FED UP!

 I'm fed up today. Woke up with the grumps for no particular reason.  Things have been going quite well [touching wood] lately, had my fiith chemo without any major dramas' and even the sun is making itself more and more visible so the cause of my sour mood is hardly obvious.

I'm fed up appearing to be brave...brave I certainly am not in fact I tend to quiver internally non-stop, a quiver which makes my hands shake knees pop and gives me palpitations.

I'm fed up being asked to verbalise my thoughts on the mistaken assumption that my agonised looks indicate they have meaning beyond wondering if the two seagulls I have been watching are going to get it on. I think 'small' things...how to cook lasagne..is the front door of my son's house black or white can I manage another half hour on the couch, shall I take a sleeping pill tonight?

Went to spend the day at the Hospice yesterday and it was a good day, had some laughs saw lots of folks worse than me being bright and brave and ready. I even managed to go outside and look for the Labyrinth

walk a little way then sit for a while in the splendid sunshine. One day I shall walk it entirely...supposed to make one feel 'something'.


I'm off to give up more blood, my darlings...the local vampire 'hang out' [geddit] does very well by me.

Soon with much more better stuff [nod to Suldog]

IT'S BEEN A LONG TIME SINCE I'VE HAD A BATTER DAY.

Yesterday was such a good day. Though, like most days that are 'marked' as different it began with a hospital appointment for  pre-assessment before Friday's Chemo. Blood was taken and the gods were smiling , because rather than the trooping of the Vampires standing in line to prove that they can find a vein...my little nurse hit it first time and we were done and dusted and out of there before the cock crowed eleven. A minor detour to pick up some work for NOAOS and the world was our oyster, scallop or cockle. (The reason for the seafood theme will emerge tout de suit  )


First stop was B&Q in Canterbury [for those of you from foreign parts B&Q is a vast store selling everything you could possibly need to build a house including bathroom and kitchen. It is also a garden centre.]
NOAOS had a time of it shuttling between my chair and the large wagon as I chose three large pkts compost, two cherry trees and a plum tree and five rose bushes. (And if that isn't a clear case of optimism I don't know what is.)

By the time we had arranged for delivery we were both getting hungry and we decided to listen to JP for once and his suggestion that we eat at a restaurant in Whitstable and, once again luck was with us with a parking space outside the place from which the most heavenly and well remembered smells were wafting out and around our heads so that we looked like the Bisto Kids raising our noses  and sniffing like bloodhounds on the scent of a good gravy. The dining room was packed but we found two seats and ordered, mouths salivating..

FISH&CHIPS

Now I am a bit of a connoisseur of fish and chips having owned and run one for a short while [it was too successful and we sold it sharpish] and it is many years since I have had anything that tasted half as good...either the fish had been frozen or the batter too thick or soggy and chips too greasy. Our plates, when they arrived  overflowed with dry crisp chips and a large piece of fish in crispy bubbles of batter. It was, like the best meal ever...accompanied by bread and butter [a must] sweet gherkin and a mug of tea we were silent as we chomped our way through our pesci. delights, stopping only for the occasional thumbs up or gulp of oxygen.

At one time fish and chips was a poor man's dish, as cheap as the newspaper it came wrapped in. Not any more. Ours  did cost the equivalent of a steak but hey, 'twas worth every penny.

Come Spring!

I keep saying it...like a mantra; Come spring and I will be better. Come spring and simply seeing the sun will be enough to make everything right...come the Springtime all will be well.

I've planned a party. The garden will look wonderful, all Lavender and roses. JP's grape vine will be flourishing in it's new position facing due south and the hammock I have fallen in love with will have arrived and been hung and invites me to swing.. All the children will be here and we will have cooked up a storm of chicken and potato salad and crudités, of  crisp French bread and a groaning cheeseboard.

I forgot to say that of course the weather will be perfect, warm enough to be glad of that breath of a breeze and the touch of a new cashmere  cardie...a perfect compliment to my maxi dress of  voile.

Of course you are all welcome

THE NEW, NOT SO NICE, ME.

Since the advent of The Flecker I've changed. To be expected most of you will say...be odd if you hadn't.You must be apprehensive, angry, frustrated at your lack of control over the day to day running of your household...irritated by the restrictions the symptoms place upon you..and yes, a little bit of all of that comes into it but the biggest change is in my attitude to the world around me.

I just don't care who is running the Rovers Return or the Queen Vic. It means naught to me if  Dr. Who regenerates without me or if the Daleks take over the world. I have no interest in knowing which of the three Stoogies have put their foot in their mouths and lied to us again on National telly, nor do I care who wins

 the US presidency, who is the chef du jour, who escaped the Jungle, skated their socks off, won any one of Cowell's tacky shows or became a multi-millionaire over night. I cannot read further than the first lines of any book or newspaper before losing interest and spend a good deal of time staring off into space while listening to Radio Four...the only medium that does not bore me to tears. 

 

The wide circle I do care about encompasses half the world includes the family of course and old friends and my blogging mates.

As for the rest it's still all about me.

Back but empty-headed

It's been a bit rough and Saz has kept you up to date so no point in re-hashing.

Suffice it to say I am once again attached to the Net, and I will never turn my computer off again, ever. NOAOS has fixed it so that Paco 'hibernates' who'd of thunk it? Oh and MLS, I didn't do it and don't know how to undo it, but for you and all of us who hate veri...it will get fixed.


I hate how I feel...just...not well. Tired, of course  and a little bit icky and a little bit this and a little bit that; and the cellulitus in my arm, caused, unbelievably by the rubbing of the plastic name tab at the Hospice of all places, means I must try to sleep with my arm elevated and the cashmere scarf tied to the bedpost precisely for that purpose raised a few eyebrows.


My hair is growing in, curly, and the fact that it is also snowy white is making me look more bald than ever. Rather like a bald eagle.

And now a picture to make you smile, circa 1972

The blonde and the Bad Boy

Streeeeeee-ike Three? Or, here Pussy.

Because of my tiny deep veins I am left with massive bruises each time a Vampire comes to take blood, it was decided that I should have a PIC line installed...a permanent line inserted beneath the skin from an arm along the Brachial into or near the heart. This was to be done two days before Chemo. So, last Wednesday NOAOs took me over to the hospital for what should have been a quick routine job. Turned out to be another four hours before we left and as I was washed out went straight home.

On Friday I noticed that my left hand was swollen [the side where the PIC line had been inserted] and my heart sank and with good reason; what should have been at the most, a three hour stay ended up to be six and a half plus some bad news.

By the time I was first seen, doctors consulted,  scans decided, waiting times counted, scan completed, colleagues consulted and decisions made and finally passed on to me, and two hours had past. Seems that the Line was in three centimetres too far, that I now had a blood clot or two and...icing on the cake kiddos...would have to inject myself into my abdomen once every evening for...whistles bell and drum roll here please:

THE NEXT SIX MONTHS


You couldn't make it up, could you.

By the time the chemotherapy had run in and we were finally home and was still murmuring 'six months, I should live that long.'

But then I thought...strike three...you are out kiddo. But NOAOS son said
'What if all this time you are not that strikee, but the cat with nine lives? Still got 6 for the feckers to feck up.

There's a thought.

CALL ME NAIVE, BUT...

IF I HAD SAID TO YOU TWENTY, THIRTY YEARS THAT IF YOU GAVE ME A SET SUM OF MONEY TO INVEST FOR YOU, THAT PROMISED A SET SUM FOR YOUR PENSION...ON PAPER AND SIGNED MY NAME OR  THE NAME OF MY FIRM, TO THAT PROMISE. AND IF I TOOK YOUR MONEY AND SPREAD IT AROUND RISKING IT IN  WAYS NOT AGREED UPON IN OUR ORIGINAL TALKS. AND THEN ONE DAY THE NEWSPAPERS RAN WITH THE HEADLINE THAT MILLIONS WILL BE AFFECTED AS MORE FUNDS FAIL.


WOULD YOU NOT BE BLOODY ANGRY WITH ME?
WOULDN'T YOU DEMAND TO KNOW WHERE THE MONEY HAS GONE?
AND WHO HAS BEEN FIRED?
AND WHY I...NOW CEO AM STILL PAID MILLIONS?


I am not actually terribly political...and as JP swore that his father never used insurers etc and look at him, we never ever insured ourselves...cars, houses yes, businesses, yes but endowments, pensions nope, we had savings and they were safe, weren't they? Well until we had the 0.1/2 interest rate we were.

But l confess to blood red rage when l read of more ordinary, hard-working, salt of the earth, pay up and shut up folk losing their money and even having to delay their retirement.

HAS ANYONE BEEN JAILED?
HOW CAN THIS BE RIGHT?