The Art of Remaining Upright

I had a few close calls this last week-but I managed not to fall on my head, which was, for me, an amazing achievement. I kept telling friends that I should invest in a helmet and an American footballer's uniform-lots of padding, just in case. That didn't go down well with the Brits, who just didn't get it. No surprises there.

I managed to go to Tai Chi on Tuesday. I was nervous about it, and very nearly turned around and came back. But I decided that I was extra dizzy and worried because I was frightened, and not because of the concussion. So I forced myself to go. Embarrassed? Yes, I was: not everyone just stands there one moment and keels over backwards the next. And this was in a class of more than forty people, so I felt like an absolute prat. A prat with a bloody concussion.

I saw the instructor, said that I would do the warm up exercises, and then carry on in the beginners' class-and if I felt dizzy I would just sit down and watch. That, I think, made him feel a bit more secure. And that was what I did: the warm up exercises, but gently, and the beginners' class, and in the middle of the class I had to sit down. It's really amazing how much I have forgotten, too. In the intermediate class I was busy following other people-and the ones who knew the most were also the tallest, so that didn't work out so well. I would need stilts to be able to see what they were doing. Happily, I wasn't the only one who got confused.

At the end of the class, the instructor-who was visibly relieved at the fact that I hadn't fallen over and cracked my head on the floor-came over to me and asked how I felt. I told him that I nearly hadn't come to class, that I was actually frightened. He replied that he was frightened, too. A few more weeks of staying upright in class-and out of class, for that matter-and things will change for the better. Hopefully.

I did get some very, very upsetting news when I went along to the hospital for my infusions. Now, for those of you who are new, I get immunoglobulin (antibody) replacement every two weeks (intravenously). This has been going on since I discovered that I have a hereditary condition known as CVID (the Great God Google does a really good job here-as does Wikipedia, who got it spot on and surprised me no end). I don't have the genes that provide a functioning immune system. One out of every 50,000 people is born with this condition. It isn't contagious. I can only pass it on to my child-so I'm glad I prefer dogs to humans. No child to have to suffer.

Yes, the news...the Royal London (remember them, they're the people who crippled me-and very nearly killed me) immunology team (run by the two incompetent cripplers, Hilary Longhurst and Sofia Grigoriadou) decided that too many people were coming into the unit, and the doctors and nurses were overloaded with work. You'd think that the cripplers were loving it, since it meant a lot more money for them, and more people to try to kill-but no, they wanted a smaller workload. So what they decided to do was have specialist nurses come to treat patients at home. Since the NHS is in a state of disrepair (to put it extremely mildly!), this would save money: fewer staff in the ward, less of a traffic jam...

Now my hospital is preparing to do the same thing: specialist nurses who will come to patients' homes to administer medication. There are people in the immunology unit who have poorly functioning immune systems (or no immune systems) who had them destroyed by chemotherapy, all manner of drugs, all kinds of adult onset diseases- and they will soon be treated at home. I've been told that they want me to do the same.

My response? When Hell freezes over. I will not be doing intravenous anything to myself. Ever. There would be a lot of swearing and blood loss, I can tell you. Plus, this means that the nurse would either have to stay with me for four hours, or keep coming back to change bottles of medicine-and then finish up. No thank you.

I was very, very clear: if that is what they want to do, I will either change hospitals or stop having antibody replacement (not such a good idea, because that is the quickest way to kill me-the only quicker way to kill me is to put me in the care of Longhurst and Grigoriadou).

So, that brings us up to date. The marvelous NHS was a good idea in its' time-but now, it is just falling apart. There are drugs that will help people with all kinds of serious diseases, but they are too expensive. I wonder when the lives of people became less important than the amount of money in doctors' bank accounts.

Iceland is looking better and better every day...I wonder if they have Starbucks over there. And Kettle Chips. I would move tomorrow. Or, maybe, now...