Knowledge is Power (except when it isn't) - and it's back to the gates of Hell. Again...

 I got so fed up with the state of the world and everyone around me moaning - like I've got all the answers? FFS (for fuck's sake-and now I have to restart the swear box, since I wore out the old one), I don't even know half the questions. We find out the questions, search for the answers, and by the time we get them, we keel over and croak. What's fun about that?

But seriously...I went off grid for a week, out into the wilds of Kent, into a small guest house with no radio, no television, no computer access, and no noise. None. If I wanted to go online, I had to go to Costa, and it was a case of maybe it'll work-then again, maybe not. So it was a real learning experience, I can tell you.

There was a Tesco, so I didn't starve, and there were several churches, in case I felt the need to sit on a bench by the churchyard and do absolutely nothing. There were lots of hairdressers, and two pubs. Around me in North London there are more pubs than hairdressers. In fact, there are more pubs than anything else!

I brought a book, which I read in a couple of days, since there wasn't really anything else to do. And I walked - a lot-and sat by the churchyard and meditated. Now-I'm not a weirdo, just in case you think that I am someone who is macabre and loves cemeteries. But I remember (vaguely, it was a while ago) stopping at the cemetery near our summer home and reading the headstones. I always notice the dates, the inscriptions, and, most importantly, if the graves were being well cared for. I used to wonder what the people were like when they were younger, and when I saw a child's grave I always said a little prayer. Weird? Well, maybe. And I remember my mother telling me to never step on a grave, always go around, because it' very disrespectful to step on someone's grave. 

That all came back to me as I sat by the churchyard, noting how many graves were left untended, wondering what happened to the families of the deceased. Perhaps I'm wondering if I will end up like Eleanor Rigby (if you know the reference, I know how old you are!). 

One thought always leads to another, and in the stillness and peace and quiet that I enjoyed while I was hibernating, I started thinking about longevity, and how it's true that nobody gets off this earth alive. Sooner or later, we all croak, and we've got no idea when or how it's going to happen. So we need to put our skates on and do the best we can right now, because we don't know if we will still be around tomorrow.

That isn't really negative; it's simply realistic. I'm thinking about the Stoics and how they said we should make the most out of everything while we still can. And on Tuesday, my GP's office called to ask for a sample for the lab. I'm losing a lot of weight, and I'm not doing too well, so everyone is bothered. I left a sample, and went on my merry way. But-

On Wednesday afternoon my GP called me. My GP never calls me, she's that busy-so I knew there was a problem. There was the presence of blood. She said that she is fast-tracking me to the colorectal cancer surgeons at my hospital. You can imagine my state of absolute panic. Calm? Cool? Unworried? Oh, hell, no. My mother was one of nine children, and I used to joke that at that time there was no television-but seven died of cancer, the other two keeled over from heart attacks. So there's a very unpleasant history there.

I got a call from a nurse on Thursday night, and a call from another nurse last night. I've got an appointment to see the surgeons next Thursday afternoon. We'll then decide the next move. Oh, joy-just what I didn't want and never expected.

Of course, I emailed my friends, and they all raced back with notes of support. They also reminded me that it could be nothing-and if it was something noxious, they will take care of it. It isn't like lockdown, where surgeries were cancelled because people were dying of Covid. Another reason to be thankful: two lots of Covid and a lengthy period of long Covid, still here, still kicking, still mouthing off and trying to help people who can't (or won't) help themselves.

Will I ever change? Nah-probably not. Once an activist, always an activist.

So-that brings us up to date. I will, of course, let you know what the surgeons decide. Meanwhile I'm trying very hard to be grateful for living this long and being this healthy. Trying. Not necessarily succeeding, but trying anyway. 

 

Murphy's Law Strikes Again...and again...and again...

Ahhh, the weeks since I last wrote. First, we had a blackout in the area - more than 65 properties had no power. People were freaking out, running from door to door to find out what happened and how to fix it. Did I do the same? Well...no, I did not.

I got on the phone (after I found my trusty flashlight, and patted myself on the back for just changing the batteries at the beginning of the month), and started calling people to actually discover why we all were blacked out and when we'd have the lights on again. I rang the council's emergency number. That was a waste of time. I got a numpty who could barely speak English, let alone tell me anything useful. He said to call my utility provider. More proof that the council is completely useless...

As I was calling around to find out what was going on, my phone suddenly rang. It was the power network, someone who had emailed me during lockdown and advising me that I'm a priority customer and if any power went out, they would contact me. I thought-oh, sure, who are these people and why would I believe them. How wrong I was! They were fantastic.

I was reassured that the electricity would be back on between the hours of 4pm and 5pm. I was asked if I have any medical devices that require electricity. I've got a heart monitor, and it requires electricity to work. So I was told not to worry, that underground cables had broken and needed to be repaired, so the power in the area needed to be shut down. Well-obviously!

I've made fun of just about every service (or lack thereof) I can think of - but I have to say that the power network was excellent. I went around and knocked on doors to tell people that the lights would be back on in about an hour. True to the lack of manners of people in this country, not a single person said thanks. I'm used to rudeness and stupidity, I've lived here long enough to expect it. And the power went back on in less than an hour, and the network both texted and phoned me. I wish that was the kind of service provided by everyone in this country. Sadly-no.

Mr. Murphy and his sodding law decided to reach up and bite me a few days later. I started to fall over-embarrassing as well as painful-as I realized that BPPV had returned with a vengeance. So I had to try to get an appointment with the vestibular physiotherapist to get it sorted. It's easier to get a date with the King than it is to get an emergency appointment with the physio. And for some weird reason there was a massive amount of traffic, so it took me three times longer than normal. There I was, staggering up Euston Road, trying to avoid the idiots and degenerates, rushing to get there in time to meet my friend, a nurse whom I've known for nearly twenty years, to have a cup of tea (desperately needed by now), and catch up. That was the highlight of my day. In fact, that was the highlight of my week (I really do need to get out more).

The blackout, the recurrence of BPPV, and various other annoyances (which, on their own, would be just minor stuff to be ignored. Piled on top of each other, however...) really increased my impatience and my grouchiness. But-today is another day, and I had my pity party over the past few days (actually, the past two weeks), and I'm done with wallowing. It's really easy to wallow-but it has no useful purpose. It wastes time. And, really, who knows how much time we've got? 

I had the Epley yesterday, but it didn't work. Symptoms are back today. Yesterday I was told to do nothing after the treatment, so that's what I did: nothing. Today I've got cleaning to do, laundry to do, and I'll do my best to stay upright throughout. It could so easily have been worse. Count my blessings? I'm trying to do that and hang onto the doorframe at the same time.

Vegan January? Alcohol free January? No thank you to both...

 If I'd made any resolutions, I would have broken them already-and it's only the first week of January!

Vegan? No, turkey doesn't count. So that's that then. As for any kind of booze- I don't usually drink anyway. So that doesn't apply to me. I talk about alcohol-but I guess I'm one of  those annoying people who really don't like the stuff. 

Did you know that some people lack the enzyme-whatever enzyme that is-to metabolize alcohol? I didn't know that, either. My GP has been on at me for years to have one or two small glasses of wine (glasses. Not bottles) every evening, because it'll help me sleep-and because it's good for the heart. This is my GP. Maybe she's secretly a wino.

I actually  learned this from a gastroenterologist some years ago; I said that I get seriously unwell after a couple of glasses of anything, I slur my words, I stumble (as if I'm not dizzy enough all the time anyway!). and I sound like I'm drunk-after two drinks. Am I a cheap date, or what? And he explained the enzyme that is lacking in a lot of people who have the same problem. I should be pleased; I'll never be an alcoholic. Kettle Chips, on the other hand...

I've spent an inordinate amount of time being angry-no, enraged-with the cripplers, the morons from where I used to live, the council because they clearly play favorites, and are racist,  incompetent, prejudiced, discriminatory, and abusive. And there's nothing I can do about it.

I approached the Ombudsman-but they can only make suggestions to the Council, and that is where their power ends. I approached the local councillor, who has been great, has taken up my issues, but, in the end, can do precisely nothing. Haringey Council managers are a law unto themselves, and they behave (or misbehave) however they want, without the interference of anyone else. I've reached the end of the road.

I had the chance over the holidays-when everyone else seemed to be preoccupied with Christmas, and New Years, and strikes, and flu, and more variants that could be toxic-to actually sit in the park (in the cold, between the raindrops) to sit and meditate. I just decided that if I want to be happy, I need to let go of the past, and the things, people and events that no longer serve me. It's a good idea, and I'm taking it day by day. Sometimes I'm taking it minute by minute.

You've been with me for awhile, and you know the struggles I'm facing and the resistance I'm having when it comes to change. But I look in the mirror and I think: shit, where did all those grey hairs, the lines, the wrinkles, the sags and bags come from? If I want to accomplish anything of any value-even sharing my challenges with anyone else-I need to shift my little ass and get a move on. Little, by the way, is relative...

This week I have an abdominal ultrasound to see if there's anything there that shouldn't be there. It's coming up to ten years since the double mastectomy and all the cancer treatment. And I think that it took me ten years to appreciate all the things I have: like "life" being the most important one.

Ten years! Some people learn lessons more slowly than others. But we do learn. Eventually.

Perseverance is a superpower...

 We made it through Christmas. We made it through three difficult years. The first two-for me, anyway, were a little complicated by Covid, a flooded property, having lung problems, and, mainly, dealing with the landlord, who clearly couldn't care less if I died. 

Imagine their surprise-and obvious disappointment-when they discovered that I'm not so easy to kill. And there's the lesson: perseverance is a superpower. Perseverance. Persistence. Obstinacy. The refusal to give up if there is even a remote chance of winning (and survival).

Every time I hit an obstacle, I get up and keep going, no matter how ready I am to quit. I will never quit-unless, of course, I have done everything I could, explored all alternatives, and realize that I have to stop somewhere.

I look back at the cripplers-Hilary Longhurst, Sophia Grigoriadou, Phil (not so) Bright, and the son of Satan Matthew Buckland-and I realize that the anger and hatred I felt because they were (and probably still are) incompetent and negligent, nearly killing me-I realize that my feelings propelled me forward. I had the choice of being crippled for the rest of my life, in a wheelchair, having to have someone wash me and wipe my backside, unable to walk or do anything of any value-or fighting back. I decided to fight back. They wouldn't win. And they haven't won. I'm the one who's won.

Everyone knows how terrible the past six or seven months have been; my massive mistake was getting involved with tenants who are incapable of doing anything on their own. I did everything, and, in the end, they screwed me over and left me holding a bag of shit (the landlord again). It was certainly a learning experience-never to be repeated.

The biggest catastrophes-gentamicin, breast cancer, lung and heart difficulties, and, of course, dealing with people who have the intelligence of a door handle and the maturity of a two year old-all carry within them some value, something to examine and learn from, something that  will teach us if we only stop long enough to stop being afraid, or angry, or filled with hatred, stop panicking, stop giving up...

I'll be taking these thoughts with me into the new year. I've said every December for the past-I don't even remember how many years-that I refuse to take the previous year's stress. anxieties, fears, angers and basic bullshit into the next year. No more carryovers! I've said that; now let's see if I do it.

I'll keep you updated on my progress. I'm the procrastination queen, remember, so that will be something huge to tackle. But-I've tacked worse, so that's another item for my to do list.

Have you made any new year's resolutions? I always do-and then I break them within the first week-sometimes within the first day (or three). No resolutions, only the desire (and intention) to live life differently in 2023. Use what I've learned. Apply what I've learned. Perseverance and determination.  

I might not always win-but I will never lose.

Happy New Year. Live. Laugh. Love. Be happy. And never, ever give up.

About that turkey

 Whoever thought that I would be blogging on the morning of Christmas Eve? Actually-I did. I went to Marks & Spencer to get a turkey. It was only a few days ago, so I didn't get caught in the crush of people waiting until the last minute to decide that they really should go and buy food for Christmas. 

That was yesterday. There were so many people, you'd think that there was a famine. Everyone was crushing everyone else, tempers were flaring, one woman was shouting that there wasn't a single chicken in the supermarket-and there was nearly a fist fight. So I left, obviously. I couldn't help but wonder what they were going to start throwing at each other.

When I looked the other day, I saw that a small turkey-and I mean "small": a little over 1kg (about two pounds) cost £50. That's £50!! So I decided that the chicken I have in the freezer will do very nicely. I'll do what I did at Thanksgiving: wave my hand over it and pronounce it a turkey.

The reason I actually risked my life and limb yesterday to go to the supermarket was to buy batteries for my clock. My clock will have to wait until Monday. Or Tuesday. Or Easter.

I didn't get near enough yesterday to see anything I would have wanted. But the other day, it was early morning and I saw a lot of frozen turkeys. Hmmm...

Now frozen turkeys: how long have they been frozen? Since before the onset of the avian flu? I hope? Are they old enough to cause freezer burn? 

It occurred to me that a frozen turkey would make the perfect weapon. Anyone upsets you or winds you up, just turn around and whack them in the head. And when they go down (come on, it's a frozen turkey. Do keep up. Then when they're down, hit them again and tell them to stay down. A few smacks in the head with a frozen turkey, and someone will decide to behave. Or call an ambulance. Whatever.

Imagine having to go to court because you hit some deserving person with a frozen turkey. And the judge asks you to explain. You say that it was an accident, because the turkey was frozen and, therefore, slippery. How many times was it slippery? Three? No, the last time you aimed, you missed.

The judge asks what you did with the turkey. You reply that you cooked it and ate it?

You ate the turkey? asks the judge. And you turn and look at the judge very sternly and reply: Of course we ate it. Have you seen the price of turkeys?

So, on that note, let me wish everyone a very Merry Christmas. Like I said last time, calories don't count (yeah, right!). Enjoy, don't let anyone upset you (like  I do the other 364 days of the year), and, if in doubt, go out and buy a frozen turkey. 

Nearly down to the wire...

 Anyone else look back look back at nearly three years when our lives changed and the pandemic became more than just a word-but a thing? And a lethal thing, at that?

People suddenly became nicer, and helpful-and, of course, we all knew that wouldn't last. Now we're allegedly out of the woods, everyone is back to being as ratty as they were before lockdown. My friend in Dublin wrote and reminded me that people really suck. She's a nurse, so she has seen just about everything. 

All the turkeys that haven't been killed by the outbreak of avian flu are in the shops now. I went to my favorite (Marks & Spencer) and saw a small one - only £50!! What?? So I'm reconsidering-chicken, maybe, or even something vegetarian. When I see footage of abattoirs, I feel really sick. This is a good time to start eating my veggies...

I heard from a couple of people who have been viciously verbally attacked by those people I told you about... and that's another good reason for moving. There's nothing I can do about it. And I still don't know any more about twitter than I did the last time I wrote. I'll figure it out. 

We had enough rain to wash away all the snow and ice of last week. It's now around 9C, so I'm happy. I keep walking, and I just had my tenth acupuncture treatment yesterday. We might be able to stretch it to fifteen-but then we'll have to stop. Any physio treatments have a final date. And I have to say that acupuncture has helped the balance. I did say that I won't stop fighting the devastating diagnosis- so I'll see what the new year brings. I'm just happy that I'm still here and that I'm as healthy as I am.

Have a happy Christmas, everyone, and if I get drunk and disorderly (that really would be a miracle. And a first) and forget to write next week, a happy and healthy new year. Pandemic free.

Remember that over the Christmas period, calories don't count. What the heck-we can all pay for the excesses in January...

Counting down the days to peace and quiet

 Excuse me-do what?? What is peace? And quiet? It's the week before Christmas, we had snow last weekend...that's what I said: snow. Lots of it. In London. Thanks, global warming. And with snow came the inevitable: ice. Lots of that, too.

I did manage to move just before the big snowstorm, so that was great. The side roads and pavements were sheets of ice-and even the main roads weren't cleared immediately. Side roads and pavements are still sheets of ice nearly a week later. The Brits aren't used to the winters we get in New York. Gritters and snow ploughs are mobilized at the first drops of snow. 

Not here, though. And with the NHS on its knees and thousands of nurses on strike, this is not a good time to fall on the ice (or anywhere) and break something. 

Nurses on strike. Postmen on perpetual strike (I haven't had a daily-or weekly-or monthly delivery of mail since the beginning of November). Trains and train drivers and employees are on strike. There are strikes at the airports. Did I leave anyone out? Isn't this a striking country!

I saw a group of postmen standing by one of the post offices-so I naturally had to go over to talk to them. Am I just nosy? Or is it natural curiosity and interest that motivates me to go and find out information-because the media is so full of misinformation that I usually ignore what I read and what I hear. So I walked over, having already stopped one of the local postmen I'd known for years and who was moved to another area.

I've now heard a lot of similar stories from the people who do all the heavy lifting: the front line postmen (and women) themselves. As much as I would like to start receiving mail-some of which is important- I had to say that I support them 100%. Everyone who is striking has a point: they're treated like crap, overworked and underpaid, and they do have a right to a pay rise that is in line with inflation. And inflation is astronomical-14% or more? I stopped listening at 14%. But government ministers are demanding pay raises-for doing nothing.

Go figure. You really couldn't make this up.

I tweeted about those odious people I told you about-at @limerabbit44 ... I must admit that I was expecting some kind of response from somewhere. Well-nothing. Very discouraging. And I was planning on moving anyway, so that was a plus. But now I think I need to do some research to find out how I can get the word out about them before they do more damage next week. I still keep in touch with some of the older people, so I get a clear view of what's going on. But it's frustrating when I know that there's nothing more I can do.

It should be getting warmer today: up to 0C (32F). An absolute heat wave. So it'll be unpacking, cleaning, staying out of trouble (seriously), and doing more tweeting when I can figure out my next move.

I'm pretty sure that I will be posting again before Christmas. But, in the unlikely event that we have another blizzard, it might be a bit later. In any case, happy holidays to everyone.

Eat lots, drink lots, stay out of trouble if you can (I know, this is me talking!), and remember that between now and New Year's calories don't count.