I must be the only person I know who loathes going to the dentist-the driller killer, I call her. But I actually don't mind the whole performance of the examination-which, because it's covered (so far) by the NHS, takes about ten minutes maximum. Who could be afraid of a ten minute exam by the dentist? Lots of people, apparently, judging from the sheer volume of people I see whose teeth are horribly rotten (those who actually have teeth, that is).
I like having my teeth cleaned-obviously I need to get out more! But I remember that my ex needed a shot of valium before he would let the dentist touch him. I used to laugh - how horrible was I? How many people are dentist-phobic?
That, would you believe, was the highlight of my week last week. Like I said, I need to get out more. The rest of last week was pretty dire, because we had heavy rain. And I do mean heavy-it came down so hard and there was so much of it that there were floods everywhere outside of London. Even the transport system was delayed-no surprise there, because if there's a leaf on the railroad tracks, trains are cancelled until someone can clean it up. Hilarious-unless it's my train, of course.
It was a week of really having to face my limitations. The rain, the weather changes-all those things that really affect my balance. And I was stumbling around everywhere. There was one late afternoon when the rain stopped long enough for me to take a chance and go out for an hour's walk. I nearly fell over-five times, I nearly fell over. I had trouble getting back, and I realized that when it is just getting dark, it's not a good time for me to go out and attempt to walk anywhere. That made me very depressed, because I'm making such an effort, and I feel like every time I take two steps forward, I then take about a dozen steps backward. Not very pleasant, but that doesn't mean I won't keep trying.
Tai Chi last week was problematic, too; I'm unable to stand on one leg, and part of the form requires that. Part of the form also requires turning around three times. You can imagine-I felt really stupid. There's nobody who really is interested in helping, either. But it's a large class, so I can't expect individual attention.
I grumbled a lot-and, since nothing exciting happened, I waited until there was something to report. Now there is.
I've got a room filled with boxes that have been there since I moved in. I wanted to clear everything out after the move, but I couldn't stand up without falling over (this was just after the gentamicin, so I was in a really bad state). Then, of course, I was diagnosed with breast cancer, and, after the mastectomy and the aftermath, I was spending my time at the hospital, in one clinic or another. So ended the quest for some decent space and a really good clearout. At some point, the charity shops will bless me.
I had a colonoscopy and gastroscopy yesterday. I started preparing for them on Wednesday, by going on a very low fibre diet (following instructions, which is a first for me). No fruit, no vegetables, and no brown bread, only white bread. The preparation was as bad as the surgery. But I did it, took the noxious preparations, and was up all Sunday night. This stuff was supposed to work in about three hours. I knew that was a crock, so I took it early, around 2pm. Where was I even twelve hours later? In the loo, where else?
Yesterday I had to take the second sachet of liquid dynamite, and I was afraid that the surgeon wouldn't be able to get the old hosepipe up the backside and see anything. Apparently, he managed, although he did destroy two veins searching for a place to put the cannula so he could give me some sedation. I think that he might have worried that he would hurt me and that I would kick him. I was in the position on the table where I could have done some serious damage. But no, I restrained myself-after all, he was in charge of the hosepipe. He put another hosepipe down my throat (more sedation) and did a gastroscopy first (I asked him if they wash of f the hose and reuse it for the back end. Sad-he didn't think that was funny.)
I can tell you this: there was a lot of pain, sedation or no sedation, and swearing under my breath. And I wanted to see what was going on, since there was a big screen above me-but they positioned me so that I couldn't see anything-unless I was able to turn my head 180 degrees-and look up at the same time. All I know is that the doc took five samples to be biopsied, and that didn't make me happy at all. I asked him what he thought-but he said that he would see me after the results come back, and we would discuss the next move. He didn't look happy; now I'm not feeling very happy about the whole thing, but I will just have to wait and see.
With the pain I felt while he was shoving the old hosepipe up the rectum, I have to wonder how on earth anyone could be so crazy (or masochistic) to have anal sex. Maybe some people have no nerve endings. Well, I would never...
That brings you up to date. Today I have Tai Chi, and I think that I will join the beginners class, and place myself next to a chair in case I need to sit down quickly. I can watch. The sedation has made me very wobbly (more so than usual). But I've got the physiotherapist on Friday, so I will definitely keep working hard this week. I don't quit. I won't give up until the batteries run out.
Tuesday 30 January 2018
Tuesday 23 January 2018
Knowing one's limitations
Oh, well-if the year goes on the way it started (okay, just last week, to be fair), I'm going to have to hide under the bed until it's over.
Last week was totally underwhelming. It was raining. It was brutally cold. We had gale force winds on Wednesday night into Thursday, and a chimney stack collapsed right on my walking route. Good thing I was on the other side of the road, or things would have been very unpleasant. And painful. And bloody. And, probably, terminal. Really-fancy being hit by a falling chimney-that'd be my luck at the moment, I think.
I'm just really peeved because I couldn't do my usual hour's walk in the rain-or wind. I did try, though, and I fell over twice. Now, falling over wasn't fun, I can tell you. One time I was in the flat, reached for something, and over I went. That was a little scary, because I just missed the corner of a table that was right in front of me; I could easily have hit it, and there would have been nobody around to help me. I was bruised, and stunned, and then the thought occurred to me that I could be lying there for days-weeks, maybe. Oh, I'm so cynical.
The second time was really my own doing. I was outside talking to a neighbor who has a small dog. She asked me if I would come with her so she could post a letter-and walk the dog at the same time. It was five o'clock in the afternoon, it was dark, and I didn't have my elbow crutch. Duh, I hear you say; idiot, I hear myself say. I had tremendous trouble staying upright, and, on the way back from the mailbox, I lost my balance and fell off the pavement into the road. I was able to right myself, but I thought that the poor woman was going to have a seizure. She was already on one of those tripod things with wheels, and I knew that she couldn't do anything if I fell over. I was okay, and reassured her that the problem was vertigo, and that next time I go for a walk I will need to go and get the stick.
It was okay in the end-but I went back inside and realized that, although I'm fighting my hardest to live a normal life, I need to accept that there are things I will never be able to do-or, at least, not in the near future.
Never say never.
Now you know-if you've been following this for awhile-that I've been up against the landlord to fix the gate and lock on the car park, which is private and for tenants only. And you also know that we've had problems with drug dealers coming in, parking, and dealing drugs out of their car. And you also know that I seem to be the only one in our little apartment complex with the balls to go up against the landlord. I don't give up easily-in fact, I don't give up at all. So I made a good pain in the butt of myself, and finally the tenancy manager told me that there would be a new lock on the gate-and it would be high security, with keys that couldn't be duplicated. Did I hold my breath? No, I did not: far too wise for that.
Well-some idiot damaged the gate just after New Year's, and I reported it, and was told that it would be fixed last Tuesday. When last Tuesday came and went, I rang the repairs department and was told that the first available date would be January 31st. I spoke to someone who was clearly uninterested. So what did I do? I sent an email to the Chief Executive Officer (CEO). I bypassed everyone, went straight to the top...remember, I'm the one who told you to skip the monkey and go straight to the organ grinder if you every want anything to be done.
I got an email back, telling me that the damaged gate would be fixed, and that the CEO would also be contacting the customer service manager to find out why such a small job took so long to fix. I got that email in less time than it takes to boil a kettle.
In less than twenty four hours, the damaged gate was fixed-and the security lock was installed. And the tenancy manager-who has all the keys-isn't speaking to me. So we've got a fixed gate, a security lock, and - no keys. It'll soon be time to email the CEO again...
And that's what happens when you ignore the monkey and go straight to the organ grinder. Well done, me. I'll probably get stabbed by someone in repairs...
Last week was totally underwhelming. It was raining. It was brutally cold. We had gale force winds on Wednesday night into Thursday, and a chimney stack collapsed right on my walking route. Good thing I was on the other side of the road, or things would have been very unpleasant. And painful. And bloody. And, probably, terminal. Really-fancy being hit by a falling chimney-that'd be my luck at the moment, I think.
I'm just really peeved because I couldn't do my usual hour's walk in the rain-or wind. I did try, though, and I fell over twice. Now, falling over wasn't fun, I can tell you. One time I was in the flat, reached for something, and over I went. That was a little scary, because I just missed the corner of a table that was right in front of me; I could easily have hit it, and there would have been nobody around to help me. I was bruised, and stunned, and then the thought occurred to me that I could be lying there for days-weeks, maybe. Oh, I'm so cynical.
The second time was really my own doing. I was outside talking to a neighbor who has a small dog. She asked me if I would come with her so she could post a letter-and walk the dog at the same time. It was five o'clock in the afternoon, it was dark, and I didn't have my elbow crutch. Duh, I hear you say; idiot, I hear myself say. I had tremendous trouble staying upright, and, on the way back from the mailbox, I lost my balance and fell off the pavement into the road. I was able to right myself, but I thought that the poor woman was going to have a seizure. She was already on one of those tripod things with wheels, and I knew that she couldn't do anything if I fell over. I was okay, and reassured her that the problem was vertigo, and that next time I go for a walk I will need to go and get the stick.
It was okay in the end-but I went back inside and realized that, although I'm fighting my hardest to live a normal life, I need to accept that there are things I will never be able to do-or, at least, not in the near future.
Never say never.
Now you know-if you've been following this for awhile-that I've been up against the landlord to fix the gate and lock on the car park, which is private and for tenants only. And you also know that we've had problems with drug dealers coming in, parking, and dealing drugs out of their car. And you also know that I seem to be the only one in our little apartment complex with the balls to go up against the landlord. I don't give up easily-in fact, I don't give up at all. So I made a good pain in the butt of myself, and finally the tenancy manager told me that there would be a new lock on the gate-and it would be high security, with keys that couldn't be duplicated. Did I hold my breath? No, I did not: far too wise for that.
Well-some idiot damaged the gate just after New Year's, and I reported it, and was told that it would be fixed last Tuesday. When last Tuesday came and went, I rang the repairs department and was told that the first available date would be January 31st. I spoke to someone who was clearly uninterested. So what did I do? I sent an email to the Chief Executive Officer (CEO). I bypassed everyone, went straight to the top...remember, I'm the one who told you to skip the monkey and go straight to the organ grinder if you every want anything to be done.
I got an email back, telling me that the damaged gate would be fixed, and that the CEO would also be contacting the customer service manager to find out why such a small job took so long to fix. I got that email in less time than it takes to boil a kettle.
In less than twenty four hours, the damaged gate was fixed-and the security lock was installed. And the tenancy manager-who has all the keys-isn't speaking to me. So we've got a fixed gate, a security lock, and - no keys. It'll soon be time to email the CEO again...
And that's what happens when you ignore the monkey and go straight to the organ grinder. Well done, me. I'll probably get stabbed by someone in repairs...
Saturday 13 January 2018
The silliness of new year's resolutions
You can tell that the resolutions I decided not to formally make are the ones I broke anyway. Duh-why do we bother to make them for the new year, when we can make them (and break them) at any time of the year?
The hard and fast rule for me is to persevere, not to quit, walk away or give up. That's regarding the vestibular issue: I still feel that I'm not finished improving my balance, and, happily, my physiotherapist agrees with me. I feel encouraged to keep going. Eventually-thanks to neuroplasticity, which I've investigated since I was able to get back online and actually see what I was doing-I might hit a plateau. Well-I will hit a plateau-but until the day I can see that I'm finished, that I've gone as far as I can go, I'm not giving up. I need to do the exercises more often; I need to just hold the crutch off the ground (when there are no people around), and walk without it. If that means that I get up earlier and walk at 6am, then that's what I have to do.
I said that I've got the activist gene-a bit of gallows humor there (I'm known for that, it's been my coping mechanism all my life), but it's true: I see injustice and my blood pressure rises, and I feel like I have to do something. That tendency has gotten me into all kinds of trouble, because I do tend to speak and act first, and think later (when it's too late). One thing that the whole gentamicin event taught me: speak up, don't let people bully or manipulate you, fight back. But when the time comes that you know that you're fighting a losing battle, walk away. I had to do that with Barts Hospital (now Barts Trust), the people who very nearly killed me (and who also told me that I would never develop breast cancer-they were that condescending, and what do you know? A year later-a year later-I had breast cancer surgery. Idiots or what?).
I got a message from Rose last week; she read the blog and asked for my help. I posted a message to her, asking for her email address, and she sent it. Now I know to read messages that I get on the blog. So we've been in contact. And here is a woman who has been treated outrageously; that put my back up in a very big way. Activism gene, anyone?
I used to be a patient advocate-before I became a patient myself-so I emailed some suggestions. I asked her to keep me informed. I don't do demonstrations anymore-but I'm no stranger to the very biting (and sometimes nasty) email where it's needed. And-I've come to the conclusion (better late than never) that unscrupulous and dishonest people will seek out the most vulnerable, the weakest, the disabled-and prey on them. Easy pickings. Let's all prey on people who are unable to fight back.
That was me nearly eight years ago-but that isn't me now. I know when to stop fighting the insanity of bureaucracy: when I discover that I start beating my head against the wall (mine's got a nice dent in it from all that. The wall, not my head). When you know that the guilty become so entrenched that they will get their high priced lawyers to ensure that the longer you fight, the closer you get to bankrupting yourself (they've got more money than I have. They've got more money than God has), you know that you have done your best-and your best has to be good enough.
There are fights we can win, and there are fights we will never win, because we are outgunned (not outwitted. Outgunned.). We can say that we made the best effort we could have done, and that has to be good enough. I explained that to Rose, by the way. Bureaucrats are like lawyers (and immunologists at Barts Trust): they all stick together, no matter what. It's really hard to fight dishonest assholes, isn't it?
I remember a little t-shirt store in New York, where I went when I was in college, to have slogans put on t-shirts. I've got lawyers in the family (ambulance chasers), so I decided to get one made for a family reunion. It read (in big letters, right across the top): TAKE A LAWYER TO LUNCH. In small letters, just underneath, it read: and poison him.
It was great. It was white, with big red lettering, so nobody could possibly ignore it, and I wore it until it fell apart. But I did wear it to the reunion-and people didn't speak to me for years. Ah, I felt truly blessed.
I'm thinking about starting to get t-shirts printed. I know that it's big business, but-mostly the people who do it are politically minded. Perhaps I missed my true vocation: if you want to really put social injustice in people's faces, put it on a t-shirt.
I'll probably get a knock on the door for even suggesting that, but until I do, watch this space. I'm all in favor of being passive-aggressive...
The hard and fast rule for me is to persevere, not to quit, walk away or give up. That's regarding the vestibular issue: I still feel that I'm not finished improving my balance, and, happily, my physiotherapist agrees with me. I feel encouraged to keep going. Eventually-thanks to neuroplasticity, which I've investigated since I was able to get back online and actually see what I was doing-I might hit a plateau. Well-I will hit a plateau-but until the day I can see that I'm finished, that I've gone as far as I can go, I'm not giving up. I need to do the exercises more often; I need to just hold the crutch off the ground (when there are no people around), and walk without it. If that means that I get up earlier and walk at 6am, then that's what I have to do.
I said that I've got the activist gene-a bit of gallows humor there (I'm known for that, it's been my coping mechanism all my life), but it's true: I see injustice and my blood pressure rises, and I feel like I have to do something. That tendency has gotten me into all kinds of trouble, because I do tend to speak and act first, and think later (when it's too late). One thing that the whole gentamicin event taught me: speak up, don't let people bully or manipulate you, fight back. But when the time comes that you know that you're fighting a losing battle, walk away. I had to do that with Barts Hospital (now Barts Trust), the people who very nearly killed me (and who also told me that I would never develop breast cancer-they were that condescending, and what do you know? A year later-a year later-I had breast cancer surgery. Idiots or what?).
I got a message from Rose last week; she read the blog and asked for my help. I posted a message to her, asking for her email address, and she sent it. Now I know to read messages that I get on the blog. So we've been in contact. And here is a woman who has been treated outrageously; that put my back up in a very big way. Activism gene, anyone?
I used to be a patient advocate-before I became a patient myself-so I emailed some suggestions. I asked her to keep me informed. I don't do demonstrations anymore-but I'm no stranger to the very biting (and sometimes nasty) email where it's needed. And-I've come to the conclusion (better late than never) that unscrupulous and dishonest people will seek out the most vulnerable, the weakest, the disabled-and prey on them. Easy pickings. Let's all prey on people who are unable to fight back.
That was me nearly eight years ago-but that isn't me now. I know when to stop fighting the insanity of bureaucracy: when I discover that I start beating my head against the wall (mine's got a nice dent in it from all that. The wall, not my head). When you know that the guilty become so entrenched that they will get their high priced lawyers to ensure that the longer you fight, the closer you get to bankrupting yourself (they've got more money than I have. They've got more money than God has), you know that you have done your best-and your best has to be good enough.
There are fights we can win, and there are fights we will never win, because we are outgunned (not outwitted. Outgunned.). We can say that we made the best effort we could have done, and that has to be good enough. I explained that to Rose, by the way. Bureaucrats are like lawyers (and immunologists at Barts Trust): they all stick together, no matter what. It's really hard to fight dishonest assholes, isn't it?
I remember a little t-shirt store in New York, where I went when I was in college, to have slogans put on t-shirts. I've got lawyers in the family (ambulance chasers), so I decided to get one made for a family reunion. It read (in big letters, right across the top): TAKE A LAWYER TO LUNCH. In small letters, just underneath, it read: and poison him.
It was great. It was white, with big red lettering, so nobody could possibly ignore it, and I wore it until it fell apart. But I did wear it to the reunion-and people didn't speak to me for years. Ah, I felt truly blessed.
I'm thinking about starting to get t-shirts printed. I know that it's big business, but-mostly the people who do it are politically minded. Perhaps I missed my true vocation: if you want to really put social injustice in people's faces, put it on a t-shirt.
I'll probably get a knock on the door for even suggesting that, but until I do, watch this space. I'm all in favor of being passive-aggressive...
Friday 12 January 2018
Back in the saddle. Again. Ish...
Have I kept my New Year's resolutions? What New Year's resolutions? Oh, yeah, those...well...hmmm....
January's nearly half over, and I've noticed that, as I get older, time goes by more quickly. There is no justice, is there? I haven't given up, so that's one resolution I've kept (so far, so good). As for choosing my battles, and avoiding being angry with the people who truly pissed me off last year-that is a work in progress.
Isn't it funny how we nonchalantly say that we're going to do this or that in the new year, and as soon as we don't, we beat ourselves up about it and give up, thinking that it's no use, we've broken the resolutions we made so why bother?
Procrastination is the habit of a lifetime-so is being angry at injustice (whether toward me or someone else)-as for holding grudges, I could hold grudges for a lifetime. I'm aware of all this-and all the (very rich) members of the self-help brigade say it's easy, but I can tell you from experience that it is far from easy.
Now is the month where diet books come out of the woodwork, and famous people (no names) jump on the bandwagon to tell us how to lose weight fast. Actually, they jump on the bandwagon to make mega amounts of money. Cynical? I am, but I never said that I would give that up. It's part of my charm-quite possibly all of my charm.
Here is how to lose weight, and you don't have to spend any money on all that rubbish. It's free, gratis, and it works. To lose weight you need to expend more calories than you take in. Historically, that's been proven, over and over and over again. So you need to eat less. You don't need to starve, or go on some ridiculous diet (eating only pineapple, or lettuce leaves, anyone?), just eat less. Three meals a day, three snacks (fruit. Lots of fruit-the kind you can recognize as fruit, not fruit ice cream or fruit sweets). And carbs are okay, as long as you don't eat a pound or a kilo at a time. Three or four cheeseburgers? No way will you lose anything eating those at one sitting. You can sit there, and feel your arteries harden.
I'm just being careful. And it takes discipline-the lack of which, you could argue, got you to where you are in the first place. But just do it. And walk everywhere. Walking is the best exercise you can do, and it's free. Want to weight train but don't want to go to the gym? Use cans of food as weights. Pick up anything that is heavy (ish) and do arm raises.
Honestly, I'm meeting an old friend for a coffee, and she is always moaning about how fat she is, and how she needs to lose weight. How do you stay thin? she constantly asks me. What do I say? It takes work, it takes discipline, and it takes avoiding stuffing your face. I've known this woman for about eight or nine years, always hear the same thing, always say the same thing-and for what?
I said that I've probably got the Mother Teresa/Samaritans/big sign across my forehead that says "sucker" in flashing neon gene-but I think that is all due to not having support or help when I needed it. So I have this instinct to help other people. But, guys, some people don't want help. So now (part of resolution number one-or is it two? I forget-and, you know, they say that the first thing to go is the memory), I won't offer assistance to people unless they ask for it. No more activism for me, I happily leave that to someone who is younger. And, probably, more gullible. I'll jump in there for my friends, but strangers-well, I think first and consider the consequences before I act. It's only taken me most of my life to figure that one out!
It took me eight years, but I've gone from nine hospitals to two. Since one of those is for vestibular physiotherapy, I just call it one and a half. Yippee. I don't have to go to one consultant or have one test or scan every five minutes. Brain scans for migraines? Don't brain scans give you brain cancer?
Now I've got so much time on my hands, I don't know what to do with myself. And it's raining-as usual.
So I'm sitting here and thinking about what to do next-like, maybe have a life? Finally? Am I a seeker in search of a life? I'm not quite sure-but right now I'm a seeker in search of Starbucks. And Starbucks, as far as I'm concerned, is a must for everybody's diet. I'm not the least bit biased...
January's nearly half over, and I've noticed that, as I get older, time goes by more quickly. There is no justice, is there? I haven't given up, so that's one resolution I've kept (so far, so good). As for choosing my battles, and avoiding being angry with the people who truly pissed me off last year-that is a work in progress.
Isn't it funny how we nonchalantly say that we're going to do this or that in the new year, and as soon as we don't, we beat ourselves up about it and give up, thinking that it's no use, we've broken the resolutions we made so why bother?
Procrastination is the habit of a lifetime-so is being angry at injustice (whether toward me or someone else)-as for holding grudges, I could hold grudges for a lifetime. I'm aware of all this-and all the (very rich) members of the self-help brigade say it's easy, but I can tell you from experience that it is far from easy.
Now is the month where diet books come out of the woodwork, and famous people (no names) jump on the bandwagon to tell us how to lose weight fast. Actually, they jump on the bandwagon to make mega amounts of money. Cynical? I am, but I never said that I would give that up. It's part of my charm-quite possibly all of my charm.
Here is how to lose weight, and you don't have to spend any money on all that rubbish. It's free, gratis, and it works. To lose weight you need to expend more calories than you take in. Historically, that's been proven, over and over and over again. So you need to eat less. You don't need to starve, or go on some ridiculous diet (eating only pineapple, or lettuce leaves, anyone?), just eat less. Three meals a day, three snacks (fruit. Lots of fruit-the kind you can recognize as fruit, not fruit ice cream or fruit sweets). And carbs are okay, as long as you don't eat a pound or a kilo at a time. Three or four cheeseburgers? No way will you lose anything eating those at one sitting. You can sit there, and feel your arteries harden.
I'm just being careful. And it takes discipline-the lack of which, you could argue, got you to where you are in the first place. But just do it. And walk everywhere. Walking is the best exercise you can do, and it's free. Want to weight train but don't want to go to the gym? Use cans of food as weights. Pick up anything that is heavy (ish) and do arm raises.
Honestly, I'm meeting an old friend for a coffee, and she is always moaning about how fat she is, and how she needs to lose weight. How do you stay thin? she constantly asks me. What do I say? It takes work, it takes discipline, and it takes avoiding stuffing your face. I've known this woman for about eight or nine years, always hear the same thing, always say the same thing-and for what?
I said that I've probably got the Mother Teresa/Samaritans/big sign across my forehead that says "sucker" in flashing neon gene-but I think that is all due to not having support or help when I needed it. So I have this instinct to help other people. But, guys, some people don't want help. So now (part of resolution number one-or is it two? I forget-and, you know, they say that the first thing to go is the memory), I won't offer assistance to people unless they ask for it. No more activism for me, I happily leave that to someone who is younger. And, probably, more gullible. I'll jump in there for my friends, but strangers-well, I think first and consider the consequences before I act. It's only taken me most of my life to figure that one out!
It took me eight years, but I've gone from nine hospitals to two. Since one of those is for vestibular physiotherapy, I just call it one and a half. Yippee. I don't have to go to one consultant or have one test or scan every five minutes. Brain scans for migraines? Don't brain scans give you brain cancer?
Now I've got so much time on my hands, I don't know what to do with myself. And it's raining-as usual.
So I'm sitting here and thinking about what to do next-like, maybe have a life? Finally? Am I a seeker in search of a life? I'm not quite sure-but right now I'm a seeker in search of Starbucks. And Starbucks, as far as I'm concerned, is a must for everybody's diet. I'm not the least bit biased...
Monday 8 January 2018
Snarky is my middle name
I've been rumbled. It was inevitable. I always forget to check to see if there are any messages for me-and there it was: someone called Rose talked about people we both know, and she mentioned the real name, not the nickname. Oops! So I checked to see if there was any email address so I could get back to her; there wasn't, so I left a message.
At least it was a friendly person (I hope) and not a lawyer, threatening to sue. You know how much I just love lawyers-my family is filled with them, so years ago I went to a family gathering and had a t-shirt made for the occasion. It read (in very big letters): "Take a lawyer to lunch". Underneath, in small letters: "and poison him". I've been persona non grata ever since-I've got no idea why, do you?
Well, have I broken any resolutions after a week into the new year? I suppose that, technically, I have broken at least one. I'm still snarky, still have a caustic, black, sarcastic sense of humor, and still have no problem taking on anyone who pisses me off (and, bearing in mind where I live, that would be just about everybody). Resolution number two says that I need to stop fighting with everyone, and choose my battles more wisely. Duh. I don't fight with everyone-but if someone acts like a moron, I'm the first to tell them.
Maybe I need to be more diplomatic-as if that will ever happen!
I may have the cancer genes, and the dud genes that should provide a working immune system (but don't), and if there is a patience gene, I lack that, too. But I have to say that if there is a Mother Teresa/Samaritans/have a big sign in neon across my forehead that says "sucker" gene, I've got that one, too.
And the activist gene, if there is one.
I'm always ready to jump in and help anyone who needs it (and asks for it-no sticking my nose into other people's business and risk having my face punched in-or worse). I can count on my friends, and they can count on me. But I had to rid myself of toxic, poisonous people-people I've known for a long time, too-because all they do is spend hours on the phone, moaning about their lot in life, moaning about Facebook being filled with people who always say how wonderful their lives are (so get rid of Facebook, dummy. Duh- is that obvious, or what?), always bitching and bellyaching, but doing absolutely nothing to change anything. People who just want to moan all the time, and dump all their shit onto anyone who will listen can find someone else. I'm starting off the year by not being a sucker any more. Having said that, if I see that someone is in trouble or that there is something unjust that I can possibly help, I automatically go and do it.
And, sometimes, we have to admit when we're outnumbered and outgunned. I fought Barts and the London Hospitals for years about the gentamicin disaster, and I fought hard-but Bart's has very expensive lawyers, and I knew that they would keep going until they bankrupted me, so I had to walk away. But I still mentioned names on YouTube, and I still give them a little nudge and some attention on this blog. The difference is that I finally decided that being angry at the injustice of it all doesn't make me feel better. So that's something that is important in this new year.
Besides-the cripplers provided the incentive for me to just keep going, to never give up, because I can still improve my balance with a lot more work. The fat lady hasn't sung yet.
I'm doing everything gradually-trying to make big changes all in one week, all at once, is a bit of a useless exercise, because if we slip we only feel like we've failed. Like I said, just keep going. And I said that to a young friend of mine who used to live next door. We keep in touch, and we met up for coffee last week. Tess was telling me that she is forgetting things-she is only 42, she said, how can she just forget everything? So I said that you know, the memory is the first thing that goes.
First the memory, then the grey hair, lines and wrinkles, brown spots, the hearing, the eyesight, and everything that used to be perky starts to slide south. Excuse me, didn't I have muscles there at some point? Where did they go? How is it that I have bags where I never used to have bags? Zumba? Seriously?
Now, if I could only find my keys...
We had a long discussion about sleep-or, rather, the lack of it. Every newspaper has articles on sleep, how much we need, how to get better sleep, and you could write a book on all the remedies for sleep deprivation. Any good? Well...I went to my GP and told her that I have been an insomniac for years-and I do mean, years. She offered me sleeping pills-mild ones, but still sleeping pills. So I went away and consulted the Great God Google and discovered (on professional medical sites, not just anywhere) that these sleeping medications are connected with dementia. So you sleep well, but you wake up and can't remember who or where you are. No thanks.
Tess and I talked about everything we'd tried, because we both are insomniacs: tryptophan (keeps me awake), glass of wine (doesn't seem to help), hot milk (ewww..I don't drink milk), milk with chocolate in it (sounds disgusting), and after kicking around a lot of ideas, Tess suggested counting sheep. So we finally left and decided on counting sheep, and we were going to call each other and report how we got on.
Counting sheep? What the hell (oops, there goes more money in the swear box). I counted sheep. I counted them all night. I started at 500 and worked my way down-at least three or four times. I was so knackered that I started seeing pink sheep-orange sheep-sheep holding hands and running down a hill-there are places in this country that are well known for sheep shagging, and I saw that, too. That was really, really unfortunate-what a visual in the middle of the night. When I saw sheep doing the tango, I gave up. By 5am I was ready to find a gun and shoot the bloody things. And I had this tremendous desire for lamb chops...
So that was my first week of 2018-and I will probably stay as irascible as ever. Why change the habits of a lifetime? So I'm off to Starbucks.
At least it was a friendly person (I hope) and not a lawyer, threatening to sue. You know how much I just love lawyers-my family is filled with them, so years ago I went to a family gathering and had a t-shirt made for the occasion. It read (in very big letters): "Take a lawyer to lunch". Underneath, in small letters: "and poison him". I've been persona non grata ever since-I've got no idea why, do you?
Well, have I broken any resolutions after a week into the new year? I suppose that, technically, I have broken at least one. I'm still snarky, still have a caustic, black, sarcastic sense of humor, and still have no problem taking on anyone who pisses me off (and, bearing in mind where I live, that would be just about everybody). Resolution number two says that I need to stop fighting with everyone, and choose my battles more wisely. Duh. I don't fight with everyone-but if someone acts like a moron, I'm the first to tell them.
Maybe I need to be more diplomatic-as if that will ever happen!
I may have the cancer genes, and the dud genes that should provide a working immune system (but don't), and if there is a patience gene, I lack that, too. But I have to say that if there is a Mother Teresa/Samaritans/have a big sign in neon across my forehead that says "sucker" gene, I've got that one, too.
And the activist gene, if there is one.
I'm always ready to jump in and help anyone who needs it (and asks for it-no sticking my nose into other people's business and risk having my face punched in-or worse). I can count on my friends, and they can count on me. But I had to rid myself of toxic, poisonous people-people I've known for a long time, too-because all they do is spend hours on the phone, moaning about their lot in life, moaning about Facebook being filled with people who always say how wonderful their lives are (so get rid of Facebook, dummy. Duh- is that obvious, or what?), always bitching and bellyaching, but doing absolutely nothing to change anything. People who just want to moan all the time, and dump all their shit onto anyone who will listen can find someone else. I'm starting off the year by not being a sucker any more. Having said that, if I see that someone is in trouble or that there is something unjust that I can possibly help, I automatically go and do it.
And, sometimes, we have to admit when we're outnumbered and outgunned. I fought Barts and the London Hospitals for years about the gentamicin disaster, and I fought hard-but Bart's has very expensive lawyers, and I knew that they would keep going until they bankrupted me, so I had to walk away. But I still mentioned names on YouTube, and I still give them a little nudge and some attention on this blog. The difference is that I finally decided that being angry at the injustice of it all doesn't make me feel better. So that's something that is important in this new year.
Besides-the cripplers provided the incentive for me to just keep going, to never give up, because I can still improve my balance with a lot more work. The fat lady hasn't sung yet.
I'm doing everything gradually-trying to make big changes all in one week, all at once, is a bit of a useless exercise, because if we slip we only feel like we've failed. Like I said, just keep going. And I said that to a young friend of mine who used to live next door. We keep in touch, and we met up for coffee last week. Tess was telling me that she is forgetting things-she is only 42, she said, how can she just forget everything? So I said that you know, the memory is the first thing that goes.
First the memory, then the grey hair, lines and wrinkles, brown spots, the hearing, the eyesight, and everything that used to be perky starts to slide south. Excuse me, didn't I have muscles there at some point? Where did they go? How is it that I have bags where I never used to have bags? Zumba? Seriously?
Now, if I could only find my keys...
We had a long discussion about sleep-or, rather, the lack of it. Every newspaper has articles on sleep, how much we need, how to get better sleep, and you could write a book on all the remedies for sleep deprivation. Any good? Well...I went to my GP and told her that I have been an insomniac for years-and I do mean, years. She offered me sleeping pills-mild ones, but still sleeping pills. So I went away and consulted the Great God Google and discovered (on professional medical sites, not just anywhere) that these sleeping medications are connected with dementia. So you sleep well, but you wake up and can't remember who or where you are. No thanks.
Tess and I talked about everything we'd tried, because we both are insomniacs: tryptophan (keeps me awake), glass of wine (doesn't seem to help), hot milk (ewww..I don't drink milk), milk with chocolate in it (sounds disgusting), and after kicking around a lot of ideas, Tess suggested counting sheep. So we finally left and decided on counting sheep, and we were going to call each other and report how we got on.
Counting sheep? What the hell (oops, there goes more money in the swear box). I counted sheep. I counted them all night. I started at 500 and worked my way down-at least three or four times. I was so knackered that I started seeing pink sheep-orange sheep-sheep holding hands and running down a hill-there are places in this country that are well known for sheep shagging, and I saw that, too. That was really, really unfortunate-what a visual in the middle of the night. When I saw sheep doing the tango, I gave up. By 5am I was ready to find a gun and shoot the bloody things. And I had this tremendous desire for lamb chops...
So that was my first week of 2018-and I will probably stay as irascible as ever. Why change the habits of a lifetime? So I'm off to Starbucks.
Saturday 6 January 2018
New Year's resolutions one, two-and maybe three
All hail 2018-new year, new start, and whatever. Have I actually made any resolutions? Well, sort of. Maybe. That's a yes.
I decided to leave 2017 behind-it was, as a year goes, absolute crap. So good riddance. I can tell you how difficult it is to leave the past where it belongs: in the past. But it's a work in progress.
Not living the same life in the same way-letting go of old grievances, and resolving to really make an effort to be less judgmental and angry, that's more difficult than it sounds.
Do things differently. When we think of resolutions, we think of going to the gym, and going on a diet, and stopping procrastination, and all that good stuff-and how long does it take to break the resolutions? About a week-or less. So I decided to be much more vague: do things differently. That covers just about everything. Eat better? Better than what, a hippopotamus?
Exercise more? Walking is about the best exercise you can do-and it's free. No gym memberships, no guilt about spending all that money and not going-walk. Get hand weights. Lift weights. Easy peasy. Once you start, and you keep going, it becomes a habit.
Now-procrastination is another thing altogether. So many books have been written about putting an end to procrastination-I would read one, but I can't be bothered.
Who knows what's going to happen? We've got those two emotionally constipated, infantile maniacs hurling threats at each other...Trump, what on earth! He and that pasty-faced fat oaf, Kim Jong Wanker (okay, it isn't his name, it's my nickname for him), behaving like a couple of four year olds sitting in a sandbox throwing things at each other: na na na na na, mine is bigger than yours, wanna fight? And the problem is that Trump has the nuclear codes. He'll press the button just because he's like a big baby, wanting his own way, and he'll start a war that will annihilate most of the planet. Makes sense? Seriously? I don't know what Malaria sees in him-apart from all his money, of course. Just the thought of having sex with that makes me want to vomit. Some women will do anything for money.
So resolution one is to live life differently; that means different things to different people, and you can get away with a lot by being vague. Resolution two, however, is very specific.
I decided last year (about ten days ago) that I'm not going to hold grudges, I'm going to let go of the anger I still feel toward the three cripplers (Longhurst, Grigoriadou, not so Bright) and that malicious thug (and probably spouse beater)Matt (Bucky) Buckland. In fact, I'm working on just not being angry with anyone, no matter how justified (at least to me) my anger may be, given the history (which you know). They're all enjoying life as they cripple and/or kill other unsuspecting patients, without a care in the world, but it's their victims that suffer. We suffer more if we hang onto our anger. It's really true that anger hurts the victim a lot more than the perpetrator. The best revenge is to be happy, whatever the circumstances.
That is a huge undertaking, but perhaps it is really the only way to live a happy life. And that includes getting rid of anyone who dumps all their stuff on you. I've got an acquaintance I've known for about ten years (ex-neighbor) who has called me many times and kept me on the phone for over an hour, complaining about his lousy life, and his rotten family, and the rotten world, and how everyone on Facebook tells how happy they are. After hearing this for years, making suggestions (don't look at Facebook, you idiot) to help, I finally decided that this person is poisonous. Really, when you leave a conversation feeling used and annoyed, it's time to rid yourself of the toxic person-and all toxic people. They use you as a repository for their moaning and bitching, but they never actually do anything to change their situation.
Resolution two: I'm not Mother Teresa. I'm not the Samaritans. If someone who isn't a good friend (I'll always be here for my friends, no matter what)tries to dump all their garbage on me, I'll tell them I'm going to charge them for the consultation. Then hang up the phone. Easy peasy (I hope).
And that brings us to Resolution number three.The usual stuff: eating decently, not eating twice my weight in junk food (or any food, for that matter), exercising more, meditating, doing things as they need to be done without putting everything off until the end of the century, not holding onto anger or holding grudges-those I've already covered. But I haven't covered giving up.
Resolution number three is the most important of all: never, ever, ever give up. Never quit. There are many times I've been tempted, but I just keep telling myself that I might not win, but I will never lose-unless I quit. Never give up.
The best thing that can happen is that you'll succeed-and, besides, you might outlive the opposition. I call that a bonus.
Happy New Year. I'm going to Starbucks (I never said I would give up Starbucks-one from at least one food group. And who cares anyway?).
I decided to leave 2017 behind-it was, as a year goes, absolute crap. So good riddance. I can tell you how difficult it is to leave the past where it belongs: in the past. But it's a work in progress.
Not living the same life in the same way-letting go of old grievances, and resolving to really make an effort to be less judgmental and angry, that's more difficult than it sounds.
Do things differently. When we think of resolutions, we think of going to the gym, and going on a diet, and stopping procrastination, and all that good stuff-and how long does it take to break the resolutions? About a week-or less. So I decided to be much more vague: do things differently. That covers just about everything. Eat better? Better than what, a hippopotamus?
Exercise more? Walking is about the best exercise you can do-and it's free. No gym memberships, no guilt about spending all that money and not going-walk. Get hand weights. Lift weights. Easy peasy. Once you start, and you keep going, it becomes a habit.
Now-procrastination is another thing altogether. So many books have been written about putting an end to procrastination-I would read one, but I can't be bothered.
Who knows what's going to happen? We've got those two emotionally constipated, infantile maniacs hurling threats at each other...Trump, what on earth! He and that pasty-faced fat oaf, Kim Jong Wanker (okay, it isn't his name, it's my nickname for him), behaving like a couple of four year olds sitting in a sandbox throwing things at each other: na na na na na, mine is bigger than yours, wanna fight? And the problem is that Trump has the nuclear codes. He'll press the button just because he's like a big baby, wanting his own way, and he'll start a war that will annihilate most of the planet. Makes sense? Seriously? I don't know what Malaria sees in him-apart from all his money, of course. Just the thought of having sex with that makes me want to vomit. Some women will do anything for money.
So resolution one is to live life differently; that means different things to different people, and you can get away with a lot by being vague. Resolution two, however, is very specific.
I decided last year (about ten days ago) that I'm not going to hold grudges, I'm going to let go of the anger I still feel toward the three cripplers (Longhurst, Grigoriadou, not so Bright) and that malicious thug (and probably spouse beater)Matt (Bucky) Buckland. In fact, I'm working on just not being angry with anyone, no matter how justified (at least to me) my anger may be, given the history (which you know). They're all enjoying life as they cripple and/or kill other unsuspecting patients, without a care in the world, but it's their victims that suffer. We suffer more if we hang onto our anger. It's really true that anger hurts the victim a lot more than the perpetrator. The best revenge is to be happy, whatever the circumstances.
That is a huge undertaking, but perhaps it is really the only way to live a happy life. And that includes getting rid of anyone who dumps all their stuff on you. I've got an acquaintance I've known for about ten years (ex-neighbor) who has called me many times and kept me on the phone for over an hour, complaining about his lousy life, and his rotten family, and the rotten world, and how everyone on Facebook tells how happy they are. After hearing this for years, making suggestions (don't look at Facebook, you idiot) to help, I finally decided that this person is poisonous. Really, when you leave a conversation feeling used and annoyed, it's time to rid yourself of the toxic person-and all toxic people. They use you as a repository for their moaning and bitching, but they never actually do anything to change their situation.
Resolution two: I'm not Mother Teresa. I'm not the Samaritans. If someone who isn't a good friend (I'll always be here for my friends, no matter what)tries to dump all their garbage on me, I'll tell them I'm going to charge them for the consultation. Then hang up the phone. Easy peasy (I hope).
And that brings us to Resolution number three.The usual stuff: eating decently, not eating twice my weight in junk food (or any food, for that matter), exercising more, meditating, doing things as they need to be done without putting everything off until the end of the century, not holding onto anger or holding grudges-those I've already covered. But I haven't covered giving up.
Resolution number three is the most important of all: never, ever, ever give up. Never quit. There are many times I've been tempted, but I just keep telling myself that I might not win, but I will never lose-unless I quit. Never give up.
The best thing that can happen is that you'll succeed-and, besides, you might outlive the opposition. I call that a bonus.
Happy New Year. I'm going to Starbucks (I never said I would give up Starbucks-one from at least one food group. And who cares anyway?).
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