Always choose your battles-carefully

I'm glad, on reflection, that I decided to let the Homes for Haringey situation go. It's very unlike me to avoid a fight-especially when I believe I am in the right. But I remember at the time, my GP was the one who suggested that I think about whether my reputation with Haringey is important enough to go to the media and start a war - a war which I would never win, given that H for H will never change (until someone changes the law, and that only happens once every 300 years or so).

I mention this because I'm in a much more important war: I'm in litigation with Barts and the London, and that is a fight I will continue until the courts decide in my favor. I mention THIS because I had a phone call from my solicitor yesterday. The specialist consultant who is preparing a report wants to see me before he writes his update. And that will be on Monday. He is the fifth specialist I have seen, and the fifth to categorically state that this whole affair is down to negligence on the part of the two idiots, Sofia (the crippler) Grigoriadou and Phil (not so) Bright. And this specialist is happy to put that in writing - in case Barts decides to go to court.

I told my solicitor that I'm not going to quit, and she needs to inform Barts that if they keep wasting my time, I can hear the kerching of the settlement growing higher and higher.

This  is what I mean by choosing your battles. I would rather say hang the reputation, because the people who count know who I am, and the rest can go jump in front of a speeding train (I've cleaned that up!! I was actually thinking what they could do to themselves!!).

I'm fighting for the money. I'm fighting for compensation. I want Barts to admit culpability, and I want them to pay for the ordeal of the past two years, as well as the lifetime ordeal they have caused - and the suffering, which really has no price.

My theory is: if the financial penalty is severe enough, this will not happen to anyone else, because the hospital will ensure their resident idiots are careful in the future.

There is no such thing as a class action suit in this country. In fact, the laws are such that I'm surprised that anyone gets paid at all. Gentamicin is so toxic, it needs to be withdrawn from the market. There are other drugs that are just as effective; sadly, gentamicin is cheap, and that's why it is still in use.

Meanwhile, I am back to eating something that is recognizable as food (and my broccoli is actually green!!). I'm also walking, although my balance has suffered badly since I developed this chest infection. The only thing that stopped me from falling over this morning was the wall that was next to me!!

I am persevering, though; I'm too afraid not to!!!!!

An additional word of advice

Yes, one thing I forgot to mention: stay away from curried goat: it'll make you sick for days!! It'll also make you a vegetarian!! LOL!!!! Poor, poor Billy!!

Small changes, small victories

Apart from accidentally discovering something to soothe minor burns (cold banana skins...go figure!!), and a supernatural "visitation" in the middle of the night-and having seven cannulae in 13 days, and having my veins destroyed - plus finding a Starbucks within walking distance of the hospital (something good, at least!) - I had a very unremarkable two weeks in the Royal London. At least, they didn't kill me this time!! I think that was more down to luck than anything else.

I've had a rough couple of days since I got back. I decided to go out and have a walk yesterday - and left my stick at home. I wanted to see if I could do without it - and the short answer is, no, I couldn't - I was staggering all over the place. As you can imagine, that didn't make me very happy!!

I went to see my GP this morning - Margaret is back from her sabbatical and is settled in, thank goodness! I told her about the hospital, and mentioned that I tried very hard to be very upbeat, joking and laughing with the staff, and making a general pain in the butt of myself. She made the point that being upbeat is good for morale, and the treatment is better when a patient isn't moaning and morose all the time.

Margaret also made two more points, both of which I found interesting (and enlightening): she commented that I am walking better, and that progress is very slow now, but it is still progress. She said that she thinks I will continue to improve-just not as quickly as I wanted, so I have to learn to be patient. Patience, as we all know, is an alien word - so I just have to push myself and learn to be patient. Grrrr!!!

The second point she made is that she feels that I am suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder -PTSD- and that it is no surprise that I haven't been sleeping, and that I am very stressed and anxious, even though I put on a good show of being funny. She said that it is natural for my mind to go back two years to when the whole gentamicin event occurred, and that I need to see her once a month-she said she is mopping up where the other people left off.

Depression - that big black dog, accompanied by all his friends and family - has been grounding me at times when I least expected it. This, of course, has been going on for the past two years. I have to learn to recognize it before it bites me in the backside-and how to deal with it when it does. I don't find that easy.

I'm working on it. Meanwhile, I am so happy to be out of the hospital, and to be eating food that is recognizable-and to be outside walking, even when I do get some idiot bumping into me and swearing at me, or when I stagger and have to stop until I can get some kind of equilibrium back.

I got an email from one of the women who attended the mindfulness workshop a couple of months ago. She wanted to know if I would be interested in meeting with a few of the other people, so we could keep up the momentum. I'll be going on Monday, and we will see how that goes. Very Buddhist, mindfulness. Very much in the moment. Very Ram Dass (google that if you are under 40!!). I feel that is a way forward.

Now I've got Kettle Chips, Starbucks and mindfulness. Life is getting better!!

Some very weird weirdness is afoot!

Well, hooray, I am home - relatively unscathed, except for my very sore, bruised arms and veins that have been bleached up the wazoo. But something very, very strange happened on Saturday night.

I spilled very hot water everywhere as I was carrying two jugs en route to doing my nebulizing. That was a bit unpleasant, to say the least!! I had a tiny refrigerator in the room (all the rooms have them), but there was no ice (really, they are there for medication that needs to be refrigerated). There was a banana, though - and here is a cure for burns (unless they are serious enough for a visit to the hospital): cold banana skins. Truly!! I discovered that by accident, because that was the only thing I could put on my burned hand. It stopped me from blistering, although my hand was red and sore. An accidental discovery!!

But that wasn't the weird thing. That happened much later.

I went to bed around 11-and in the middle of the night, all the lights in the room went on. All of them-and I nearly jumped out of bed. I thought someone was there, but the room was empty. Now, the way these siderooms are constructed, there are two sets of doors, with a sink in between; the only way to switch the room lights on is to actually come into the room, because the light switches aren't near enough to the door-unless you have arms that are about eight feet long.

I sat up, said hello (well, what do you expect for the middle of the night?), and got out of bed and opened the inner door. Perhaps that wasn't the best thing I could have done-who knows what I might have found? - but  there was nobody there. I opened the outer door, and saw that the corridor was empty. If there had been anyone there, I would have seen them.

So I then went to the little dresser and looked at my watch: it was exactly 1:15AM. I thought - hmmm, this is very strange! So I sat on the bed and wondered what was going on - and the lights went off. By themselves. There was nobody there, and no way of anyone coming into the room without my hearing them.

On Sunday morning, when the nurse came in to give me my antibiotics, I told her what had happened. She said that someone was saying hello (or goodbye), and someone wanted to get my attention. She then said that her friend had the experience of her youngest child dying suddenly, and they were miles away from each other-and at that moment, a picture went flying off her wall, and the lights went on and off several times. The nurse went on to say that in Africa they all believe in spirits, and I should find out if everyone I care about is okay. She gave me a look to see if I thought she had lost her marbles-but, really, I believe her and I have had some strange, unaccountable things happen before - but not for years. So this was - interesting. I will have to start calling home (like E.T.!).

On Sunday, my cannula blew my vein, and I had to have a new one inserted-just for two more doses of antibiotics. I wasn't pleased, I can tell you that :(  but I did get to wash my hair in between having the offending one removed and the new one inserted, so that was the upside of my day. I stayed in the shower until my skin was all shrivelled up like a raisin-but it felt great not to have to stand with one arm held above my head!! Simple things, but they certainly make a difference!!

I finally got home yesterday - what a huge palaver!! I had to wait for the registrars to parole me (!!), and then wait for all the paperwork, and then I was allowed to go to the patients' departure area until a taxi arrived to get me home. But, before I could leave the ward (which ended up to be at around 2:30), I was given lunch. Two of the nurses said I should try the Afro-Caribbean meal, because it actually didn't taste like cardboard-so I said okay. Oh my God!! It was curried goat - and it was absolutely disgusting. I went out to the desk and told them that, and they were laughing at me, because they had never tried it themselves. Funny-and the cleaner who came into my room was African, and she stood there and watched me as I tried to get the stuff down. She was trying not to laugh, too. Was I set up, or what!!

A word of advice: NEVER eat curried goat. It is truly revolting. From now on, I am vegetarian. And it is all thanks to curried goat.

Pass the Kettle Chips!!

When in doubt:do a runner!

Would you believe it: I decided that, since nobody respected my wish not to see -ever!- Sofia the crippler of Bart's and the London, I would do a runner. I simply would be absent. And I told the nurses I would be back when the crippler did her rounds. One nurse told me that Sofia would wait all day, if she had to.

So-I went to the Outpatients building, and had a coffee there. It's not Starbucks, but - it's drinkable, so I sat down with my coffee-and two minutes later, the fire alarm went off, and everyone had to evacuate the building. Talk about Murphy's Law!! I stood outside for about half an hour, and I saw someone I knew, so we stood and chatted and I finished my coffee. By the time we were allowed back in the building, I figured I would waste more time, and go to the pound shop.

Well!! Was that nurse ever right: I was gone for about an hour and a half, and no sooner than I got into my room -guess who appeared!! I didn't cry this time, so I'm obviously making progress one way or another. But I wouldn't say I was friendly and joking, either. Lucky for her I am not a violent woman!!

Well, that was Thursday-and Friday morning, my cannula blew out my vein. So this one lasted nearly four days-and I was most upset, I can tell you: five cannulae in less than ten days. Must be a record.

Here is what I find interesting: when a man is assertive, strong, blunt, says what he thinks, doesn't take fools lightly (or in any way, shape or form), we call him forceful and we admire him. Isn't that the truth? He might be feared, but he is respected. If a woman does the same, she is called uncooperative, obnoxious, unstable, a few other very unpleasant adjectives-and a total bitch. Is that a double-standard, or what?? A man can stand up for himself, but a woman isn't supposed to do that. And I thought times have changed-I'm sure they have - somewhere - but not here. I was so tempted to say two words to the registrars who lectured me about my lack of cooperation - no, not those two words, although it did cross my mind!! - I nearly told them: bite me. THEN I would have said the other two words, but I decided to take the high road with all of them. After all, what goes around, comes around. I hope it all happens soon enough for me to enjoy it!!

With sore arms, bruises, holes in my veins, I didn't really want to come over to the internet cafe. I don't really care if I look like a drug addict-this is Whitechapel, after all!! But I just want to finish the course of antibiotics and go home. Not only are there some certifiably batshit crazy people on the ward (according to the increasingly harassed staff!), but the food...my friend came to see me the other day, and said that she wouldn't feed that slop to her dog. I have never seen broccoli that color, either!! If I stay here another week, I will look like an anorexic stick insect!!

I remember reading somewhere (not in the tabloids. I don't read tabloids, they're filled with mindless drivel, although sometimes they are really amusing, since they seem to take themselves oh so seriously) that we share 60% of our DNA with a banana, 50% with mice, and 99% with the chimpanzee. I look around me and I'm not the least bit surprised!!

Being called uncooperative and unreasonable made me remember an incident when I was a senior in college. I was only a few months away from graduation, and some guy in my psychology class turned around and called me a "castrating bitch" (I told you, that's what happens when a woman stands up for herself). I was upset-I don't know why!- and I caught up with the professor as we were leaving the building. I said, "he called me a castrating bitch. What should I do?" And she stopped, turned around, looked me right in the eye, smiled and said "go cut off his balls", and walked away. I still remember laughing about it-I'm sure he was a peanut, anyway.

I was in an antique shop a few months ago, and I saw this gizmo that looked really interesting. I asked the shopkeeper what it was, and I was told it was a medieval castrating tool (true story. I don't seem to be able to get away from the subject of castration. I can imagine men reading this blog and squeezing their knees together). Now I wish I had bought it. In this country, anything a woman carries to defend herself is considered an illegal weapon, and even a nail file could result in an arrest or a caution. With something like that, if stopped by a policeman I could truthfully say I'm carrying a nutcracker.

Thank goodness I carry mace.

And the Oscar for Best Actress goes to- ME!!!!!!

I did such a good acting job in front of Sofia Grigoriadou (aka The Crippler of Barts and the London) yesterday that I swear I should have gone into acting. Either that, or killing arrogant, incompetent doctors. Bring back euthanasia, I say!!!!! (I do like my exclamation marks!!).

I'm told I am being unreasonable because I don't want to ever see the person who crippled me and destroyed my life nearly two years ago-and that I should "move on" and "develop trust", and "let go". I heard this from the registrars-and my response was very polite. I said: "ARE YOU CRAZY"?????  Of course,the very people who tell me to move on are the ones who have their balance, and their eyesight, and have never been in my position. I am not a hitter-but I could learn!!!!!

So I took a walk today, braved the idiots in Whitechapel- and turned the corner toward the internet cafe, and what did I see, but a man who decided that he had to go, and when he had to go, he had to go, and it didn't matter who was around. So he went!! He whipped it out and relieved himself against the side of a building. I was absolutely amazed-and what amazed me most of all was the fact that nobody paid any attention. I guess, this being Whitechapel (which smells heavily of pee and poo anyway), people are accustomed to this kind of icky behaviour. Icky!! There was a coffee place just next to him where he could have gone and done his business in private.

I have to say that I was very tempted to test my willie theory of the other day...but, I have learned not to be inquisitive (after my attack of December), and -let's face it - discretion is the better part of a fist in the face or being peed on!!

This did start me thinking about willies-when you are tied to a hospital bed and your veins are constantly breaking, and people are incessantly asking "and how are you today?" - I'm in the hospital, how on earth do you think I am??- naturally, you become very bored and start thinking about willies. Of course: doesn't everybody??

Now, I have to say, the basic truth is, if you've seen one, you've just about seen them all. Isn't that so?
There are very long ones, very short ones, skinny ones and fat ones, huge ones and-sadly-peanut-sized ones. There are wrinkly ones and smooth ones, ones that have been snipped and ones that haven't, ones that look healthy and ones that look diseased (I think we'll leave that one there, don't you?). There are ones with two balls, or perhaps one (or one and a half, poor chap), smooth, big balls, teeny ones, hairy ones and smooth ones, some wrinkly, some that rather resemble raisins. And there are ones of various colors. And that about covers everything, and I don't think I have left anything (or anyone) out.

Having said all this, I must admit that, unless a bloke has three balls and a willie the size of Brazil, and it's growing violets, there really isn't much more to discuss about willies. In fact, I think I am about willied out.

Now, truthfully, we women all know that blokes talk about us this way-only with certain anatomical differences, obviously!! I remember being in a pub with my friend a few months ago, and I overheard two guys talking about someone they both knew-in the biblical sense. One said to the other: "Yes, not very exciting, it was like tossing a sausage into the Blackwall Tunnel".

Obviously a couple of peanuts!

And another thing!!

I think I should take up drinking. It might rot my liver, and it won't help my veins, but I'll be too smashed to care!!