Four weeks yesterday I had the implants removed-and what a disaster that was!! I ended up with a hematoma the size of Brazil. From waist to shoulder, all the way around the back, down to the buttocks-and it hurt like hell, too.
The docs tried to do a needle aspiration - they removed a syringe filled with blood (that was a week after surgery)-but then the blood clots became solid, and I was told that I should be out of pain in-maybe-six months.
If I've already told you this, feel free to go make a coffee for the next few sentences. It just means that that malady I call CRS (Can't Remember Shit) has once again reached up and bitten me on the ass. I can tell you that people I know quite well suffer from this as well-as do people in their 20s and 30s-so it's no longer just a middle aged person's malady. It's everywhere-like flu. Does that make me feel a little bit smug? It shouldn't-but it does.
Last week the surgeon removed the stitches from one side. He's waiting until Monday to remove the rest. I asked him if he thinks that any earlier would make my chest fall out if I coughed. He thought that was funny. If he was in my shoes, he wouldn't think anything is funny. He even told me that the pooled blood and all the blood clots would migrate down my buttocks and stomach, and I shouldn't be worried. Seriously? I asked him what I should do when it all reaches my ankles: stand on my head? Dangle upside down until it all starts to move the other way? Huh. Idiots.
Well, here I am, four weeks later, and a lot of the bruising has subsided, although the bruising on my chest still looks like someone kicked me while I was under the anesthesia. Kicked, punched, dropped a 20 kilo weight-whatever. I must have that effect on people: they want to wait until I'm comatose and then kick the shit out of me.
A doctor I know advised me to use heat-so I've been using a heating pad every day for about the last two weeks-and, between the heating pad and the arnica (I swear by arnica-too bad I don't have any stock in the company. Another missed opportunity), I think that it's all looking a bit less black. Now it's all dark grey. How exciting is that? I really need to get out more...
I do have some interesting news, and this is about the whole needles/syringes debacle. I persisted-almost daily, because you know that when someone really, really pisses me off I just go for the jugular, no matter how long it takes. I received an apology from my GP. It wasn't a grovelling apology, but it wasn't far off. Then on Thursday I was due to go over to the surgery for my annual flu shot-some media idiots are bleating that this will be the worst flu epidemic in years (they do that every year. It frightens people, and it sells what these idiots laughingly call "newspapers").
I go because of the whole immune system/chest challenges. And I'm sitting there, waiting for the doc to see me, and who walks out of her office- my GP. Of course. WTF...and other expressions of dismay...
She came straight over to me and apologized again, said that she was very foolish, and blah blah blah. Of course, every patient advocacy group-plus the MP-were after her, so she might have done this to get the heat off (finally). She also might have been genuinely sorry that she and her team of morons screwed up so royally. So we are going to meet in a couple of weeks and sit down and just put this all behind us. Perhaps I should wear a bullet-proof vest...or maybe she should?
I'm glad I persevered, and that this whole matter is nearly at an end, and if I never hear about needles and syringes again it will be absolutely wonderful.
My friend Dee says that anything for a quiet life-at any cost-is exactly what she wants, and she just doesn't like any kind of confrontation. She runs from it. I can understand that-in some ways-and I know her for a number of years, and if she was really happy to live her life that way, I would applaud her. I know that she isn't- because she never stands up for herself. But hey, whatever floats your boat.
I seem to be in battle mode a large percentage of time, fighting for myself, or for anyone who needs (and asks for) help...and I wonder which of us is healthier, the fighter or the - not fighter. I'm not so sure I want to keep fighting all the time. It's very wearing. In this country, if you fight for anyone's rights (including your own) you're pilloried and demonized. Who needs that?
I'm telling you: I'm going to take up kick boxing...
Saturday 23 September 2017
Saturday 2 September 2017
Tits Ahoy: Titless in London
I was in full battle dress the last time I wrote-I fight for my principles. But I had to delay the battle (which I'll tell you about later) to go into the hospital last Friday (the 25th) to have the implants removed-after a six month wait.
Talk about pain; one implant was ruptured. So my body clearly doesn't like those things, and now I'm flat as a pancake again. But I would rather be flat and go through a week and a bit of agonizing pain (post-op) than all the pain I had before. It turns out-according to the surgeon-that a high percentage of women have the implants removed because the body rejects them. Thanks for telling me now-a bit late, don't you think? And, there is a shelf life for implants. Even when they're successful, they need replacing every 7-10 years. Some lucky women are okay with them for longer than that, but there are so many side effects that now I encourage people to think very carefully about whether or not it is worth the aggravation.
I was discharged on Wednesday afternoon, and have I ever been suffering since then! The after effects of pain killers, intravenous antibiotics, and hospital food that I'm sure started out as toxic waste-all these things took their toll. So, since I got back I have been pretty inert-and what balance I have paid the price. If I don't walk daily, I start to revert to staggering. Interesting.
Yesterday I forced myself to eat, and I managed to keep a bit down, but that was a little difficult. I also walked for about 45 minutes; I'm someone who never does things by halves, so of course I overdid it, and got back and was knackered. But something about movement, action and refusing to quit has made things begin to improve. That, plus it's been a week since surgery, mean that I'm in less pain. But I'm also black from waist to shoulder, so that's really unpleasant. For the first five or six days I couldn't raise my arms. That was a little disconcerting, I can tell you. There's so much really bad bruising that I said to the surgeon that I must have offended someone and they waited until I was unconscious to kick me in the chest. I made him laugh, but I did wonder...
But now that I'm slowly on the mend from that ordeal, I have to tell you about this battle-it is so incredible that I tell friends and family and they look at me, astonished, as if to say: can that be real? It can. It is.
I might have mentioned that my GP had been giving me needles and syringes every month and a half or so, needed for my nebulizer. Now, I've had this nebulizer for more than seven years, and they began trialling it then as an alternative to the big clunking one that you have to clear the room of people, pets, goldfish, before you can actually use it, because a lot of the antibiotic goes straight into the room. So you have to also open the window and shut the door. With this new one, you don't need to do that. It is the size of a pack of cards, very compact, and a special formulation of the antibiotic is used,which must be drawn up (hence the needles and syringes), then injected into the vial of antibiotic, mixed well, and placed into the nebulizer. The entire process takes less than five minutes-plus the two or three minutes it takes to rinse the bits of the machine. And then Bob's your uncle. Done and dusted (no, I still don't know who Bob is and why he's your uncle. But nobody else does, either). The Ineb is the Rolls Royce of nebulizers-more than 90 percent of antibiotic is inhaled-less than half is inhaled using the traditional nebulizer. So why on earth would I go back to using the old one?
In July, Margaret (my GP) decided that the needles and syringes are "coming out of the partners' pockets"-and she was going to stop giving them to me, which she had been doing for many years out of the "kindness of her heart". That was her reasoning: it's coming out of the partners' pockets. When the NHS gave all the funding directly to the GPs and told them to manage the funds themselves (funds that are public funds), it was inevitable that some unscrupulous doctors would get greedy; lining their own pockets and stuffing their own bank balances were more important than their patients' health and wellbeing. Again, a matter of principle for me.
There are four partners and eleven paid doctors-and the practice is paid a certain amount per patient (I don't know how much it is now, but six years ago it was £150 per patient. You do the math). The practice is coining it in-but they can't afford £10 or £12 every month and a half? Who are they kidding?
To add insult to injury, Margaret didn't have the guts to come out and tell me herself. She had a very nasty receptionist come out and slam two part boxes on the counter and tell me that these are the last needles and syringes that I'm going to get. I asked why; she snapped that Margaret said that these objects-necessary equipment to nebulize, which is necessary for my survival-are coming out of the partners' pockets. When I asked what I was supposed to do, she snapped again: go and buy them yourself. Then she walked away. I asked before she left to speak to Margaret, and she told me that Margaret was "busy".
So that was the beginning of a fight. I checked with the pharmacy, and was told that both boxes would cost me £25 per month-and the person who prescribes the antibiotic is obliged to provide the equipment to use that antibiotic. So into action I went-in a big way.
I got onto the Great God Google, and I found a patients' helpline. I rang them and got the name of a patients' advocacy group called Healthwatch. I contacted the Haringey CCG-clinical commissioning group-who allegedly oversee the medical practices in the borough. I rang a lawyer and asked if it was legal for her to do this. I was told that if these objects are not in the formulary, they can't be prescribed, but what she did - and the way she did it- was unethical, unprofessional, and immoral. The lawyer said that the whole thing was disgusting.
I didn't stop there. I called NHS England, and was told that, since I complained to the practice (even though it was by phone and not in writing), they couldn't help me, because new legislation dictated that if a patient complains to a doctor that patient can't make a complaint to the NHS. What a load of bollocks.
I then went to the Ombudsman (you can tell I was very busy. That's what happens when you piss me off). And they were sympathetic, thought her behavior and attitude were a total disgrace-but said that if I could get her to put in writing (an email would do nicely) that the reason she decided to stop the provision of the equipment I need to use the antibiotics that she prescribed was that it was "coming out of the partners' pockets", they could take action on my behalf. So I'm trying to get her to do that; she promised that she would, and I will keep on at her until she keeps her promise.
This is a matter of disgraceful, disgusting, unprofessional and downright petty behavior on the part of a GP who should know better. She even went to my team at the hospital, would you believe? And they told me last week that they would provide the needles and syringes, even though it isn't their obligation to do so. They said that I'm their patient, and my safety, health and well-being are their priority. They would rather give me the equipment I need than to see me go without. And their comment about Margaret is that she is a disgrace. There goes her reputation-as if she cares. She'd rather sit in her office and count her money.
Am I stopping there? Hell, no. I'm getting that letter if I have to go there and sit and wait for it. Then I'm going to the Ombudsman, and we'll see a few sparks fly, because I'm also going to my local MP. Margaret will love a letter with a Parliament letterhead. Then I'm going to the media. And then, when I've made a huge deal and stirred the shit as much as I can, I'm changing doctors.
It isn't about a relatively small sum of money. It's about the lack of ethics and integrity, it's about the cowardly and unpleasant way it was done. It's a matter of principle, and as I said, I fight for a principle-even if I fight for other people, it's the principle.
And that's what happens when you really, really piss me off.
Talk about pain; one implant was ruptured. So my body clearly doesn't like those things, and now I'm flat as a pancake again. But I would rather be flat and go through a week and a bit of agonizing pain (post-op) than all the pain I had before. It turns out-according to the surgeon-that a high percentage of women have the implants removed because the body rejects them. Thanks for telling me now-a bit late, don't you think? And, there is a shelf life for implants. Even when they're successful, they need replacing every 7-10 years. Some lucky women are okay with them for longer than that, but there are so many side effects that now I encourage people to think very carefully about whether or not it is worth the aggravation.
I was discharged on Wednesday afternoon, and have I ever been suffering since then! The after effects of pain killers, intravenous antibiotics, and hospital food that I'm sure started out as toxic waste-all these things took their toll. So, since I got back I have been pretty inert-and what balance I have paid the price. If I don't walk daily, I start to revert to staggering. Interesting.
Yesterday I forced myself to eat, and I managed to keep a bit down, but that was a little difficult. I also walked for about 45 minutes; I'm someone who never does things by halves, so of course I overdid it, and got back and was knackered. But something about movement, action and refusing to quit has made things begin to improve. That, plus it's been a week since surgery, mean that I'm in less pain. But I'm also black from waist to shoulder, so that's really unpleasant. For the first five or six days I couldn't raise my arms. That was a little disconcerting, I can tell you. There's so much really bad bruising that I said to the surgeon that I must have offended someone and they waited until I was unconscious to kick me in the chest. I made him laugh, but I did wonder...
But now that I'm slowly on the mend from that ordeal, I have to tell you about this battle-it is so incredible that I tell friends and family and they look at me, astonished, as if to say: can that be real? It can. It is.
I might have mentioned that my GP had been giving me needles and syringes every month and a half or so, needed for my nebulizer. Now, I've had this nebulizer for more than seven years, and they began trialling it then as an alternative to the big clunking one that you have to clear the room of people, pets, goldfish, before you can actually use it, because a lot of the antibiotic goes straight into the room. So you have to also open the window and shut the door. With this new one, you don't need to do that. It is the size of a pack of cards, very compact, and a special formulation of the antibiotic is used,which must be drawn up (hence the needles and syringes), then injected into the vial of antibiotic, mixed well, and placed into the nebulizer. The entire process takes less than five minutes-plus the two or three minutes it takes to rinse the bits of the machine. And then Bob's your uncle. Done and dusted (no, I still don't know who Bob is and why he's your uncle. But nobody else does, either). The Ineb is the Rolls Royce of nebulizers-more than 90 percent of antibiotic is inhaled-less than half is inhaled using the traditional nebulizer. So why on earth would I go back to using the old one?
In July, Margaret (my GP) decided that the needles and syringes are "coming out of the partners' pockets"-and she was going to stop giving them to me, which she had been doing for many years out of the "kindness of her heart". That was her reasoning: it's coming out of the partners' pockets. When the NHS gave all the funding directly to the GPs and told them to manage the funds themselves (funds that are public funds), it was inevitable that some unscrupulous doctors would get greedy; lining their own pockets and stuffing their own bank balances were more important than their patients' health and wellbeing. Again, a matter of principle for me.
There are four partners and eleven paid doctors-and the practice is paid a certain amount per patient (I don't know how much it is now, but six years ago it was £150 per patient. You do the math). The practice is coining it in-but they can't afford £10 or £12 every month and a half? Who are they kidding?
To add insult to injury, Margaret didn't have the guts to come out and tell me herself. She had a very nasty receptionist come out and slam two part boxes on the counter and tell me that these are the last needles and syringes that I'm going to get. I asked why; she snapped that Margaret said that these objects-necessary equipment to nebulize, which is necessary for my survival-are coming out of the partners' pockets. When I asked what I was supposed to do, she snapped again: go and buy them yourself. Then she walked away. I asked before she left to speak to Margaret, and she told me that Margaret was "busy".
So that was the beginning of a fight. I checked with the pharmacy, and was told that both boxes would cost me £25 per month-and the person who prescribes the antibiotic is obliged to provide the equipment to use that antibiotic. So into action I went-in a big way.
I got onto the Great God Google, and I found a patients' helpline. I rang them and got the name of a patients' advocacy group called Healthwatch. I contacted the Haringey CCG-clinical commissioning group-who allegedly oversee the medical practices in the borough. I rang a lawyer and asked if it was legal for her to do this. I was told that if these objects are not in the formulary, they can't be prescribed, but what she did - and the way she did it- was unethical, unprofessional, and immoral. The lawyer said that the whole thing was disgusting.
I didn't stop there. I called NHS England, and was told that, since I complained to the practice (even though it was by phone and not in writing), they couldn't help me, because new legislation dictated that if a patient complains to a doctor that patient can't make a complaint to the NHS. What a load of bollocks.
I then went to the Ombudsman (you can tell I was very busy. That's what happens when you piss me off). And they were sympathetic, thought her behavior and attitude were a total disgrace-but said that if I could get her to put in writing (an email would do nicely) that the reason she decided to stop the provision of the equipment I need to use the antibiotics that she prescribed was that it was "coming out of the partners' pockets", they could take action on my behalf. So I'm trying to get her to do that; she promised that she would, and I will keep on at her until she keeps her promise.
This is a matter of disgraceful, disgusting, unprofessional and downright petty behavior on the part of a GP who should know better. She even went to my team at the hospital, would you believe? And they told me last week that they would provide the needles and syringes, even though it isn't their obligation to do so. They said that I'm their patient, and my safety, health and well-being are their priority. They would rather give me the equipment I need than to see me go without. And their comment about Margaret is that she is a disgrace. There goes her reputation-as if she cares. She'd rather sit in her office and count her money.
Am I stopping there? Hell, no. I'm getting that letter if I have to go there and sit and wait for it. Then I'm going to the Ombudsman, and we'll see a few sparks fly, because I'm also going to my local MP. Margaret will love a letter with a Parliament letterhead. Then I'm going to the media. And then, when I've made a huge deal and stirred the shit as much as I can, I'm changing doctors.
It isn't about a relatively small sum of money. It's about the lack of ethics and integrity, it's about the cowardly and unpleasant way it was done. It's a matter of principle, and as I said, I fight for a principle-even if I fight for other people, it's the principle.
And that's what happens when you really, really piss me off.
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