I'm not some kind of weirdo or pervert-truly! Last week I found myself inspecting two sets of boobs. It was a strange and uncomfortable experience-but oh,so valuable!
Tuesday night there was a meeting of women who expressed an interest in breast reconstruction. The aim of this-the first meeting in the North London area, sponsored by the Royal Free Hospital-was to answer any questions and address any doubts that cancer survivors might have about going through with the operation.
There were about ten of us, plus one consultant plastic surgeon and one clinical nurse specialist in plastic surgery. Her name is Rebecca, and, as it turns out, I will be seeing her when I attend the clinic in May. So I was really glad I went to this thing.
The consultant, Dan, said that only about a third of women who have mastectomies go ahead and have the reconstructive surgery afterward. I was apprehensive, anxious, worried about the pain, the surgery-you name it. I'm such a hospital veteran, I've developed a phobia of hospitals, surgery and doctors.And, speaking with some of the women at the meeting, I discovered I wasn't alone.
Dan showed us slides of four operations: three of them were single mastectomies, where the breasts were reconstructed using tissue from the back and/or the abdomen (I won't elaborate. I don't want you to toss your breakfast). The fourth was a double, and the woman had implants. That was the woman I wanted to see.
So all four women went into little rooms off the main clinic, and the rest of us were told that we could go and see the finished product, as it were. We-no kidding, seriously!- became boob inspectors.
I didn't need to see the women who had tissue taken from their back, although I did walk in with another patient to see the woman who had tissue removed from her abdomen. Her surgeon is my surgeon. I needed to see what he could do. And the results were fantastic. This woman was big-and I do mean, big-and she showed us that Steve (my surgeon) reconstructed one breast to be the same size as the other. You couldn't really tell the difference.
I then went to see the woman who had the implants. She said that she had no fat on her back or stomach, so they needed to do implants-and I am in the same situation, except that I will have expanders, and will have saline injected every two weeks until I reach the correct size. Whoopie.
So she went on to say that Steve put some kind of sling underneath both breasts to minimize drooping-and that, to give her a gift, he increased her size from an A cup to a double D. I was amazed by the quality of the work. But if I had him give me a double D, I would never see my feet again. In fact, I would be so topheavy, I would be falling over all the time.
A double D-lucky woman, I guess! And no, I will not go that large. I would look ridiculous.
So three of us left the hospital together, and were laughing about being boob inspectors for the night. And now I am going to go ahead and have the surgery, because I know that Steve does good work, and I needn't worry about having one breast by my knees and the other up by my nose.
This is what I call progress!!
Monday, 30 March 2015
Tuesday, 24 March 2015
The definition of insanity
There are so many sayings going around-and this one has been doing the rounds for as long as I can remember. Insanity is defined as doing the same thing in the same way and doing it over and over again, and expecting different results. Yeah, sure. How naff is that? Speaking of naffness, the king of naff sayings has to be "when life hands you lemons, make lemonade". Scuse me? When life hands you lemons, grab the salt, a bottle of tequila, a large glass, and knock yourself out. Screw the lemonade.
Of course, I bring this up for a reason. I don't go for the insanity bit. To me, it's obstinacy. Persistence. Tenacity. Bloody-mindedness. And, possibly, futility. And when I went to Queen Square for my balance physiotherapy assessment nearly two weeks ago, I was given some of the very same exercises I was doing five years ago. Same old, same old. Doing the same thing, etc, etc.
The interesting thing is that I stopped doing these three years ago, thinking that I had come as far as I could-and besides, I was bored rigid. So out went looking up, looking down, looking from side to side, standing on one leg, standing on the other leg...you get the picture. And I have regressed somewhat, because some of these are more difficult than I remember. Try standing on one leg, then the other-then do it with your eyes closed. Then, if and when it is that easy, stand on a wobble board. That is the ultimate aim of Tom, the balance physiotherapist: to have me standing on a wobble board-with my eyes closed. Oh joy. And he is giving me six months of physio- that's it, six months of rehabilitation. I have my next session in six weeks. We then will figure out where to go from there. I asked him to make it tough. He heard me. I would, of course, prefer not to fall off a wobble board and knock myself unconscious...
So I did the physio assessment, I'm doing the exercises, I've been all over the place, seeing all the docs and being a good little patient. Now I have to wait until next Monday for my ultrasound, to finally discover what is causing this lump in my side. I can't stress about it any more-that just makes it hurt more.
I went to AgeUK's joke of a fundraising committee meeting last week. I also had tea with my neighbor, now 79 years old - and I told her that I was doing everything I could to help her, but it didn't seem to do much good. At the meeting - there was a lot of waffling about fundraising, and what people are doing, and why they are going to wait to take action until the new CEO takes over in April. So I, of course, opened my mouth. I so don't like posturing and bullshit. So I said this man is not going to part the Red Sea, you know (already been done), and he is not the Second Coming. What if he is no good??
Well, the acting chairperson just about jumped me. She said that I have no idea how stringent the selection process was, and of course he will be perfect for the job. And I said-perhaps he was great in the interviews, but he could prove to be a damp squib. And everyone is holding on, rather than doing anything that looks like constructive action. I got told off, and for the rest of the meeting nobody would talk to me. When I left, I said goodbye (I may be a "political activist", as they called me, but at least I am a polite one). I was ignored.
Now I feel like just leaving them to it. I don't know if I will receive the minutes, or if I will even be invited to the next meeting. And, frankly, I don't really care. I tried to help them, but they don't want my help. Or my opinion. And it's the same with church. I stand up and tell everyone that saving services for older people is really important (since one day we will-hopefully-all be old), but nobody is interested.
I've had to rethink my commitments - remember I did say a few weeks ago that I should never volunteer for anything! And I have now learned my lesson. Twice.
What is most important at this point in my life is not changing the world, because it is not likely to happen (certainly not the way I have been working at it). What is important is working to improve my balance as much as I can, so I will increase the exercises and keep going to the gym. And what is also important is a lot of attitude adjustment. I had my pity party, my few days (okay, weeks) of doing nothing except wallowing in self pity. But all that accomplished was to set me back. A lot.
And now I am going to walk. A lot. And hope that Firefox won't freeze before I post this. Boy, do I want a bag of Kettle Chips!!
Of course, I bring this up for a reason. I don't go for the insanity bit. To me, it's obstinacy. Persistence. Tenacity. Bloody-mindedness. And, possibly, futility. And when I went to Queen Square for my balance physiotherapy assessment nearly two weeks ago, I was given some of the very same exercises I was doing five years ago. Same old, same old. Doing the same thing, etc, etc.
The interesting thing is that I stopped doing these three years ago, thinking that I had come as far as I could-and besides, I was bored rigid. So out went looking up, looking down, looking from side to side, standing on one leg, standing on the other leg...you get the picture. And I have regressed somewhat, because some of these are more difficult than I remember. Try standing on one leg, then the other-then do it with your eyes closed. Then, if and when it is that easy, stand on a wobble board. That is the ultimate aim of Tom, the balance physiotherapist: to have me standing on a wobble board-with my eyes closed. Oh joy. And he is giving me six months of physio- that's it, six months of rehabilitation. I have my next session in six weeks. We then will figure out where to go from there. I asked him to make it tough. He heard me. I would, of course, prefer not to fall off a wobble board and knock myself unconscious...
So I did the physio assessment, I'm doing the exercises, I've been all over the place, seeing all the docs and being a good little patient. Now I have to wait until next Monday for my ultrasound, to finally discover what is causing this lump in my side. I can't stress about it any more-that just makes it hurt more.
I went to AgeUK's joke of a fundraising committee meeting last week. I also had tea with my neighbor, now 79 years old - and I told her that I was doing everything I could to help her, but it didn't seem to do much good. At the meeting - there was a lot of waffling about fundraising, and what people are doing, and why they are going to wait to take action until the new CEO takes over in April. So I, of course, opened my mouth. I so don't like posturing and bullshit. So I said this man is not going to part the Red Sea, you know (already been done), and he is not the Second Coming. What if he is no good??
Well, the acting chairperson just about jumped me. She said that I have no idea how stringent the selection process was, and of course he will be perfect for the job. And I said-perhaps he was great in the interviews, but he could prove to be a damp squib. And everyone is holding on, rather than doing anything that looks like constructive action. I got told off, and for the rest of the meeting nobody would talk to me. When I left, I said goodbye (I may be a "political activist", as they called me, but at least I am a polite one). I was ignored.
Now I feel like just leaving them to it. I don't know if I will receive the minutes, or if I will even be invited to the next meeting. And, frankly, I don't really care. I tried to help them, but they don't want my help. Or my opinion. And it's the same with church. I stand up and tell everyone that saving services for older people is really important (since one day we will-hopefully-all be old), but nobody is interested.
I've had to rethink my commitments - remember I did say a few weeks ago that I should never volunteer for anything! And I have now learned my lesson. Twice.
What is most important at this point in my life is not changing the world, because it is not likely to happen (certainly not the way I have been working at it). What is important is working to improve my balance as much as I can, so I will increase the exercises and keep going to the gym. And what is also important is a lot of attitude adjustment. I had my pity party, my few days (okay, weeks) of doing nothing except wallowing in self pity. But all that accomplished was to set me back. A lot.
And now I am going to walk. A lot. And hope that Firefox won't freeze before I post this. Boy, do I want a bag of Kettle Chips!!
Thursday, 12 March 2015
Munchkins rock
I wrote a long post this morning-and then Firefox froze, and deleted everything. I couldn't even save it. Was I swearing, or what? Well-perhaps it turns out to be a good thing, because I was getting long winded. You would be bored.
I've spent a few days just thinking about my day in bed-and I decided that I must have been seriously depressed, even though I thought I was handling things pretty well. So-I decided to have a good close look at what was going on. I thought-the longer I spend in bed, the less chance I have of my brain making new neural pathways. If I don't challenge it (constantly) by doing things that make me dizzy-and doing them over and over and over again-my brain will just figure that it doesn't have to do anything, and will have a nap. And-I cannot spend too much time in bed, because I need to move around as much as possible to make sure my chest is clear. Too much sedentary activity means I can develop chest infections more easily. The chest thing is a result of being born with a defective immune system; the balance? That is thanks to Bart's Hospital. I need to accept it, live with it, and just never give up. And sometimes it gets me down.
I made an appointment for a training session at the gym-first time since cancer surgery, I think. I went along on Tuesday, and my trainer (Tony) worked out a new program for me. I went again today. I'm going to work my way up to four days a week if I can-my backside is heading toward the floor, so I need to take action. I felt quite proud of myself-and very, very sore!! But for me that is one answer: get active, get moving, do something, stop lying around feeling sorry for myself. That just gets boring, and accomplishes nothing.
I also went to Wood Green. Now, going to Wood Green (it's about four miles from my house) is like dropping yourself into a huge, cosmic-sized vat of stinking, noxious shit. It's filled with people who wouldn't be out of place as extras in The Walking Dead-and trying to negotiate from one part to another means avoiding the a**holes and dodging the d***heads. I did clean that up; I'm being polite. Don't get used to it-it's a one-off.
So why do I go when I know beforehand that anyone with crutches, or walking sticks, or obvious mobility challenges are at risk of being shoved into oncoming traffic? Well, a couple of reasons. Wood Green has two cinemas: one is shabby, the other isn't so bad. But I still start to itch, and when I get home I throw my clothes into the washing machine (on boil), and throw myself into the shower until I closely resemble a giant prune. I can't help wondering how far those people's bugs can jump. But I like to go to movies, and I finally can do so without too much dizziness afterward-and Wood Green has the closest cinemas. Let's face it: I'm lazy.
Wood Green also has small branches of the larger chain stores, so that is a bonus; it also has a Turkish restaurant that has recognizable food (ish), and my friend and I have been going there for a couple of years-and never suffered from food poisoning. My criteria for a restaurant: decent food and no e-coli.
I was just walking down the road, minding my own business, using ducking people as a vestibular rehab exercise-and there it was across the road: Dunkin' Donuts. It is THE Dunkin' Donuts. I remember it from my university days. My friends and I would all pile into my roommate's VW Beetle (she called it "vintage", we called it a clapped out old banger that sounded like a bag of hammers). Off we went to get really good coffee, and my friends bought jam doughnuts, while I bought a dozen donut holes (known as "munchkins"). They lasted for two meals. College food meant we survived on pizza, coffee and Dunkin' Donuts. I'm still amazed I didn't end up weighing 350 pounds, with ulcers from too much coffee and diabetes as well.
I did love those munchkins. It reached a point where my friends nicknamed me "munchkin"- I was the shortest of everyone, and standing in a group I used to feel like I was standing in a crater. And every time I went home I looked for a Dunkin'-such a creature of habit. And junk food.
Did I go and check it out? Not yet. Another week or so at the gym and I will reward myself. Of course, it might be horrible. Brits are known for making coffee that can double as paint stripper-so I might be really, really sorry. And munchkins? According to Dunkin's website (I did my homework-it is the real deal in crappy old Wood Green), they still make donut holes.
The coffee? I'll reserve judgment until I try it. And the munchkins? They still do them with cinnamon. Whether they will taste as good is anyone's guess. But I will take my safety in my hands and go. And why not? Ah, munchkins. All those calories. All that sugar. All that saturated fat...yummy!!!
I've spent a few days just thinking about my day in bed-and I decided that I must have been seriously depressed, even though I thought I was handling things pretty well. So-I decided to have a good close look at what was going on. I thought-the longer I spend in bed, the less chance I have of my brain making new neural pathways. If I don't challenge it (constantly) by doing things that make me dizzy-and doing them over and over and over again-my brain will just figure that it doesn't have to do anything, and will have a nap. And-I cannot spend too much time in bed, because I need to move around as much as possible to make sure my chest is clear. Too much sedentary activity means I can develop chest infections more easily. The chest thing is a result of being born with a defective immune system; the balance? That is thanks to Bart's Hospital. I need to accept it, live with it, and just never give up. And sometimes it gets me down.
I made an appointment for a training session at the gym-first time since cancer surgery, I think. I went along on Tuesday, and my trainer (Tony) worked out a new program for me. I went again today. I'm going to work my way up to four days a week if I can-my backside is heading toward the floor, so I need to take action. I felt quite proud of myself-and very, very sore!! But for me that is one answer: get active, get moving, do something, stop lying around feeling sorry for myself. That just gets boring, and accomplishes nothing.
I also went to Wood Green. Now, going to Wood Green (it's about four miles from my house) is like dropping yourself into a huge, cosmic-sized vat of stinking, noxious shit. It's filled with people who wouldn't be out of place as extras in The Walking Dead-and trying to negotiate from one part to another means avoiding the a**holes and dodging the d***heads. I did clean that up; I'm being polite. Don't get used to it-it's a one-off.
So why do I go when I know beforehand that anyone with crutches, or walking sticks, or obvious mobility challenges are at risk of being shoved into oncoming traffic? Well, a couple of reasons. Wood Green has two cinemas: one is shabby, the other isn't so bad. But I still start to itch, and when I get home I throw my clothes into the washing machine (on boil), and throw myself into the shower until I closely resemble a giant prune. I can't help wondering how far those people's bugs can jump. But I like to go to movies, and I finally can do so without too much dizziness afterward-and Wood Green has the closest cinemas. Let's face it: I'm lazy.
Wood Green also has small branches of the larger chain stores, so that is a bonus; it also has a Turkish restaurant that has recognizable food (ish), and my friend and I have been going there for a couple of years-and never suffered from food poisoning. My criteria for a restaurant: decent food and no e-coli.
I was just walking down the road, minding my own business, using ducking people as a vestibular rehab exercise-and there it was across the road: Dunkin' Donuts. It is THE Dunkin' Donuts. I remember it from my university days. My friends and I would all pile into my roommate's VW Beetle (she called it "vintage", we called it a clapped out old banger that sounded like a bag of hammers). Off we went to get really good coffee, and my friends bought jam doughnuts, while I bought a dozen donut holes (known as "munchkins"). They lasted for two meals. College food meant we survived on pizza, coffee and Dunkin' Donuts. I'm still amazed I didn't end up weighing 350 pounds, with ulcers from too much coffee and diabetes as well.
I did love those munchkins. It reached a point where my friends nicknamed me "munchkin"- I was the shortest of everyone, and standing in a group I used to feel like I was standing in a crater. And every time I went home I looked for a Dunkin'-such a creature of habit. And junk food.
Did I go and check it out? Not yet. Another week or so at the gym and I will reward myself. Of course, it might be horrible. Brits are known for making coffee that can double as paint stripper-so I might be really, really sorry. And munchkins? According to Dunkin's website (I did my homework-it is the real deal in crappy old Wood Green), they still make donut holes.
The coffee? I'll reserve judgment until I try it. And the munchkins? They still do them with cinnamon. Whether they will taste as good is anyone's guess. But I will take my safety in my hands and go. And why not? Ah, munchkins. All those calories. All that sugar. All that saturated fat...yummy!!!
Friday, 6 March 2015
The road to Hell and all that jazz
Yes, I guess the road to Hell really is paved with good intentions.
I was going to happily tell you that the kitchen is more or less finished-Richard, the handyman, put up the rest of the shelves, and although Mulalley's work is absolute crap (after nearly 12 months, the work should be good enough for a magazine cover. As if!), nothing has fallen off the walls. So far, so good.
I went along to the gastro consultant on Monday-Sean wasn't in clinic, so Philip, another specialist who has been there forever, examined me. He is ordering an ultrasound-as soon as it can be arranged. He doesn't know what is behind the pain-but he was very reassuring. The lump is a mystery lump. Trust me to get the weirdest stuff imaginable! At least it's entertaining-well, not for me, but for some.
I also went along to a meeting of AgeUK. By now I have realized that I made a really big mistake-HUGE, in fact-by volunteering to do something to help my 78 year old friend keep the services she's going to lose in six months' time. AgeUK's fundraising group seems to be filled with old fossils who really can't -or won't- get that they need to do more than just sit around and "brainstorm". I hope I never get that set in my ways, that intransigent, when I get to their age. In fact, I hope I get to their age!! And I hope I never need the services that are going to be discontinued.
I've learned the hard way-I always seem to learn the hard way!!- that my mother's advice was very sound: never volunteer for anything. It's really annoying and frustrating to see people who persist in standing in their own way because they refuse to move into the 21st century. Well, duh!!
I start balance physiotherapy at Queen Square next week. I haven't been to the gym since the cancer surgery, so that will be very interesting (and probably painful). But this is a good thing: it gets me out of the house, and it makes me accountable to someone else. I need that accountability. Why? Well...
Yesterday I did something I have never done: I got up early, did what I had to do, and went back to bed. Until 1pm. I never do that, I am always up at the crack of 5am. I have been one of those irritating people who gets up really early and is ready to get out and do whatever. It's not so great for the workmates who limp into work at 9am and don't want to talk to anyone until the seventh cup of coffee. But I really didn't want to get up. I forced myself, and then I forced myself to get outside and walk for 45 minutes. It was a good thing, because I could feel myself slipping back into the very dizzy mode. If I don't get up and out every day - religiously- I'm not working at training my brain to find more balance. Simple: no work, no improvement. Scary.
Today I am okay. I thought yesterday that I was suffering from depression-why else would I be so unwilling to get out of bed until the afternoon? Perhaps it was depression, perhaps it was due to the fact that I have had very little sleep since this pain began three weeks ago. Whatever. Today I have begun to bounce back.
I'm beginning to avoid all people who are negative and who sap my energy by constantly complaining. I call them "energy vampires"-and I have to admit I have been there, and have done it myself. I sometimes still whinge-but I try to balance it with something positive. I will still fire pot-shots, though. It's justified. And it's fun. It keeps me amused. And it keeps me motivated.
There is a general election looming, and all the candidates are making promises they have no intention of keeping. I'm amazed at the stupidity of people around me, people who actually believe what they are being promised. Believe me when I say that the pot-shots will increase over the next two months-for your amusement as much as for my own. Reminds me of the Presidential elections: all the total bullshit but with a lot less money spent.
So that is it for now. I'm off to walk. And I'm off to Starbuck's. I hope someone recognizes this absolutely shameless and unsolicited plug for their coffee!!
I was going to happily tell you that the kitchen is more or less finished-Richard, the handyman, put up the rest of the shelves, and although Mulalley's work is absolute crap (after nearly 12 months, the work should be good enough for a magazine cover. As if!), nothing has fallen off the walls. So far, so good.
I went along to the gastro consultant on Monday-Sean wasn't in clinic, so Philip, another specialist who has been there forever, examined me. He is ordering an ultrasound-as soon as it can be arranged. He doesn't know what is behind the pain-but he was very reassuring. The lump is a mystery lump. Trust me to get the weirdest stuff imaginable! At least it's entertaining-well, not for me, but for some.
I also went along to a meeting of AgeUK. By now I have realized that I made a really big mistake-HUGE, in fact-by volunteering to do something to help my 78 year old friend keep the services she's going to lose in six months' time. AgeUK's fundraising group seems to be filled with old fossils who really can't -or won't- get that they need to do more than just sit around and "brainstorm". I hope I never get that set in my ways, that intransigent, when I get to their age. In fact, I hope I get to their age!! And I hope I never need the services that are going to be discontinued.
I've learned the hard way-I always seem to learn the hard way!!- that my mother's advice was very sound: never volunteer for anything. It's really annoying and frustrating to see people who persist in standing in their own way because they refuse to move into the 21st century. Well, duh!!
I start balance physiotherapy at Queen Square next week. I haven't been to the gym since the cancer surgery, so that will be very interesting (and probably painful). But this is a good thing: it gets me out of the house, and it makes me accountable to someone else. I need that accountability. Why? Well...
Yesterday I did something I have never done: I got up early, did what I had to do, and went back to bed. Until 1pm. I never do that, I am always up at the crack of 5am. I have been one of those irritating people who gets up really early and is ready to get out and do whatever. It's not so great for the workmates who limp into work at 9am and don't want to talk to anyone until the seventh cup of coffee. But I really didn't want to get up. I forced myself, and then I forced myself to get outside and walk for 45 minutes. It was a good thing, because I could feel myself slipping back into the very dizzy mode. If I don't get up and out every day - religiously- I'm not working at training my brain to find more balance. Simple: no work, no improvement. Scary.
Today I am okay. I thought yesterday that I was suffering from depression-why else would I be so unwilling to get out of bed until the afternoon? Perhaps it was depression, perhaps it was due to the fact that I have had very little sleep since this pain began three weeks ago. Whatever. Today I have begun to bounce back.
I'm beginning to avoid all people who are negative and who sap my energy by constantly complaining. I call them "energy vampires"-and I have to admit I have been there, and have done it myself. I sometimes still whinge-but I try to balance it with something positive. I will still fire pot-shots, though. It's justified. And it's fun. It keeps me amused. And it keeps me motivated.
There is a general election looming, and all the candidates are making promises they have no intention of keeping. I'm amazed at the stupidity of people around me, people who actually believe what they are being promised. Believe me when I say that the pot-shots will increase over the next two months-for your amusement as much as for my own. Reminds me of the Presidential elections: all the total bullshit but with a lot less money spent.
So that is it for now. I'm off to walk. And I'm off to Starbuck's. I hope someone recognizes this absolutely shameless and unsolicited plug for their coffee!!
Wednesday, 25 February 2015
A t-shirt that says it all...if only I could find it!
I told you that I am having trouble with the idiot builders, Mulalley. So I started what will be a long, drawn-out complaints process with Haringey-and Haringey is just as bad as Mulalley, so I really will be driven to drink-or, maybe, thoughts of homicide.
When I was in college, there was a very small shop that printed t-shirts while you waited. So a bunch of us would make the pilgrimage, and go in and make up our own sayings. I still have one somewhere (talk about holding onto things forever!!). This one I had made just before I came to live in London-and the shop doesn't exist anymore (now that's such a shame).
I thought about it this morning, and if I could find another shop like that one, I would have it reprinted. It expresses my sentiments exactly (and goes out to my cousins, who deserve it).
It reads: TAKE A LAWYER TO LUNCH
and underneath it reads AND POISON HIM
If I could find a place to print t-shirts to my specification, I could make an absolute fortune.
When I was in college, there was a very small shop that printed t-shirts while you waited. So a bunch of us would make the pilgrimage, and go in and make up our own sayings. I still have one somewhere (talk about holding onto things forever!!). This one I had made just before I came to live in London-and the shop doesn't exist anymore (now that's such a shame).
I thought about it this morning, and if I could find another shop like that one, I would have it reprinted. It expresses my sentiments exactly (and goes out to my cousins, who deserve it).
It reads: TAKE A LAWYER TO LUNCH
and underneath it reads AND POISON HIM
If I could find a place to print t-shirts to my specification, I could make an absolute fortune.
Double, double, toil and trouble....
I'm not superstitious-but life started to go really sideways sideways-and on Friday the 13th. The irony was not lost on me, I can tell you!
It began on the Sunday of that week. For one thing, I missed two really important appointments. I got the time wrong on one, and I simply forgot the other. This was turbo-charged CRS-I started to think I'm developing dementia, and I was just in pieces. I started to ruminate on Tuesday-and, of course, once I start doing that, I jump to all the catastrophic conclusions. So I decided to hide until Friday, when I was due for my monthly checkup with Margaret, my GP. She knows I don't like asking for help - ever - so she wants to make sure I'm okay. As she said, I am the only one of more than 16,000 patients on the books who has CVID. That makes me interesting. Personally, I would rather be ordinary, and healthy-and not so interesting.
Meanwhile, I was in terrible abdominal pain-that also started on the Sunday. The lump in my abdomen seems to have sprouted another couple of lumps. So I now have a lump family. After Margaret reassured me that I don't have any dementia symptoms-only the CRS that comes with the lines, wrinkles, wobbly bits of middle age (something for all of you to look forward to!), she examined my abdomen. She said that she has no idea what is causing the lumps-and, because I have this weird hereditary condition, I should go to A&E (emergency room) to have someone check it out.
Off I went to the Royal London-what a mistake that turned out to be! I said that, since all my notes are there, I should probably go there, rather than the Royal Free. I won't make that mistake again-ever!!
I was seen relatively quickly by a triage nurse; I had a letter from Margaret, and she had arranged by phone to have me seen by one of the surgeons. So triage went relatively quickly. And it all went downhill from there. I was told that a nurse would draw my blood-and when I showed her the port in my chest, she said that nobody would touch it. She would take blood from my vein. I started to tell her that my veins are a total disaster-and she snapped that she has 36 yrs of experience, so she won't have a problem. No- I had the problem. I had a bruise from wrist to elbow-and when it came to removing the cannula afterward, she yanked it out and I bled everywhere. Perhaps there is still some of my blood on the floor at the London.
I was then sent to x-ray, where I waited over an hour-the NHS at its very worst. I was glad I didn't have a heart attack, or a ruptured something or other-I just sat and waited.
And now for the best part. This feeble excuse for a doctor came into the room, rushing around as if he had to be somewhere far more important. He heard my accent, and sniffed: oh, you're American. Is that a problem for you? I asked. He didn't answer, just asked me what was wrong. I tried to show him the lumps, and he pushed and pushed, I said ouch, and he said my abdomen is nice and soft. I said that is because my abdomen is nice and fat. He then proceeded to tell me that the lumps are old stitches from years ago, and that they won't be a problem. I said-they couldn't possibly be sutures since the operation I had was many years ago. He then argued that nylon stitches were used years ago. I said that the operation was in the 20th century, not the 18th century, and that internal stitches would have all dissoved by now-and that I had previously had abdominal scans, so anything like that would have shown up.
He then glared at me and said: are you a doctor? I glared right back at him and replied: as a matter of fact I am...are you?
He then told me to go home and take aspirin for the pain-and with that, he was gone. So I went outside to the nurses' station and asked if there was a real doctor who would examine me, not an orderly in disguise or a witch doctor (either of which would probably have been better than this idiot). And I said I wanted someone to remove the cannula-after about 15 minutes, the same nurse who had inserted it decided to yank it out-and then the blood went everywhere. I went back to the nurses and showed them blood pouring out of my arm; they said go back in the room and they would send someone in to fix it. I said no, I will just stand there and bleed all over their floor until they get someone to fix it. So I did, and they did, and I stormed out.
I came home and stopped in Margaret's office, and asked for them to let her know what had happened. I said never again will I go to the Royal London if I have an emergency. And that was my Friday the 13th!
So I have been in pain since-and I went to the Royal London again on Monday for my infusions-I asked John (my nurse) to have a look. He doesn't know what is causing the lumps, and told me to go back to see Margaret. Well-welcome to the NHS, no wonder people are dying left right and center!!
I did, though, have a useful conversation with the AgeUK people yesterday. I decided on this initiative and announced it to the congregation-and received no interest whatsoever. And-my elderly neighbor is expecting me to do something to help, so I really can't give up now. So I went along to talk to some AgeUK people-the people in charge-and it seems that it isn't only Haringey that decided to cut funding. It's every borough in London.These idiots -by idiots I mean Cameron and Clegg - decided that everyone needs to cut funding, and the first people to suffer are the older people. There won't be anyone to help people with dementia once they get re-elected. So, even though I am not part of AgeUK, I offered to help. Now we will see what happens. If anything.
You are now up to date. Mulalley finished the very mediocre job they (laughingly) call a "new kitchen". I have begun stage 1 of the Haringey complaints process, with a view to causing maximum bad publicity for these cowboy builders. I'm making as big a pain in the ass of myself as I possibly can. And I'm going public. And-that is what you get when you really, really piss me off!!
And I'm not at all bothered by black cats crossing in front of me, or walking under ladders (I did that this morning. It was either that or walk in the road and risk being run over. I'll take the ladder, thanks).
The older I get, the more irascible I become. It feels great! Now to the Kettle Chips!!
It began on the Sunday of that week. For one thing, I missed two really important appointments. I got the time wrong on one, and I simply forgot the other. This was turbo-charged CRS-I started to think I'm developing dementia, and I was just in pieces. I started to ruminate on Tuesday-and, of course, once I start doing that, I jump to all the catastrophic conclusions. So I decided to hide until Friday, when I was due for my monthly checkup with Margaret, my GP. She knows I don't like asking for help - ever - so she wants to make sure I'm okay. As she said, I am the only one of more than 16,000 patients on the books who has CVID. That makes me interesting. Personally, I would rather be ordinary, and healthy-and not so interesting.
Meanwhile, I was in terrible abdominal pain-that also started on the Sunday. The lump in my abdomen seems to have sprouted another couple of lumps. So I now have a lump family. After Margaret reassured me that I don't have any dementia symptoms-only the CRS that comes with the lines, wrinkles, wobbly bits of middle age (something for all of you to look forward to!), she examined my abdomen. She said that she has no idea what is causing the lumps-and, because I have this weird hereditary condition, I should go to A&E (emergency room) to have someone check it out.
Off I went to the Royal London-what a mistake that turned out to be! I said that, since all my notes are there, I should probably go there, rather than the Royal Free. I won't make that mistake again-ever!!
I was seen relatively quickly by a triage nurse; I had a letter from Margaret, and she had arranged by phone to have me seen by one of the surgeons. So triage went relatively quickly. And it all went downhill from there. I was told that a nurse would draw my blood-and when I showed her the port in my chest, she said that nobody would touch it. She would take blood from my vein. I started to tell her that my veins are a total disaster-and she snapped that she has 36 yrs of experience, so she won't have a problem. No- I had the problem. I had a bruise from wrist to elbow-and when it came to removing the cannula afterward, she yanked it out and I bled everywhere. Perhaps there is still some of my blood on the floor at the London.
I was then sent to x-ray, where I waited over an hour-the NHS at its very worst. I was glad I didn't have a heart attack, or a ruptured something or other-I just sat and waited.
And now for the best part. This feeble excuse for a doctor came into the room, rushing around as if he had to be somewhere far more important. He heard my accent, and sniffed: oh, you're American. Is that a problem for you? I asked. He didn't answer, just asked me what was wrong. I tried to show him the lumps, and he pushed and pushed, I said ouch, and he said my abdomen is nice and soft. I said that is because my abdomen is nice and fat. He then proceeded to tell me that the lumps are old stitches from years ago, and that they won't be a problem. I said-they couldn't possibly be sutures since the operation I had was many years ago. He then argued that nylon stitches were used years ago. I said that the operation was in the 20th century, not the 18th century, and that internal stitches would have all dissoved by now-and that I had previously had abdominal scans, so anything like that would have shown up.
He then glared at me and said: are you a doctor? I glared right back at him and replied: as a matter of fact I am...are you?
He then told me to go home and take aspirin for the pain-and with that, he was gone. So I went outside to the nurses' station and asked if there was a real doctor who would examine me, not an orderly in disguise or a witch doctor (either of which would probably have been better than this idiot). And I said I wanted someone to remove the cannula-after about 15 minutes, the same nurse who had inserted it decided to yank it out-and then the blood went everywhere. I went back to the nurses and showed them blood pouring out of my arm; they said go back in the room and they would send someone in to fix it. I said no, I will just stand there and bleed all over their floor until they get someone to fix it. So I did, and they did, and I stormed out.
I came home and stopped in Margaret's office, and asked for them to let her know what had happened. I said never again will I go to the Royal London if I have an emergency. And that was my Friday the 13th!
So I have been in pain since-and I went to the Royal London again on Monday for my infusions-I asked John (my nurse) to have a look. He doesn't know what is causing the lumps, and told me to go back to see Margaret. Well-welcome to the NHS, no wonder people are dying left right and center!!
I did, though, have a useful conversation with the AgeUK people yesterday. I decided on this initiative and announced it to the congregation-and received no interest whatsoever. And-my elderly neighbor is expecting me to do something to help, so I really can't give up now. So I went along to talk to some AgeUK people-the people in charge-and it seems that it isn't only Haringey that decided to cut funding. It's every borough in London.These idiots -by idiots I mean Cameron and Clegg - decided that everyone needs to cut funding, and the first people to suffer are the older people. There won't be anyone to help people with dementia once they get re-elected. So, even though I am not part of AgeUK, I offered to help. Now we will see what happens. If anything.
You are now up to date. Mulalley finished the very mediocre job they (laughingly) call a "new kitchen". I have begun stage 1 of the Haringey complaints process, with a view to causing maximum bad publicity for these cowboy builders. I'm making as big a pain in the ass of myself as I possibly can. And I'm going public. And-that is what you get when you really, really piss me off!!
And I'm not at all bothered by black cats crossing in front of me, or walking under ladders (I did that this morning. It was either that or walk in the road and risk being run over. I'll take the ladder, thanks).
The older I get, the more irascible I become. It feels great! Now to the Kettle Chips!!
Thursday, 12 February 2015
Do not pass go -- and why bother?
Well, I changed my mind again. I don't need to worry about going straight to Hell-I live there already! And I can tell you-it's very, very cold. I'm bloody freezing!
Here I am complaining about the cold weather-and all my friends back home would laugh at me. Compared to some parts of the States, we are in the middle of a heat wave. So no more moaning from me-the solution is layering. The problem is, I wear thermals, a t-shirt, another t-shirt, a fleece - and my coat is supposed to be wind and waterproof. Thinsulate, they call it. What a crock. I walk outside and I'm shivering. So much for thinsulate. Huh. My friend in Canada told me that she wears thermals, more thermals, a fleece jacket (much heavier than mine), two wool scarves, a big furry hat (I'll bet she looks like Trapper John), thermal leggings, thick tights, thick ski pants, moon boots (I just about choked on that. Moon boots? She said they're really warm. I'm not going to criticize her for being so 80s), thick socks, and a coat that is like a full-length duvet. So she ends up looking like a walking duvet. She said that people laugh at her. They also look like they are suffering from hypothermia, and she is as warm as toast. Of course, she can't move her arms -but such a small price to pay for not contracting pneumonia.
I had a week. Just-a week. My neighbor is 78, and she is her husband's sole carer. They are both poorly, so I visit and check up on them as often as I can. She was very upset-seems like AgeUK, the UK charity for older people, has lost its funding from the London Borough of Haringey-and a lot of services will need to be cut if they are to survive. Funding must be found from somewhere.
So that is the initiative I mentioned last week: to find a way to keep all the services intact. Those include a dementia group, social groups, advice, and more I don't even know about. I thought of writing a petition. Petitions work if they're done properly. I stood in front of the congregation on Sunday and spoke about this-and it makes me really angry, because we are talking about a large part of the population that is completely ignored. There was very little interest. I was disappointed, but not surprised.
I met with the powers that be over at AgeUK on Monday. Of course, they didn't want to say much, since I'm not a member and they don't have a clue who I am. I just went on behalf of my friend. And they shot down every idea I had: online petitions? Hmm (they said). Interesting. Get London Citizens involved? Hmm. And who are they? (they asked). The media? Hmm. They said. Too political. AgeUK isn't about politics. Hello, I said, we are coming up to a General Election. People will fall all over themselves to get votes. Hmm. They said. We don't want anything to do with politics. But you can sit in on our next meeting while we plan our next move. Hmm. I thought. What next move is that?
Ahh, the frustration!! And this is what I get for volunteering. For anything. I might leave this Unitarian church-just because I don't seem to be able to light a fire under anyone when it comes to human rights. No wonder Andy was so keen for me to take over. Arghhh!!!
I need a vacation. A long one. Maybe for years...-
Here I am complaining about the cold weather-and all my friends back home would laugh at me. Compared to some parts of the States, we are in the middle of a heat wave. So no more moaning from me-the solution is layering. The problem is, I wear thermals, a t-shirt, another t-shirt, a fleece - and my coat is supposed to be wind and waterproof. Thinsulate, they call it. What a crock. I walk outside and I'm shivering. So much for thinsulate. Huh. My friend in Canada told me that she wears thermals, more thermals, a fleece jacket (much heavier than mine), two wool scarves, a big furry hat (I'll bet she looks like Trapper John), thermal leggings, thick tights, thick ski pants, moon boots (I just about choked on that. Moon boots? She said they're really warm. I'm not going to criticize her for being so 80s), thick socks, and a coat that is like a full-length duvet. So she ends up looking like a walking duvet. She said that people laugh at her. They also look like they are suffering from hypothermia, and she is as warm as toast. Of course, she can't move her arms -but such a small price to pay for not contracting pneumonia.
I had a week. Just-a week. My neighbor is 78, and she is her husband's sole carer. They are both poorly, so I visit and check up on them as often as I can. She was very upset-seems like AgeUK, the UK charity for older people, has lost its funding from the London Borough of Haringey-and a lot of services will need to be cut if they are to survive. Funding must be found from somewhere.
So that is the initiative I mentioned last week: to find a way to keep all the services intact. Those include a dementia group, social groups, advice, and more I don't even know about. I thought of writing a petition. Petitions work if they're done properly. I stood in front of the congregation on Sunday and spoke about this-and it makes me really angry, because we are talking about a large part of the population that is completely ignored. There was very little interest. I was disappointed, but not surprised.
I met with the powers that be over at AgeUK on Monday. Of course, they didn't want to say much, since I'm not a member and they don't have a clue who I am. I just went on behalf of my friend. And they shot down every idea I had: online petitions? Hmm (they said). Interesting. Get London Citizens involved? Hmm. And who are they? (they asked). The media? Hmm. They said. Too political. AgeUK isn't about politics. Hello, I said, we are coming up to a General Election. People will fall all over themselves to get votes. Hmm. They said. We don't want anything to do with politics. But you can sit in on our next meeting while we plan our next move. Hmm. I thought. What next move is that?
Ahh, the frustration!! And this is what I get for volunteering. For anything. I might leave this Unitarian church-just because I don't seem to be able to light a fire under anyone when it comes to human rights. No wonder Andy was so keen for me to take over. Arghhh!!!
I need a vacation. A long one. Maybe for years...-
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