Calling Professor Google

 Resurfacing certainly isn't what it used to be. The past few days have been especially difficult. The reason? Rain. I actually like rain-but now I'm unable to walk with the slightest degree of balance. So-I try, but I stop before I fall over. Lovely way to spend a life, isn't it?

Everyone knows the news-everyone who lives on this planet and has the internet, that is. And that seems to be a large part of the problem. With all the shootings in the US, and the stabbings here in the UK, it seems like there will never be any kind of peace in my lifetime-or yours. So I'm going to go on a news fast before I throw something. I'll let you know how long that lasts (probably not very long. I seem to need to know what's going on in the world, no matter how utterly shitty it is).

I didn't write before-I got some disastrous news that really disabled me for awhile. I was devastated to go to see Dr N, the neurologist, who told me that all the tests that were done in February showed conclusively that the vestibular damage wasn't just vestibular damage. The vestibular system is completely gone; there is no reaction to stimuli whatsoever. And, to make matters (and my life) even worse, all the tests showed that there is irreversible and incurable damage to the cerebellum (which is why I seem to have hit the wall when it comes to making any kind of progress). And-worse-it's progressive. And that was devastating.

The point is that any kind of recovery isn't possible. I asked whether I would end up in a wheelchair. The doc said that the progression seems to be moderate, so he doesn't think so. All we can do is monitor the progress (or, rather, regress) once a year and see how  quickly I'm deteriorating. I wanted to vomit.

Well, no, I didn't vomit. And I had a severe episode of BPPV, which made things worse, so I went along to the hospital (without falling over. Miracles do happen), and I was put into "the chair". The chair looks like a medieval torture device. You get strapped into a large chair, and I do mean strapped, so you can't move. Then a helmet is put on your head; it has electrodes that connect to a series of machines and monitors so the technician can see what is happening in your head-as you get turned upside down. By the way, you're blindfolded. An eyepiece keeps you from seeing anything. You need to keep your eyes wide open (in the dark), and you're turned upside down in one direction-and kept there for a couple of minutes-then turned upside down in the other direction. Good thing I had nothing to eat or drink before the test.

The object of the treatment is to get all the crystals in the inner ears back where they belong. The migration is what causes the BPPV-and I was told that it would keep returning. Kind of like acid reflux. It doesn't ever go away permanently. Reflux, or flu, or whatever gets you very p***ed off because it just doesn't want to go away and stay away...

So that's why I couldn't bring myself to write-until I was able to get some kind of perspective. And-I've got my vestibular exercises, which I'm doing a lot more often now, as well as my anatomical pictures that have pride of place on my wall. It really does look like a doctor's office! 

To me, this means that I just have to work harder, and accept that it might take longer for me to have some kind of progress in the right direction. 

It's taken me twelve years to get to this point-longer than I thought was possible, which is why I've had periods of depression, wondering if I will ever get better. But I always pick myself up again, use Arnica on the bruises, and keep going. Twelve years ago I couldn't walk, so I'm really lucky. Even Dr N says that it's due to the refusal to give up, the absolute refusal to quit, and the stubborn determination not ever to end up completely incapacitated. 

Even Professor Google is rather less than optimistic-the sites I've gone onto basically say that I'm lucky to have gotten this far. But Google doesn't know everything. Google doesn't know me.

If anyone you know is suffering from anything I've talked about, please tell them that there is always something they can do-just don't ever give up, don't  quit, don't walk (or hobble) away. 

I Spy With My Little Eye...

 I spy with my little eye...something beginning with P. Hmmm...Polling Station? No, that is so last Thursday. Everyone who could be bothered to vote went out to vote. What's the saying? People get the kind of government they deserve. How very true: we're not just led by a buffoon, a cheating, lying, pretentious ***ker (fill in the blanks: rhymes with banker). He's a total Prat. And there's the P I had in mind. The fact is: they're all as dishonest, all as crooked, all as pretentious, all as incompetent as each other. There's nobody worth voting for: they all suck.

So that's my rant of the day. In the nearly six weeks since I last wrote, I've only done what was absolutely necessary. I spent most of the time lying on the heating pad, taking painkillers and feeling very sorry for myself. But-the fractured coccyx seems to have used that time to heal (pretty much). So it's back to resuming life as I knew it before. And that was pretty dull, considering the two years we've all had to endure. 

I realize that my personality has done a total flip in these two years-and that's an understatement. I've become both depressed and angry-even more so than before. It seems like I'm not the only person who has undergone a personality change. Go outside and see how brutally people treat each other. Were they this bad before the lockdown? Are people just stupid, nasty, rude, basically brain-dead? It does seem that is the case. Add ignorant, obnoxious, obtuse, manipulative, and a few other descriptive words that I won't even bother to write down. Now, after all these years of calling the Brits (and 99.9% of the rest of the people who make this dump their home) all of the above, I have to (sadly) admit that I was right. I'm not one of them; I'm here because some incompetent idiots nearly killed me, and I can't now go home because I'm unemployable. Who wants to hire someone who falls over a lot? 

So there you are. I need to pull myself together, and work out how I'm going to thrive. I've survived, but I haven't thrived. It's been twelve years, and to get to this point, to not only survive, but to fight my way back, well-that's been a miracle. I refuse to roll over and quit. The fat lady hasn't sung yet. 

I've resisted going on Twitter and naming names. Boy, have I got some names! But I'm not sure. And the best thing to do when I'm depressed and angry-is nothing. Wait. Go have a coffee. Wait some more. 

That's my cue: Starbucks! 

Life is like a sewer: What you get out of it depends on what you put into it...

 I'd love to take the credit for those very true words-cynic that I am-but the person who first coined that expression was Tom Lehrer, one of the foremost satirists of the 70s (1970s, not 1870s). He was popular in the 60s, too, I believe...I wasn't around then, but if you want to hear his hilarious satirical songs, you can find him on YouTube. You can probably find just about anything on YouTube. Just look him up and have a good listen. I especially like National Brotherhood Week. Very un-PC. Nobody would have the guts to write and sing that now. They'd be shot.

It hasn't been a terribly exciting month. We had Easter, of course-and I had to buy my chocolate Easter egg, something I do every year. I put chocolate in my mouth and immediately I can feel my waist expand.

My not so great news came from the cardiologist. It seems that I've had a large number of tachycardia attacks, and now the cardio team is recommending another ablation, since the first one wasn't really successful. And here's the weird thing (oh, bless the NHS for total incompetence): the surgeon who performed the ablation last year has left the Royal Free (very wise decision, in my view) and has jumped ship and gone to Barts Heart Centre. Hmmm...so the cardiology team at the Royal Free (whose job it is to monitor the device in my chest that monitors my heartbeats) don't want to contact Barts, because it isn't part of the Royal Free. Duh. You would think that they would all talk to each other-but they don't...Am I going to be proactive and start fighting? No, I think that I've done enough fighting. I'll just wait for someone to call me next week and offer a solution that isn't more surgery. I'm surgeried out.

Of course, this wouldn't be right if I didn't mention the Will Smith attack on Chris Rock-only in front of millions of witnesses. And then cursing at the poor man afterwards. Smith is such a thug. And it seems that people loved it. The Oscars must have been really boring-or a lot of people are vicious and have very boring lives. I never watch that stuff. It's all self-congratulatory BS and who needs that? 

I ran into a neighbor a few days ago (figuratively, not literally!) who was on his way to the pub, where he buys his daily pint of beer. His wife watches tv and sends him out to the pub so he can leave her alone, After 65 years of marriage (65, he told me!! Wow, I reached 20 and I was ready to commit homicide), who can blame him for a few hours a day propping up the bar at the boozer? He was carrying a large bag, and he showed me a pair of boxing gloves. Boxing gloves? Yes, he said: in case Will Smith shows up.

My neighbor is 92. I couldn't help but laugh. Awww, come on, it is really funny. Personally, I'd carry a can of mace, but that's me...

I finally got my anatomical charts. They were being reprinted when I ordered them, so that took awhile. And now my hallway closely resembles a doctor's office. It's great... I decided that the worst thing I can do is allow myself to wallow in self pity about the cerebellar damage. It's done, it can't be undone-or so the specialists say. It might take months to achieve something, but hey, I've got time. I hope.

I will keep you posted; right now, it's coffee time.

And sometimes life doesn't suck...it's Thursday

 I can almost retract that statement. Life sucks if you're in the Ukraine, and dodging bombs sent by some homicidal maniac. Then life really sucks. When you're sitting in London and you're pretty safe-life just may be a bit difficult. Difficult, but not impossible.

I'm still recovering from the nasty fall I had nearly six weeks ago. My fault entirely; I never should have gone out in what felt like gale force winds. So all the pain-and boy, was it severe-was self inflicted. Did I learn a lesson? Oh, yes, I did-and was it ever painful.

Life has been very tricky. It hasn't only just started being tricky, it's been difficult since the lockdown. We've all been in deep doodoo for two years, and it's not over yet. I'm still wearing a mask-I'm told that I should, that it's in my best interests to do so. Actually, it's in everybody's best interests to do so, since we all know that Covid isn't finished with us yet. We also know that the mask protects the wearer almost as much as it protects everyone else. 

I just pretend that I'm incognito. And you all know how I feel about the braindeads-who have no manners, and are everywhere-and at least if I'm swearing at them behind the mask, they can't see or hear me-unless I accompany the swearing with a smack of my crutch. That is something they understand.

These two weeks have been tough; I've been a bit depressed, and when I get depressed, I become immobilized for a couple of days. One friend back home has been diagnosed with multiple myeloma, and she said that she has the worst one (apparently there are eight different types). This is someone who seemed to have everything: nice house, husband who makes a lot of money, two teenagers (one has ADHD, so that's been difficult for her)-seemingly no huge worries, And now: myeloma. I was shocked, and there isn't anything I can say. I start thinking about everything I've been through-and I'm still here, and I'm really in pretty good shape (so the consultants say) for my age. I'd be happier if they'd lay off the age!

Everything around me seems to be shifting. I've been ghosted-or is it correct to say "ignored" by a couple of people I've known for thirty years. I messaged my oldest friend in this country on WhatsApp, and she never replied. I did this twice-just to be sure-and nope, I'm history, apparently. And I understand from other friends that this is a trend that took off since lockdown. People are deciding where they want to live, what they want to do with their lives, and which people they choose to have in their lives. Huh-go figure.

I've actually been thinking along the same lines. Who stays? Who goes? Do I really want a moaner and whinger in my life-someone who only uses me as a dumping ground for their gripes? Excuse me! I'm enough of a moaner-but I usually either do it in an empty hours (what those walls could say if they could talk!) or here. And I have a sneaking suspicion that a lot of people who are reading this can relate.

So I'm going to try to walk off my depression-and try to remember all the things for which I should really be grateful. I'm also going to have a very large coffee..

Sometimes Life Just Sucks

 Years ago, someone wrote a book-which he started with "Life is difficult". Is that the understatement of the year, or what? His book was all about the benefits of psychotherapy, as I recall, and was quite boring, because that's all he had to say. He sold millions, then croaked. So his life was no longer difficult. And his next of kin, whoever inherited his millions-well, their lives weren't difficult, either.

I know. I'm such a cynic. I prefer to call myself a realist-and a pragmatist. Some people just call me a prat.

But there are times when everything you see, or touch, or involve yourself in-just turn to shit. So life then really does suck. It's been that sort of month for me. Storm Eunice (what a name, no wonder she was in such a bad mood), and I went out anyway, fell, and very nearly broke my back. I've spent the past four weeks lying on a heating pad; seems that I've cracked my sacrum, and done a lot of soft tissue damage, and (to add insult to injury) damaged my coccyx. No massive fractures, though. I'm really very, very lucky. So maybe I'm not such a prat and life doesn't suck after all...

Anyone who is awake will know that all our utilities are going to be much more expensive from the first of April. This is due to a shortage of fuel, and the fact that gas and oil are primarily supplied by Russia. And we all know about Russia. Why someone doesn't go over there and take out Putin-that psychopath, and war criminal, and general piece of crap, is a mystery.

I just received notification that my gas and electricity are going to double from the first of April. Double. I can't imagine what people with families, and houses, are going to go through. All over the country, people are asking the government how they are going to survive. Do they feed their families or do they have heating and electricity? Many can't do both. I've got a one bedroom apartment that's so small you couldn't swing a cat (if you seriously wanted to swing a cat. Or anything. It's just a saying, duh!). 

Now add to the utility prices doubling for everyone, the price of petrol is going sky high. So if you want to fill your gas tank, you just about have to take out a second mortgage. The prices of public transport (trains, buses, London Underground) are-you guessed it-going sky high, too. What does the government say? Walk. And what does the government do? Give all the MPs and local counsellors huge pay raises. Why? Have they earned them? Hell, no-they're just greedy. It's a disgrace. 

And, in case you're living in another country and reading this - feel absolutely grateful that you aren't living in this country. It's in a terrible state. And food prices are rising dramatically, too. This isn't because of Russia, it's because the demand is high, supplies are expensive, and everything went kaput for the past two years. Pay more and get less, is the saying now.

So there's the dismal state of affairs over here. Braindead Boris must be happy as can be because of the Ukrainian war; it takes people's minds off the fact that he is a crook, a despicable excuse for a human being, and should be kicked out of Downing Street at the earliest opportunity.

There isn't much to say about the Ukrainian war-except that Putin and all his allies should be arrested and tried for war crimes. Everyone did too little-and too late. Innocent people are dying, and Nato is doing nothing. In fact-sanctions are bull. They don't work against a homicidal maniac who fancies himself as the tsar. 

If Hillary had been elected, she wouldn't have stood for this. She would have been in front of Putin and would have stood on his head. That is something I would like to have seen.

Now you're pretty much up to date. And, since it's a bright, sunny day (for once), I'm going out and going to Starbucks. In April, it might be a different story altogether.

Grumpy Pants Rides Again (just not as fast)

 Did I say that I was going to stop being a moaning minnie-because it's boring? I did. I will. Just not today.

I'm by far not an anti-vaxxer. I think that everyone should have the Covid vaccine-at least, those people who want to stay alive and not kill all their nearest and dearest (assuming they've got nearest and dearest).

However! I had the booster two days after I last blogged-and I'm telling you, I thought I was going to die. I had the most horrific reaction-and I was so sick that I couldn't get out of bed for nearly a week. When I finally got out of bed, I fell over-and was just plain lucky that I didn't break any bones. It was horrible.

Now it's four weeks later-and it took most of the first three weeks to get back to normal. Then we had a storm called Eunice. Eunice! Whoever thought of that name must really hate women. Eunice. Blech!! If someone had named me Eunice, I would be in a very crap mood, too. 

The winds blew down trees, the roof of the O2 arena-used for concerts and special events-was destroyed, and Eunice left her mark everywhere. Electricity went out, areas were decimated-and dummy here actually went out to the shop in the early morning. Of course. Sooner or later I had to eat something, so off I went, being blown down the road. The return journey-usually only a ten minute walk-was the problem. I stepped off the kerb and was knocked over. I fell flat on my ass, frankly-I went down so hard that I could not get up again. Embarrassing, or what? A lovely young Japanese couple came over and helped me stand up again, and walked me to a near (ish) bench, where I sat for about twenty minutes and got my wind back. I moved my relevant body parts (arms, legs, everything), and I could move, so I figured that I hadn't broken anything. Again. Another fall. I obviously live a charmed life. Except that I finally went to see the doc, and I was told that I probably cracked my coccyx, my pelvis-I could go to have an x-ray-but I wasn't going to go anywhere near the hospital if I didn't have to.

Bottom line? I had the worst bruises on my backside, and I was so sore and swollen that I couldn't sit down  Excuse me. People have anal sex? They must be either insane or have no nerve endings. I fell on my ass and I was too sore to move for two weeks. Imagine if something went in where it's designed to only go out...

So there you are, and that's where I've been: on a heating pad for the past three weeks. Oh, joy. I couldn't even walk to get to Starbucks. That tells you a lot.

So that's my moan for the day-or month. We've had the two years-soon the "anniversary" of the lockdown will be upon us-as if we want to celebrate? Have you found that you dropped people out of your life in the time it took for you to really think about what you want, and who you want to keep in your life?

I have, too. People I've known for decades have been suddenly unavailable-or, they've been moaning even more that I do! One friend I've known for thirty years emailed me in the middle of the night to tell me how unhappy she is, and what crap her life has turned out to be. Now-I've always been everyone's repository for their moaning-and I've been my own repository for my own moaning, because I've always believed that if things are really bad, you either fix it, walk away-or shut up.

So I emailed her back (at 6am, but she was still sleeping. thank goodness), and I really had a go at her. I've heard this long winded dumping several times before, and I realized after I got a short reply, thanking me for caring about her, and saying that things look better in the light of day, that this will keep happening until I put a stop to it. She's becoming a Stepford Wife. that's her choice.

The whole point of sharing this story with you is that I can no longer waste my time being someone else's dumping ground-no matter how much I like them. And I'm willing to bet that those of you who read this, who share this with others, who either agree or agree to disagree-you've been there, too. So what do you do to let them know that you hear them, that you care about them? Unless you want to have one less friend (or more) - you stop responding. Just stop.

Eventually I'll get yet another self-indulgent, self-pitying load of cobblers, as my friend offloads her lifetime of grievances. Do I say: "you chose it. So live with it". Errr-even I'm not that cruel. Honest, but not cruel. No, I just don't comment at all. I'll be saying that I'm very sad that she feels that way. And that will be it. Then I'll change the subject... I'm heaving a big sigh. Don't let anyone give you a shit sandwich. Don't acknowledge, don't reciprocate, don't engage any more than you really have to.

Now, of course, if I could only take my own advice!!

I don't know about you-but it's most definitely time for a very strong coffee. And no more falling over.

Procrastination and Depression: the heavy hitters

 Procrastination may be the thief of time-but depression is the thief of life. Add a nasty case of Covid to the mix, and you've got one doozy of a trifecta. How to give yourself a triple whammy...

In truth, that's what the past two years have been like for me-and probably for most people, too. I'm coming clean with all this because so many people think they've been alone and abandoned. I felt exactly like that-but I've been feeling like that for the past 12 years.

My friend back home suggested - after the gentamicin debacle - that I could help a lot of people if I blogged about my experiences and my recovery. Somehow it all morphed into my feelings about this country, living here, the people, the government (still sucks) - but less about how I was able to cope with the devastating loss of my balance system, my ability to see clearly, some hearing loss, and the refusal of the incompetent morons who let this happen to even apologize. That was exceedingly painful. So I named them all. Several times. And, although some of the heat (hatred) is gone, I still want people to know who they are. Other patients shouldn't have to suffer at the hands of Hilary Longhurst, Sophia Grigoriadou, Philip (not very) Bright-and, of course, the newest addition to the evil trio: Matt (fucky Bucky) Buckland, the spawn of Satan. I said once that Buckland probably beats his wife, shouts at his children (and worse), and kicks the dog. I stand by that assessment. 

It has been a very long and arduous road-made worse by the recent tests that show that gentamicin didn't only destroy my vestibular (balance) system, leaving me dizzy and sick 100% of the time. It also affected my hearing and my eyesight. For someone who loves to read (and enjoys going online) that is a tragedy in itself. Gentamicin caused damage to the cerebellum, the part of the brain that governs balance (among other things). Neuroplasticity-according to the neurologist, who should (and does) know, won't help. The damage is irreversible and permanent. You can imagine how huge the blow was.

I said that I was going to order some anatomical wall charts. I've scoured a resource of laminated charts that I can tape onto the walls. Why make it look like a hospital room? Well-my theory is that I can stop and look at the charts several times a day, and visualize my body healed completely. Visualization works on a lot of things-so why shouldn't visualization work on healing the body parts that have been damaged?

Medical science knows a lot of things about a lot of things-but science doesn't know everything about everything. 

I should be receiving the charts in a couple of week ( they're coming from the U.S.), and I will be posting them and getting to work. 

I'll let you know-if this works for me, it will work for anyone who is motivated to heal. I trust the body's ability to heal most things. Why not this one?

I've spent my whole life hearing "you can't do this, you  can't do that, this will never work, you will fail."

Watch me.