I told you that I am having trouble with the idiot builders, Mulalley. So I started what will be a long, drawn-out complaints process with Haringey-and Haringey is just as bad as Mulalley, so I really will be driven to drink-or, maybe, thoughts of homicide.
When I was in college, there was a very small shop that printed t-shirts while you waited. So a bunch of us would make the pilgrimage, and go in and make up our own sayings. I still have one somewhere (talk about holding onto things forever!!). This one I had made just before I came to live in London-and the shop doesn't exist anymore (now that's such a shame).
I thought about it this morning, and if I could find another shop like that one, I would have it reprinted. It expresses my sentiments exactly (and goes out to my cousins, who deserve it).
It reads: TAKE A LAWYER TO LUNCH
and underneath it reads AND POISON HIM
If I could find a place to print t-shirts to my specification, I could make an absolute fortune.
Wednesday 25 February 2015
Double, double, toil and trouble....
I'm not superstitious-but life started to go really sideways sideways-and on Friday the 13th. The irony was not lost on me, I can tell you!
It began on the Sunday of that week. For one thing, I missed two really important appointments. I got the time wrong on one, and I simply forgot the other. This was turbo-charged CRS-I started to think I'm developing dementia, and I was just in pieces. I started to ruminate on Tuesday-and, of course, once I start doing that, I jump to all the catastrophic conclusions. So I decided to hide until Friday, when I was due for my monthly checkup with Margaret, my GP. She knows I don't like asking for help - ever - so she wants to make sure I'm okay. As she said, I am the only one of more than 16,000 patients on the books who has CVID. That makes me interesting. Personally, I would rather be ordinary, and healthy-and not so interesting.
Meanwhile, I was in terrible abdominal pain-that also started on the Sunday. The lump in my abdomen seems to have sprouted another couple of lumps. So I now have a lump family. After Margaret reassured me that I don't have any dementia symptoms-only the CRS that comes with the lines, wrinkles, wobbly bits of middle age (something for all of you to look forward to!), she examined my abdomen. She said that she has no idea what is causing the lumps-and, because I have this weird hereditary condition, I should go to A&E (emergency room) to have someone check it out.
Off I went to the Royal London-what a mistake that turned out to be! I said that, since all my notes are there, I should probably go there, rather than the Royal Free. I won't make that mistake again-ever!!
I was seen relatively quickly by a triage nurse; I had a letter from Margaret, and she had arranged by phone to have me seen by one of the surgeons. So triage went relatively quickly. And it all went downhill from there. I was told that a nurse would draw my blood-and when I showed her the port in my chest, she said that nobody would touch it. She would take blood from my vein. I started to tell her that my veins are a total disaster-and she snapped that she has 36 yrs of experience, so she won't have a problem. No- I had the problem. I had a bruise from wrist to elbow-and when it came to removing the cannula afterward, she yanked it out and I bled everywhere. Perhaps there is still some of my blood on the floor at the London.
I was then sent to x-ray, where I waited over an hour-the NHS at its very worst. I was glad I didn't have a heart attack, or a ruptured something or other-I just sat and waited.
And now for the best part. This feeble excuse for a doctor came into the room, rushing around as if he had to be somewhere far more important. He heard my accent, and sniffed: oh, you're American. Is that a problem for you? I asked. He didn't answer, just asked me what was wrong. I tried to show him the lumps, and he pushed and pushed, I said ouch, and he said my abdomen is nice and soft. I said that is because my abdomen is nice and fat. He then proceeded to tell me that the lumps are old stitches from years ago, and that they won't be a problem. I said-they couldn't possibly be sutures since the operation I had was many years ago. He then argued that nylon stitches were used years ago. I said that the operation was in the 20th century, not the 18th century, and that internal stitches would have all dissoved by now-and that I had previously had abdominal scans, so anything like that would have shown up.
He then glared at me and said: are you a doctor? I glared right back at him and replied: as a matter of fact I am...are you?
He then told me to go home and take aspirin for the pain-and with that, he was gone. So I went outside to the nurses' station and asked if there was a real doctor who would examine me, not an orderly in disguise or a witch doctor (either of which would probably have been better than this idiot). And I said I wanted someone to remove the cannula-after about 15 minutes, the same nurse who had inserted it decided to yank it out-and then the blood went everywhere. I went back to the nurses and showed them blood pouring out of my arm; they said go back in the room and they would send someone in to fix it. I said no, I will just stand there and bleed all over their floor until they get someone to fix it. So I did, and they did, and I stormed out.
I came home and stopped in Margaret's office, and asked for them to let her know what had happened. I said never again will I go to the Royal London if I have an emergency. And that was my Friday the 13th!
So I have been in pain since-and I went to the Royal London again on Monday for my infusions-I asked John (my nurse) to have a look. He doesn't know what is causing the lumps, and told me to go back to see Margaret. Well-welcome to the NHS, no wonder people are dying left right and center!!
I did, though, have a useful conversation with the AgeUK people yesterday. I decided on this initiative and announced it to the congregation-and received no interest whatsoever. And-my elderly neighbor is expecting me to do something to help, so I really can't give up now. So I went along to talk to some AgeUK people-the people in charge-and it seems that it isn't only Haringey that decided to cut funding. It's every borough in London.These idiots -by idiots I mean Cameron and Clegg - decided that everyone needs to cut funding, and the first people to suffer are the older people. There won't be anyone to help people with dementia once they get re-elected. So, even though I am not part of AgeUK, I offered to help. Now we will see what happens. If anything.
You are now up to date. Mulalley finished the very mediocre job they (laughingly) call a "new kitchen". I have begun stage 1 of the Haringey complaints process, with a view to causing maximum bad publicity for these cowboy builders. I'm making as big a pain in the ass of myself as I possibly can. And I'm going public. And-that is what you get when you really, really piss me off!!
And I'm not at all bothered by black cats crossing in front of me, or walking under ladders (I did that this morning. It was either that or walk in the road and risk being run over. I'll take the ladder, thanks).
The older I get, the more irascible I become. It feels great! Now to the Kettle Chips!!
It began on the Sunday of that week. For one thing, I missed two really important appointments. I got the time wrong on one, and I simply forgot the other. This was turbo-charged CRS-I started to think I'm developing dementia, and I was just in pieces. I started to ruminate on Tuesday-and, of course, once I start doing that, I jump to all the catastrophic conclusions. So I decided to hide until Friday, when I was due for my monthly checkup with Margaret, my GP. She knows I don't like asking for help - ever - so she wants to make sure I'm okay. As she said, I am the only one of more than 16,000 patients on the books who has CVID. That makes me interesting. Personally, I would rather be ordinary, and healthy-and not so interesting.
Meanwhile, I was in terrible abdominal pain-that also started on the Sunday. The lump in my abdomen seems to have sprouted another couple of lumps. So I now have a lump family. After Margaret reassured me that I don't have any dementia symptoms-only the CRS that comes with the lines, wrinkles, wobbly bits of middle age (something for all of you to look forward to!), she examined my abdomen. She said that she has no idea what is causing the lumps-and, because I have this weird hereditary condition, I should go to A&E (emergency room) to have someone check it out.
Off I went to the Royal London-what a mistake that turned out to be! I said that, since all my notes are there, I should probably go there, rather than the Royal Free. I won't make that mistake again-ever!!
I was seen relatively quickly by a triage nurse; I had a letter from Margaret, and she had arranged by phone to have me seen by one of the surgeons. So triage went relatively quickly. And it all went downhill from there. I was told that a nurse would draw my blood-and when I showed her the port in my chest, she said that nobody would touch it. She would take blood from my vein. I started to tell her that my veins are a total disaster-and she snapped that she has 36 yrs of experience, so she won't have a problem. No- I had the problem. I had a bruise from wrist to elbow-and when it came to removing the cannula afterward, she yanked it out and I bled everywhere. Perhaps there is still some of my blood on the floor at the London.
I was then sent to x-ray, where I waited over an hour-the NHS at its very worst. I was glad I didn't have a heart attack, or a ruptured something or other-I just sat and waited.
And now for the best part. This feeble excuse for a doctor came into the room, rushing around as if he had to be somewhere far more important. He heard my accent, and sniffed: oh, you're American. Is that a problem for you? I asked. He didn't answer, just asked me what was wrong. I tried to show him the lumps, and he pushed and pushed, I said ouch, and he said my abdomen is nice and soft. I said that is because my abdomen is nice and fat. He then proceeded to tell me that the lumps are old stitches from years ago, and that they won't be a problem. I said-they couldn't possibly be sutures since the operation I had was many years ago. He then argued that nylon stitches were used years ago. I said that the operation was in the 20th century, not the 18th century, and that internal stitches would have all dissoved by now-and that I had previously had abdominal scans, so anything like that would have shown up.
He then glared at me and said: are you a doctor? I glared right back at him and replied: as a matter of fact I am...are you?
He then told me to go home and take aspirin for the pain-and with that, he was gone. So I went outside to the nurses' station and asked if there was a real doctor who would examine me, not an orderly in disguise or a witch doctor (either of which would probably have been better than this idiot). And I said I wanted someone to remove the cannula-after about 15 minutes, the same nurse who had inserted it decided to yank it out-and then the blood went everywhere. I went back to the nurses and showed them blood pouring out of my arm; they said go back in the room and they would send someone in to fix it. I said no, I will just stand there and bleed all over their floor until they get someone to fix it. So I did, and they did, and I stormed out.
I came home and stopped in Margaret's office, and asked for them to let her know what had happened. I said never again will I go to the Royal London if I have an emergency. And that was my Friday the 13th!
So I have been in pain since-and I went to the Royal London again on Monday for my infusions-I asked John (my nurse) to have a look. He doesn't know what is causing the lumps, and told me to go back to see Margaret. Well-welcome to the NHS, no wonder people are dying left right and center!!
I did, though, have a useful conversation with the AgeUK people yesterday. I decided on this initiative and announced it to the congregation-and received no interest whatsoever. And-my elderly neighbor is expecting me to do something to help, so I really can't give up now. So I went along to talk to some AgeUK people-the people in charge-and it seems that it isn't only Haringey that decided to cut funding. It's every borough in London.These idiots -by idiots I mean Cameron and Clegg - decided that everyone needs to cut funding, and the first people to suffer are the older people. There won't be anyone to help people with dementia once they get re-elected. So, even though I am not part of AgeUK, I offered to help. Now we will see what happens. If anything.
You are now up to date. Mulalley finished the very mediocre job they (laughingly) call a "new kitchen". I have begun stage 1 of the Haringey complaints process, with a view to causing maximum bad publicity for these cowboy builders. I'm making as big a pain in the ass of myself as I possibly can. And I'm going public. And-that is what you get when you really, really piss me off!!
And I'm not at all bothered by black cats crossing in front of me, or walking under ladders (I did that this morning. It was either that or walk in the road and risk being run over. I'll take the ladder, thanks).
The older I get, the more irascible I become. It feels great! Now to the Kettle Chips!!
Thursday 12 February 2015
Do not pass go -- and why bother?
Well, I changed my mind again. I don't need to worry about going straight to Hell-I live there already! And I can tell you-it's very, very cold. I'm bloody freezing!
Here I am complaining about the cold weather-and all my friends back home would laugh at me. Compared to some parts of the States, we are in the middle of a heat wave. So no more moaning from me-the solution is layering. The problem is, I wear thermals, a t-shirt, another t-shirt, a fleece - and my coat is supposed to be wind and waterproof. Thinsulate, they call it. What a crock. I walk outside and I'm shivering. So much for thinsulate. Huh. My friend in Canada told me that she wears thermals, more thermals, a fleece jacket (much heavier than mine), two wool scarves, a big furry hat (I'll bet she looks like Trapper John), thermal leggings, thick tights, thick ski pants, moon boots (I just about choked on that. Moon boots? She said they're really warm. I'm not going to criticize her for being so 80s), thick socks, and a coat that is like a full-length duvet. So she ends up looking like a walking duvet. She said that people laugh at her. They also look like they are suffering from hypothermia, and she is as warm as toast. Of course, she can't move her arms -but such a small price to pay for not contracting pneumonia.
I had a week. Just-a week. My neighbor is 78, and she is her husband's sole carer. They are both poorly, so I visit and check up on them as often as I can. She was very upset-seems like AgeUK, the UK charity for older people, has lost its funding from the London Borough of Haringey-and a lot of services will need to be cut if they are to survive. Funding must be found from somewhere.
So that is the initiative I mentioned last week: to find a way to keep all the services intact. Those include a dementia group, social groups, advice, and more I don't even know about. I thought of writing a petition. Petitions work if they're done properly. I stood in front of the congregation on Sunday and spoke about this-and it makes me really angry, because we are talking about a large part of the population that is completely ignored. There was very little interest. I was disappointed, but not surprised.
I met with the powers that be over at AgeUK on Monday. Of course, they didn't want to say much, since I'm not a member and they don't have a clue who I am. I just went on behalf of my friend. And they shot down every idea I had: online petitions? Hmm (they said). Interesting. Get London Citizens involved? Hmm. And who are they? (they asked). The media? Hmm. They said. Too political. AgeUK isn't about politics. Hello, I said, we are coming up to a General Election. People will fall all over themselves to get votes. Hmm. They said. We don't want anything to do with politics. But you can sit in on our next meeting while we plan our next move. Hmm. I thought. What next move is that?
Ahh, the frustration!! And this is what I get for volunteering. For anything. I might leave this Unitarian church-just because I don't seem to be able to light a fire under anyone when it comes to human rights. No wonder Andy was so keen for me to take over. Arghhh!!!
I need a vacation. A long one. Maybe for years...-
Here I am complaining about the cold weather-and all my friends back home would laugh at me. Compared to some parts of the States, we are in the middle of a heat wave. So no more moaning from me-the solution is layering. The problem is, I wear thermals, a t-shirt, another t-shirt, a fleece - and my coat is supposed to be wind and waterproof. Thinsulate, they call it. What a crock. I walk outside and I'm shivering. So much for thinsulate. Huh. My friend in Canada told me that she wears thermals, more thermals, a fleece jacket (much heavier than mine), two wool scarves, a big furry hat (I'll bet she looks like Trapper John), thermal leggings, thick tights, thick ski pants, moon boots (I just about choked on that. Moon boots? She said they're really warm. I'm not going to criticize her for being so 80s), thick socks, and a coat that is like a full-length duvet. So she ends up looking like a walking duvet. She said that people laugh at her. They also look like they are suffering from hypothermia, and she is as warm as toast. Of course, she can't move her arms -but such a small price to pay for not contracting pneumonia.
I had a week. Just-a week. My neighbor is 78, and she is her husband's sole carer. They are both poorly, so I visit and check up on them as often as I can. She was very upset-seems like AgeUK, the UK charity for older people, has lost its funding from the London Borough of Haringey-and a lot of services will need to be cut if they are to survive. Funding must be found from somewhere.
So that is the initiative I mentioned last week: to find a way to keep all the services intact. Those include a dementia group, social groups, advice, and more I don't even know about. I thought of writing a petition. Petitions work if they're done properly. I stood in front of the congregation on Sunday and spoke about this-and it makes me really angry, because we are talking about a large part of the population that is completely ignored. There was very little interest. I was disappointed, but not surprised.
I met with the powers that be over at AgeUK on Monday. Of course, they didn't want to say much, since I'm not a member and they don't have a clue who I am. I just went on behalf of my friend. And they shot down every idea I had: online petitions? Hmm (they said). Interesting. Get London Citizens involved? Hmm. And who are they? (they asked). The media? Hmm. They said. Too political. AgeUK isn't about politics. Hello, I said, we are coming up to a General Election. People will fall all over themselves to get votes. Hmm. They said. We don't want anything to do with politics. But you can sit in on our next meeting while we plan our next move. Hmm. I thought. What next move is that?
Ahh, the frustration!! And this is what I get for volunteering. For anything. I might leave this Unitarian church-just because I don't seem to be able to light a fire under anyone when it comes to human rights. No wonder Andy was so keen for me to take over. Arghhh!!!
I need a vacation. A long one. Maybe for years...-
Wednesday 4 February 2015
Go straight to Hell, do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars
I'm definitely going to Hell. Why? Because yesterday it snowed-that was how it began (the snow isn't sending me to a warmer climate). And we in the USA know how to deal with snow-but here they don't. One hundredth of a millimeter of snow and everything stops. It could be very entertaining-except that the local authorities don't believe in gritting the roads or sidewalks. Every time it snows, you see people in plaster for weeks afterward.
Well-yesterday I was due for my dental appointment (fine, by the way. At least I have something that works). It was early, there was snow on the ground, and I was told by two council workers that Haringey had run out of grit for roads and pavements. They ran out - last year. Clever, eh?
So I'm walking up the road-very carefully!- and some idiot pushed the person behind me, then came up behind me and pushed me out of his way, too. Move, you old cow, he snapped-nearly knocking me flat. I should be used to that kind of behavior by now, but it never ceases to amaze me. The man took five or six steps-and didn't see the patch of ice in front of him.
Bang! Splat! Down he went, and it was a joy to behold. I, of course, started to laugh: poetic justice, I thought. What goes around really does come around. I think he might have broken his arm-he certainly broke his nose, because there was blood pouring out of it. He just lay there, stunned and bleeding.
So the woman behind me-on a walking stick and clearly rather old and frail-also began to laugh. We both stood there and - just laughed. There wasn't anything either of us could do-except ring for an ambulance if he couldn't get up. Then he looked at me and snapped: well help me up, you old cow. Awww...not conducive to getting someone to help, was it? So I looked him in the eye, smiled, and said "kiss my ass, broken nose. Too bad you didn't break your neck". And with that, I helped the elderly lady step in the road (so she wouldn't get run over), and helped her up to the corner. We did turn and look around-nobody else helped him, either.
So I must be going to Hell for not helping some miserable horse's ass who was quite prepared to knock over two women on walking sticks-in snow and ice- actually, thinking about it, why would I be the one to go to Hell anyway? At least it would be warmer.
And things have a way of working themselves out.
I finally finished the Ciprofloxacin on Sunday, and went along to have my infusions on Monday. It has been a busy time since I last posted! I will know on Friday if the tests show I still have pseudomonas. If I do, it's back on the ward for two weeks of intravenous antibiotics and food that makes airline food taste like haute cuisine. If that happens, I will do what several patients did the last time I was on the ward: sneak out for a pizza. And-of course-bags of Kettle Chips. Love those Kettle Chips.
I said I didn't make New Year's resolutions because I always break them before the first week is finished. This time I made one: to take the first month (January) and decide how I am going to live my life for the rest of the year, and what changes I want to implement-and if I really, really want to spend my precious time waiting for things to happen, rather than getting out and making them happen.
Even though I was flu-ridden for most of January, I have stuck to that decision. I've got some projects for the Social Justice team to work on-right now I am still in the process of putting things together, so I will let you know how that is going. And-I will let you know next time why I now will take my mother's advice: never volunteer for anything. Arghhhh!!
Well-yesterday I was due for my dental appointment (fine, by the way. At least I have something that works). It was early, there was snow on the ground, and I was told by two council workers that Haringey had run out of grit for roads and pavements. They ran out - last year. Clever, eh?
So I'm walking up the road-very carefully!- and some idiot pushed the person behind me, then came up behind me and pushed me out of his way, too. Move, you old cow, he snapped-nearly knocking me flat. I should be used to that kind of behavior by now, but it never ceases to amaze me. The man took five or six steps-and didn't see the patch of ice in front of him.
Bang! Splat! Down he went, and it was a joy to behold. I, of course, started to laugh: poetic justice, I thought. What goes around really does come around. I think he might have broken his arm-he certainly broke his nose, because there was blood pouring out of it. He just lay there, stunned and bleeding.
So the woman behind me-on a walking stick and clearly rather old and frail-also began to laugh. We both stood there and - just laughed. There wasn't anything either of us could do-except ring for an ambulance if he couldn't get up. Then he looked at me and snapped: well help me up, you old cow. Awww...not conducive to getting someone to help, was it? So I looked him in the eye, smiled, and said "kiss my ass, broken nose. Too bad you didn't break your neck". And with that, I helped the elderly lady step in the road (so she wouldn't get run over), and helped her up to the corner. We did turn and look around-nobody else helped him, either.
So I must be going to Hell for not helping some miserable horse's ass who was quite prepared to knock over two women on walking sticks-in snow and ice- actually, thinking about it, why would I be the one to go to Hell anyway? At least it would be warmer.
And things have a way of working themselves out.
I finally finished the Ciprofloxacin on Sunday, and went along to have my infusions on Monday. It has been a busy time since I last posted! I will know on Friday if the tests show I still have pseudomonas. If I do, it's back on the ward for two weeks of intravenous antibiotics and food that makes airline food taste like haute cuisine. If that happens, I will do what several patients did the last time I was on the ward: sneak out for a pizza. And-of course-bags of Kettle Chips. Love those Kettle Chips.
I said I didn't make New Year's resolutions because I always break them before the first week is finished. This time I made one: to take the first month (January) and decide how I am going to live my life for the rest of the year, and what changes I want to implement-and if I really, really want to spend my precious time waiting for things to happen, rather than getting out and making them happen.
Even though I was flu-ridden for most of January, I have stuck to that decision. I've got some projects for the Social Justice team to work on-right now I am still in the process of putting things together, so I will let you know how that is going. And-I will let you know next time why I now will take my mother's advice: never volunteer for anything. Arghhhh!!
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