Knuckleheads on Parade

I've had an entertaining time watching the news as I hit the coffee machine first thing in the morning-and by first thing, I mean 6am. It wakes me up-and the stupidity of that orange oaf in the White House never ceases to astonish me. "Knucklehead" is about right. The idiot is incompetent. But, of course, you know where I stand on that one.


My friend-house-sitting for me at the moment- is having such a good time in London that she wants me to stay here for another week. Duh...I wish I could. But I would be so fat I would have to take up two seats on the plane. I've eaten enough to feed the population of a small, third-world country.


On second thought, make that a large, third-world country. I'll be eating fruit and salad for days when I get back. But, it was so worth it!


I've done just about everything I wanted to do while here: saw family (an obligation, only because I opened my mouth and told one person I was coming over. Big mistake-unless, of course, you like your relatives. I prefer my friends,  quite honestly), saw my friends, went to the museum, mooched around Manhattan and a mall on Long Island...and, of course, I ate. A lot.


Now I'm just about ready to go back. Ah, jet lag: I get it both ways, and it was pretty awful this way, so I know what to expect on the red eye (overnight flight).


I've tried every remedy for jet lag: melatonin (keeps me awake), valerian (ditto), lavender (huh...smells nice, doesn't do anything for the dreaded lag), nothing works. But-I came, I saw, I ate, and I'll just have to deal with the lag when it happens. Whatever.


I'm going back to hear about the UK branch of Knuckleheads on Parade: more hilarity from politics.


Iceland is looking very, very attractive right now...

Bagel, bagel, who's got the bagel?

Even with a seriously nasty case of jet lag, I practically dreamed of a toasted bagel. Loaded with cream cheese. Mmmm....


My friend in the northeast comes down to London whenever I take a few days off to go somewhere. Usually that somewhere is the hospital; I'm hoping that, with the last operation, those days are behind me. There isn't anything else the surgeons can't remove that isn't a vital organ...


When my friend goes away, I go up north to stay there and dog sit. It's great for both of us: she gets to mooch around London, and I get the relative peace and quiet of the countryside. After a few days, we're both ready to go back and resume life as we know it.


I've now been here for nearly a week-and I have satisfied my bagel needs (and then some).I met my friends, who came to help me celebrate my birthday, and that was pretty terrific. But-and there is a very big "but"- I got really homesick. I'm over jet lag (finally-just in time to go back to Britain), I've stuffed my face, I've enjoyed a few days of retail therapy (my suitcase will be heavy enough to give some poor baggage handler a hernia. Or perhaps an aneurism. Or both).I got to my favorite museum (the Museum of Modern Art), and that was great. I'll have to save the Guggenheim for my next trip, because I'm just about out of time.


It has been a real eye-opener.There is construction everywhere; there are people everywhere; the epidemic that has swept the UK is here, too: people walking without looking because they're busy texting, so they will just crash into you without even a "sorry". In that way, it's just like being in England.


In Britain people will happily stab you, or beat several kinds of crap out of you, or even throw sulfuric acid in your face (acid is the new means of attack). Here they just shoot you. But at least here the sentences for major crimes seem to be severe; over in the UK someone will get a life sentence (very, VERY rare indeed) and be out in eight years. Just amazing. The inequities over in England when it comes to crime are just breathtaking.


Would I come home? In a New York minute. In a millisecond. That is a yes. But it would be very difficult for me - mostly because of the immune system problem (thanks Mom and Dad), and, of course, the whole balance thing (gentamicin: the gift that keeps on giving).


That is, of course, a challenge, and I am always up for a challenge. We'll see what happens. Meanwhile, I will just keep coming over and clocking up those air miles.


Now it's time for a coffee-and no bagel, because I'm really bagelled out. In fact, it's time to brave the crowds and take a long walk, and people-watch, while trying my best not to get knocked over...

Who am I? Where am I? Hint: not in London (hooray)

I'm suffering from severe jet lag, which I've had since Monday. It's nasty-makes you feel like life isn't worth living. And it goes on, and on, and on....


I'm in New York. I flew out on Monday morning-Delta Airlines, the ones with great service who never seem to crash (fingers crossed that I haven't just jinxed myself!!).


I'm not afraid of flying. I'm afraid of crashing.


The flight to New York was full-and I was lucky to find that the person sitting next to me was about my size, so I didn't have to squash myself into a corner (like everyone does who travels with the odious Ryanair). I was also lucky that the woman sat down, said nothing, and didn't talk for nearly eight hours. Who feels like socializing for eight hours on a plane, next to a perfect stranger, when all you want to do is catch up on the sleep you didn't get the night before?


However-and there is always a however-I sat behind two Eastern Europeans, two big guys, who didn't speak English-and that would have been fine, even them going to the loo every twenty minutes would have been fine (bad guts, maybe). What wasn't fine was that they farted all the way across the Atlantic. And they stank to high heaven; it smelled like some rats crawled up their backsides and died.


The downside of flying and being stuck on a plane for any length of time is that you breathe in everyone else's air. Recycled farts. How lovely.


Apart from the farters it was a good journey. We didn't crash, nobody died, and we got to JFK right on time-although there was some turbulence on the descent and it was a bit of a bone breaking landing...


There is a new system now-no more paper customs forms, but kiosks where you have to input your data, scan your passport, and look at a camera, which takes your photo and matches it with your passport photo.How cool is that!


I was going off to catch the little shuttle bus to the hotel, and couldn't help but notice a huge police presence-police with very serious weapons. Of course, me with my big mouth and curious nature-I went up to them and asked if they were expecting trouble. They looked at me and my elbow crutch, and probably decided that I wasn't a problem-and said that they are simply protecting the public and keeping a very visible presence. I wish they would do that at Heathrow-but they would probably end up shooting themselves in the foot.


I said that jet lag makes life not worth living-ah, well, I am still on UK time, although it isn't as bad as it was on Monday and Tuesday. And Wednesday. and yesterday. Ugh-I keep waking up at 2am, and feeling like it is really five hours later. I finally gave in on Wednesday and went only for a very long walk, then came back to the hotel and had to lie down for a few hours. Wednesday was my do-nothing day. I couldn't even face going onto the computer, because my eyes just don't want to focus, and there is a lot of swearing and gnashing of teeth, I can tell you.


Anyone who really, truly finds a cure for jet lag will make a fortune. Although there is a cure: don't go anywhere. If you don't fly long distances...well, but that just sucks the fun out of life,doesn't it?


My friend came to the hotel on Monday night (after work) and brought a load of Popeyes. She likes her Popeyes-which is like KFC but without the food poisoning.


It was Popeyes fried chicken, french fries, Coke-and it was around 7pm, so it was midnight to my stomach. But I'll tell you something: I never eat Kentucky Fried Chicken, or McDonalds, or any of that fast food stuff. But this chicken was battered, deep fried (so were the fries), and reallly good. With every bite I could feel my arteries harden and my hips expand. Yum. Delicious. Probably because I only had airline food all day...


I've been stuffing my face all week. Breakfast is included, and there are bagels (I think I've satisfied all my bagel needs in four days), eggs, bacon, veggie sausages-oh, you name it and it's probably on the menu. And I'm the person who has only a banana and a cup of tea or coffee when I'm in London-but these breakfasts set me up for the whole day.


My friend (DJ) and I went out every day except Wednesday, and we shopped. And ate. And shopped. And ate. And shopped some more. It was great, but now I'm knackered. But is that stopping me from going into Manhattan today? Of course not. I'll be taking some photos at the request of a friend back in the UK, and I'll be going to the Museum of Modern Art, one of my favorite places in New York. And eating. What the heck, you only live once.


And once might just be enough. Maybe. Perhaps. I'll keep you posted, now that my eyes are working...

Hindsight is always 20/20

Funny how we all look back and think that if only we'd known what we know now, we wouldn't have done/said/not done...etc. Wouldn't our lives have been different. That's what I've been going through for more time than I want to think about: if I'd made different choices, done things differently, my life would be so different. That is what I mean by hindsight being 20/20: perfect vision when you look at your history. If you try to go back there-not so much.

I've been struggling since this last operation five weeks ago. It was a pig to get through, I'm still badly bruised and sore all the way across my chest, and I look mutilated. Even so, I'm not in as much pain as I was after the operation, so five weeks have made a big difference. Arnica and a heating pad have also made a big difference. I'm on the mend, but really seriously pissed off.

I think that we make the decisions and choices we make with the information we have at the time. When I decided to have reconstruction-mostly because I felt horribly mutilated after the mastectomy, and I didn't want to see myself as a "breast cancer survivor"-even though that is exactly what I am-I decided that reconstruction was the way to go. What an oops-I could have saved myself the torture and pain of three operations, and I'm still-well, flat...but at the time it seemed like a good decision. Ewww....now I advise people who ask me-and a lot of people ask me-to think very hard and to examine all the facts, do their due diligence, really, really consider if more surgery is what they want. Would I do it again, knowing what I know now? Aww, hell no-my mother didn't raise an idiot.

So here I am, on the mend, and I'm not looking to have any operation of any kind-ever. Hopefully I'll be well enough to keep to that decision.

I'm back doing Tai Chi, and I can finally raise my arms (both of them), so I'm able to do most things. I enjoy it, and it's a really good way to strengthen my muscles, all of which have headed south in a very big way in the last few months. Tai Chi is very deceptive: you might think it's very slow, and peaceful-but when you are holding a squat for what feels like forever, you discover that your muscles really have to work. Great stuff.

I also started vestibular physiotherapy this week. I'll have to work very hard-extra hard-to get back to where I was before all the surgery. My physio, Chris, is great. I told her I need to be accountable to someone or I'll be too lazy to do the work. So she gave me several sheets of exercises to do at least four times every day before I see her again in six weeks. Am I a glutton for punishment, or what?

Now-if your answer is yes, I'll feel really inadequate: can you stand with one foot in front of the other, toes of one foot (wearing shoes) touching the back of the other foot, for at least one minute (no cheating)? And then change feet and do the same thing? No falling over, no bracing yourself against a table, or a wall, or your dog, or your partner...well, I need to be able to do that by Christmas. Oh, really, seriously, I do. I also need to be able to balance on one leg while standing on a cushion. For one minute. Then change legs (if I haven't fallen over before then, that is).

This is going to be one hell of a challenge. But I've always been up for a challenge, so I'll just keep going, like the Energizer bunny, until I keel over. Oh, joy-well, I did ask for this. I'll let you know how I'm doing.

I'll be in New York just before Thanksgiving. This will be the first time home in five years. The last time I was on the tripod, I was so unwell that I could hardly walk-and jet-lagged as well. I think that it was too soon for me to make the trip. But this time, five years (technically nearly six years) have passed, and I've made huge improvements, even with all the setbacks from cancer, surgeries, etc, etc.

Another challenge, this time to my balance (such as it is) while experiencing the traveller's nightmare: jet lag.
I'm up for it. I'm not someone who can sit around and moan all the time. I might stand and moan, but I won't sit and moan.

Anything can happen to anyone at any time. I'm feeling the pressure of time...so off I go to do my Tai Chi walking and try not to topple over before I get to Starbucks.