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...