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!!