vestibular loss. But it took several letters to my GP before I was finally referred; apparently it costs the GP's surgery to refer patients to consultants. Go figure!
I was there for five and a half hours. I had to do several of the tests I had done in 2011-and then I had to wait an hour and a half before seeing Dr. Davies for the results. I practically took root. But I'm glad I waited, even though it was a real pain to do so.
Davies told me that the results were the same-and she showed me all the graphs and explained everything to me. In 2011, the registrar dismissed the fact that there was a minimal response to the tests, saying that the response was so small as to be insignificant. That isn't exactly what Davies said this time. She said that even a tiny response was enough for her to refer me for balance physiotherapy. She seemed to think that physio would help me deal with the condition-and she did say that there are things I will never be able to do again: go out after dark without someone going with me (I have no balance or night vision once it's dark), and so on. But-she also said that she couldn't say that I will ever be without the elbow crutch...she went on to say that she will state in her report that I am now handicapped-disabled, and permanently. That really hurt.
So what do I get for being disabled? A gold star? A badge? A certificate? Maybe a little statuette (of a pair of crutches)? I think she could be trying to get me to fight harder, but I'm not certain. I do know that there is a three month waiting list for physio-and she suggested that I use the waiting time to challenge my brain as much as I can by doing everything that makes me dizzy-over and over and over again. Davies pointed out that if I don't challenge the brain constantly, I will regress (how far, she doesn't know). So-I was glad about the balance rehab, sad about the waiting list, and more determined than ever to challenge myself to improve. After all, there is nothing wrong with my brain; it's one of my favorite organs. And if there is one thing I do-it's rise to a challenge.
Monday (the 12th) I had to go back to the London for my infusions. The last time I was there for more than five and a half hours (is that the magic number, I ask myself?)-this time I was only there four and a half hours. But that is because one of the registrars came to examine me. For one thing, my voice is gone. For another, it seems that I have pseudomonas again, according to the last sample they took in December. You'd think someone would have told me...so now I am on these huge antibiotics for the next three weeks. Bummer. But they are the last defense against my being shoved into the hospital for two weeks, so I'm taking them and not complaining (much).
And here I was, on New Year's Day, making a list of things I want to accomplish this year, and giving myself two weeks to sort it all out. Now two weeks have become four weeks-and the guys from Mulalley came to inspect what needs to be done to finish off my kitchen. So it will have taken them 11 months to do a job that could have been done in a week. Huh. And where is their head office? Essex-where else??
I feel that I need to mention the slaughters last week in Paris. I need to be a little bit political-because everything that happens (both inside and outside) affects my balance in one way or another. And Paris - I cried. I just could not believe it. I take pot shots at the Brits because it's fun-and it's deserved-and they're idiots. They take shots at us, I take shots at them-but nobody is coming up to anyone and stabbing, or shooting, or beheading them because people are terribly offended.
People call me courageous, determined, an inspiration (Davies said that, too: I just refuse to quit) - but really, the cartoonists who kept going and put out the latest magazine, complete with Mohammed on the cover- they are the brave ones. They refust to quit, and they refuse to be intimidated, to back down, to give in to terrorists. Those people are as gutsy as they come. I don't know where this is all going to end-anyone else feel that way? His Impotence (Cameron, the inept prime minister who is Britain's equivalent of Bush) won't issue a top security warning until a few bombs go off and a bunch of people are killed. He continues to maintain that nothing will happen. But these jihadists have no regard for human life. They're like cockroaches: kill a few and a hundred more jump up to take their place. I know that people want to think this is a safe world, that we are safer than we ever were before. But ask the families of the 17 murdered French people-or the families of the journalists and aid workers who were beheaded by IS. Are we safe? Hell no!
I'm keeping my head down. I have to do that anyway-or I'll fall over. But I won't let anyone stop me from blogging. Or fighting.
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