How not to start a new year...and a new decade

The best way not to start either? Don't get food poisoning.

Everything went fine after my last blog, grumpy and testy as I was at the time. I wanted to accomplish things I'd left for dead before the start of 2020-and I figured that I would post on New Year's Day, when everyone who was hung over had recuperated. But Murphy's Law, as usual, came and bit me on the ass.

I was minding my own business when I heard someone calling my name. First name, no swearing. It turned out to be Tina, a workmate from years ago. And I do mean years ago. She was in town for the holidays, we had a very quick chat, and we decided to meet up on New Year's Day-since she realized why she avoided her family for most of the year. Like everyone, I suppose.

We met, and she suggested going for a curry-I usually only go to curry places I know-or, for that matter, any restaurants I know, where I've never been sick afterwards. But Tina said that this was a good place, local, we could both get back easily, so I said okay, fine. Eeek!! How did I know that we were going to end up with a listeria platter and a side of e-coli?

Everything went well, we said we'd keep in touch, next time she's in London she'd contact me, and we went our separate ways. Great way to start a new year, right? Huh...as if!

I started getting stomach pain about two hours after we'd eaten. My abdomen was so distended, I looked like I was going to give birth to a baby elephant-or maybe a full-sized elephant. I couldn't move, could hardly breathe, and it felt like someone was cutting their way out of my stomach. Really-it reminded me of the Alien film? Anyone remember that? When I finally went to see the GP on Friday-just to find out what she thought it was and how long I was going to continue to feel sick, she remembered (everyone at the doc's office loved the films. I knew there was a reason I kept going back there). So-remember the scene where the alien chews its way out of the man's stomach, and runs around, chomping at people? That is how I felt. And it was decidedly unpleasant.

Well-I made myself sick (the old fingers down the throat trick), and was doing that all night, not that it did much good. By Thursday afternoon the swelling had gone down. My system is so full of antibiotics anyway, I figured that any alien would have just keeled over and died of malnutrition.

And Tina was sick, too-so it was definitely food poisoning. We kept phoning each other all night long, just to check that neither of us had died.

I've been pretty much out for the count for the past week. So much for new year's resolutions, right? And so much for curry. And takeaways. And eating out...

I was so ready to wish everyone a happy 2020 and a happy and healthy new decade, too. So happy both to you, and so sorry that it's over a week later than I'd intended.

I decided not to start the new year the way I started the old year-and the old decade. I didn't want to carry all that negativity and anger with me; I used the hatred and injustice over the gentamicin to propel myself forward, refusing to let the incompetent bastards win. Was justice done? No, it was not. That does irk me-but I also know that there's nothing I can do about it. So I just have to leave it in the past and keep working to get as much balance back as I can-and to work on getting healthier post-cancer, and not to fear cancer's return. That is something that I will have to deal with if it happens, not before.

Of course, if anyone really feels like coming over to round up the cripplers-Hilary Longhurst is now killing/crippling her patients in Harley Street, of course-much more money than in the NHS- Phil Bright is working in North Bristol NHS, ferret-faced Grigoriadou and fucky bucky buckster Matt Buckland are both doing the same, bullying and crippling patients at the Royal London Hospital in Whitechapel-and kicking the living crap out of all of them so that all patients will be safe for at least a couple of years (when you are invited to come over, round them up, and kick the shit out of them again), please feel free. It's not aggression; it's compassion for all those unsuspecting patients who aren't free of the monsters' tentacles.

Let me know; I'll take you to lunch. Repeatedly. A good restaurant where you don't have to worry about practically dying from e coli-or from some alien trying to chew his way out of your stomach.
In Yank speak: upscale. In Brit speak: posh.

Meanwhile, I'm back (just a little thinner), I'll keep you updated, much more often. Life over here is getting much more lively...

Happy New Year, Happy New Decade, and lay off the curry.