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Swan Lake

My head is still reeling from seeing Matthew Bourne's version of Swan Lake up at Saddlers Wells this afternoon.

Absolutely brilliant in every respect; the set, the lighting, the modern twist he put on it....and oh... the dancing. I sat there with the tears pouring down my face, moved beyond speech at the grace of movement and the silent power of emotions conveyed.

I've never been to The Ballet before, and this was not conventional ballet (I'm going to see a more traditional version of Swan Lake at ENO a bit later on in the year so I can make a better comparison)

I didn't even know the story of Swan Lake - and I deliberately didn't find out when I knew I was going to see this, because I wanted to see if I could interperate it correctly without knowing anything apart from that bit in the score everyone knows, even if they don't know where it comes from.

And... the dance and the movement told a story a thousand words couldn't even begin to convey. Who needs words when the body language says it all?

It was an all male ensemble who performed as the Swans (but a Mixed Company) - I can't imagine how it could have been otherwise; swans arn't fluffy, they're big, strong powerful wild creature. When this version first was first performed, it was uncomfortable for some of the audience because they (mistakenly) believed it was homo erotic. Apparently a lot of men walked out when the Prince and The Swan danced together because they felt uncomfortable at watching 2 men dance togethersmiley - rolleyes

It never once occured to me that it was; the dancers to me were just a whirl of powerfully conveyed emotions, the sory of desparately wanting to be loved and accepted for oneself. Sexuality didn't come into it as far as I was concerned.

Oh boy; what an introduction to an art form I've never eperienced before.

It was fantastic.smiley - somersault

Discuss this Journal entry [3]

Latest reply: Jan 23, 2010

Can't think of anything particually appropriate!

Thursday 15th January 2010

Just as well I'm about as mentally and intellectually prepared as I am for this forthcoming Colostomy (I can recommend very highly the Colostomy Association - they're absolutely brilliant). I had to go to the GPs on Monday, and for a cool calm collected young man


(- they're all young nowadays if they're under 40 - what a sad indictment, eh?)

I've never seen him so animated or concerned... or glavanised into action, when I asked (slightly tentively) if stools should actually be black.

"No! They should be brown!" he said

"Ah. Then we've got a problem, Houston" I remarked "Mine are black - have been for about 2 weeks constantly now"

He went into an explanation that my stomach could be passing dried/dead blood into the bowel and said he'd Fast Track me for a Gastrophoscopy.

The Receptionist from Canterbury Hospital rang me today and I've an appointment with "Oncology" on Tuesday afternoon coming. I've elected to be mildly sedated because I want to work with them, and not struggle, as I know I'd be very likely to do - apparently it's not a pleasant experience and I've always fought not flighted, if it's something horrible going on.

Eldest Son's been elected/enlisted to come with me and take me home in a taxi afterwards.

I've just looked up "Oncology"; I had a feeling it was to do with cancer and tumours........and lo and behold, it is.

Oh bugger.

Just when you thought it was safe to come out.smiley - headhurts

Mind you... it may well account for why both stomach and abdomen are so grossly distended, and have been for the last couple of years.

And yes... I have drawn it to my GPs attention before ....AND the consultants... etc etc, and have just been told to lose weightsmiley - rolleyes

Don't they think I want to?

And *would* do? It's not lack of trying I assure you; I really *do eat very sensibly and everyone who knows me has often remarked I have a small appetite.

But regardless of a managing to keep my weight stable (although decidedly hefty)stable my belly has distended to hugely pregnant appearing proportions, and I'd prefer to wear Kaftans and things baggy thru choice, if you know what I mean.

Oh well; it's not long until Tuesday, so I won't have too long to wait, so I can't see the point of getting too stewed up about it really - if I've got a Nasty, then worrying won't do a thing to alter it. And if I haven't got a Nasty... then all the worry will be a waste of energy, won't it?

And besides, I've got my first appointment with the Colostomy Care Nurse tomorrow, so it's probably better to get one thing sorted at a time, one after the other.

But the word Oncololgy has certainly distracted my attention from the other word I don't like much - well, 2 words, actually - no, 3:Get it right.

Permanent: Colostomy: and Stoma.


On the plus side - and lets look at this flippantly and positively, I may yet achieve my wish of returning to a svelte dress and the 38-28-38 figure I had up until my late 30s/early 40s.

But obviously, in not quite the way I had hoped for.

Honestly. Middle Age don't half play pluck with a woman,sometimessmiley - erm

Discuss this Journal entry [31]

Latest reply: Jan 14, 2010

Doomed I Tell Ya... Doomed

If I were a superstitious person... or what's known in the trade as a bit of a Cassandra I'd be starting to take this all a bit more personally. As it is, I'm not, mainly because I've got enough self confidence to put it down to "just one of them things"

Thursday evening, going to Big Jans (and ultimately) The Mothers, via Lakeside, to pick up a couple of dining room chairs from glorious Ikea - what d'you mean, prosaic taste, matey?smiley - yikes I'll have you know they're cheap, but good quality, and I do both in abundance! - I had my first vitally necessary Insurance Claimable shunt in my car.

I still can't quite believe it's happened, really.

I was nearly at the Queen Elizabeth Bridge, to get over the Thames, But it was getting dusky. Traffic was heavy, so I wasn't going fast - I seldom *do* speed, I'm one of natures plodders, but I was ticking along nice and slowly, mainly because of the myriad traffic lights and junctions.

ANYWAY, long story short, I *saw* the lorry waiting for the lights to change, and obvioulsy, braked... but for the first time in my life I must have misjudged the distance...

There was an almighty "KERRR_UMP!", lots of tinkly broken glass noises....and me sitting behind the wheel liked a dazed owl, gazing happilly at the GPS thinking "Gosh, that's lovely bright colours... I wish that bloody lorry would move - the lights can't be taking THAT long to change, surely?"

Think I had gone into instant shock, because usually I'm a bit more action packed than that, but I honestly did not have a *clue* what to do. I just sat there like a lemon, gazing at the GPs.

After a while - seemed ages, but it probably wasn't - the lorry driver peeped into the driver's window, asked if I was alright and I *still wasn't with it enough to say anything more sensible than to say "Yeah... I'm fine - arn't these traffic Lights taking a long time to change?"

Fortunately, he was very calm, and took charge. I tried reversing back, but the front of the car was welded tight to his lorry, so he gently pulled forward... (more tinkly winkly shattering glass sounds) and we could survey the damage...

Lorry seemed fine (it was one of those really big buggers)... my car had a very concertina'd bonnet, on the left and the glass smashed to smithereens on the right headlight and indicator light.

Oddly enough, the light bulbs were absolutely fine, and still worked!

And the engine fired up fine - the shunt seems to have missed all the vital bits of the engine/radiator, etc etc. It still drove fine, far as I could ascertain.

So we swapped details, I went back to smoking (AGAIN!!!) and after a bit of a recover, I cautiously edged out into the by now dark evening and rush hour traffic. Got over the bridge, and drove sedately the 10 minute journey it takes to get to Jans.

And now it's Sunday.

I've done the necessary nursing I had to do for Jan, AND the necessary chauffeuring to and from her local hospital where she had to have a troublesome tooth pulled under "Serious Medical Supervision" as she's on warfarin, and then onto Mothers, who had a fit of the vapours and panics when I told her I'd had a shunt - she could *see I was in one piece, but she's a great one for dramatising all the "What If" scenarioes, and although it's human naturem, that sort of daft thinking I find completely pointless - We are Here and It Is Now, is more my philosophy. I've all my limbs, no bruises, and I'm not put off driving.

So it's down to practical problems, really - I've never had to make a serious insurance claim before, so that'll be a bit interesting, I guess.... and I'm peeved that because the car is old, and therefore not insured for a vast amount of money, there is a liklihood that it'll cost more to fix the crumpled bonnet than it's actually worth, so the Company will deem it a write off.

But I'll deal with that if it comes to it.


But...

what *is it about me and cars?smiley - headhurts

Oh well... if I don't have to buy petrol I can afford nicotine patches once I've decided to stop smoking again.

So every cloud has a sort of silver lining, even though it *is a bit on the tarmished sidesmiley - winkeye

Discuss this Journal entry [16]

Latest reply: Nov 29, 2009

It's Happened Again!!!!

smiley - steamsmiley - grr<smiley - steamsmiley - cross

Yet again, my car has been vandalised - think the last time was a mere 13months ago. And I *still haven't got the Compensation awarded to me from the Courts, either, but that's neither here nor there for today.

*This time, the dear little oiks in my neighbourhood decided it might be fun to smash the drivers window; that happened last night, according to the little chitty the local plods posted thru my post box, around 11.00pm.

Son No 1 had the sense to nip around to the car and get out the CDs, the Player, the GPS from it, and apparently helped the local boys in blue to tape polythene over the damage.

I got the glad tidings of all this left on the kitchen table, which I stumbled over around 6.40am today.

So after a swift cuppa I went and had a look, cleared off the glass from the driver's seat *and removed my Blue Badge because I didn't want the darned thing nicked*.....


I then began the arduous job of letting the Insurance Company know ("Claims don't open until 9o'clock Saturdays, love, you've come thru to accidents"), the glaziers know, back to the insurers to inform them they'd printed the wrong details on my policy document

(An "H" in the reg had been mistaken for a "M" - or posssibly the other way around, but no-one - ot me, and not any official bod, even when I was taxing and insuring and MOT-ing the bsmiley - bleeping car had spotted the discrepancy) and could they alter it pronto and then send a Fax confirmation that they'd done so to the Glaziers please and thank you..... and so it went on. it took a good few phone calls to get that done, and an awful lot of muzak whilst I was on hold.

That took until around 10.00am at least.

Then I had some other important letters/official stuff to do, so I did them... and then..... oh yes, I had half an hour off for another cuppa and a phone chat.

Ooops, thinks I; one thing I haven't done yet. I'd better write a little note to our Chocolate Soldiers and let them know I *do have a Blue Badge, give' em the number, and also let them know the Police number Case, otherwise I'm going to get a ticket.


So I wrote out my little note... took my roll of selatape, and stuck the following note on the dashboard for the Nice Traffic Wardens to see and read.

"As you can see, this car has been vandalised. The Police are aware of this and the Case No is (such and such). I have removed my Blue Badge (number suchandsuch, expires (date) incase of theft, until the glaziers come to repair said vandalism. Any questions, please contact ("X" Police Station for details quoting Case Number".

And then I looked at my windscreen.

Guess what?


Yep. You guessed it, some smiley - bleep of a Jobsworth had stuck a parking ticket onto it in the interim.

And the time? 5 minutes after I'd left from my original visit to the car.smiley - grr

Whoever it was must have watched me sweep the glass out of the car, (which may or may not have been a Bit of a Clue that all was not well) ....and yes, I was a good citizen, I put the shards in a proper waste bin.

I didn't spot them, and yes, I *did look around for a Warden to ask them their advise, or tell them what I'd done and ask them was I legal. I searched for quite some time but no one was visible.

They were too darned busy tickataping out one of their £70.00 fine bits of burocracy!!!! (And probably lurking behind my car so no-one could see 'em. eithersmiley - rolleyes

I'm not going to bother having a rant about Traffic Wardens or "Civic Enforcement Officers" as they're referred to around here, because even bottom feeders need to earn a crust somehow.

I'm not going to have a rant about this particular stupidity of the individuals tiny, inane burocratic, non functioning, petty minded, gormless adherance to any form of rational thought because I'm losing the desire to even acknowledge that eejits like these live amongst us and have a vote.

And besides, I've run out of polite, but negative adjectives pro tem.

But I am going to say one thing.

"Civil Enforcement Officer 20" isn't half going to be embarrassed to read* of his/her intelligent behaviour in the local papers
smiley - evilgrin


*assuming they're capeable of doing so, that is.


Discuss this Journal entry [26]

Latest reply: Oct 31, 2009

Finally!



I've been a bit quiet on here lately, partly because I'm doing a lot of Life beyond the screen, but mainly because I've been rather preoccupied with Matters Medical, which, when you total up all the medical stuff/results I'm either waiting on, have had investigated, am being currently investigated for totals to a fairly large amount of Matter.

The latest glitche began at the start of the year.

No, it began around 18 months ago, but it *became obvious there was a glitche around the start of this year.

Oh hell. This is so complicated - this is a story of being an ametuer juggler, trying to keep plates revolving around on long sticks with one arm tied behind your back and wearing a blindfold.

How else can I describe the mechinasions and complications of the NHS Administrative system?smiley - headhurts

It's one of those sort of stories.

ANYWAY... long story short, I reached the end of my tether in May - too many lost records, too many patronising and dismissive noises from a particular consultant....

(which is a shame, because as a consultant he really is second to none; brilliant at diagnosing ailments, and knowing the treatments or the even more specialized consultants to refer a patient to, but piss poor at treating the *person with said ailments)

...and the final grim realisation that that I've been lost in the admin system for a further 3 on going investigations

So I began the long haul of making an Official Complaint to the local NHS Trust. And that involves researching, sorting out the objective from the subjective, listing times, places, dates, treatments and above all, not only results, but an identifiable Plan of Action, everyone who needs to know can know about and act on.

You tried herding any cats lately? Because that's exactly what it's been like.

But I did it!smiley - diva

I had my offical face to face meeting with the consultant - who I shall refer to as Mr T, the Matron who runs the day ward I seem to spend a lot of time in, and an NHS Trust member who facilitates these meetings, who I will refer to as Silly Knickers.(because I cansmiley - tongueout yesterday morning. It only took 5 months to arrange, smiley - rolleyes

The arrangement was for Silly Knickers to meet my companion and I in main reception at 11.15 so she could usher us to the meeting in Matron's office at 11.30. We got there at 11.10, informed reception of our presence who in turn, let her know.

She finally turned up to usher us in at 11.35smiley - grr I was not impressed, because she didn't have the courtesy to apologise for her poor timekeeping. I was very glad I'd got someone in my corner, my companian A; he's a great person, being one of those quiet, but rather powerful business chaps who never needs to raise his voice to get his p-o-v heard and acknowledged; it was he who helped me sort out the wheat from the chaff, and it was he who helped me collate all the necessary information I could offer.
This is what we need to get accross to them, he told me,do NOT allow yourself to become side tracked.

And don't look at them in a funny way, or let them know you *know they're fibbing, either, OK? Smile and nod, and then get back on track, right?

I didn't think I'd be not able to to bite occasionally - I don't suffer fools gladly and I've ever called a spade a pickaxe, so swallowing my pride I asked if he'd be my spokesperson.

So in we went, introductions over, and the consultant spitting anger from his eyes before we began, and me feeling a complete and utter smiley - tit in an unfamiliar black business suit, proper shoes, full fig (discrete) make up and my one and only business style blouse sticking to my back with the sweat of absolute stage fright, and clinging uncomfotably snugly to the ribcase.

A. read a short statement, outlining that my complaint was *not against the treatment I had received (it's been good, actually), rather that I was concerned at the lack of communication between the different consultants, between the different departments, and indeed, the lack of documentation being sent to the Support Nurses I occasionally have to see. If one hand doesn't know what the other hand is doingm, then how can we all work together?

Well - he began to, anyway. Mr T butted in after sentence 3 and said he didn't have time to listen to this sort of stuff, he was a busy man, and since it wasn't his department at fault, then why on earth was *he here anyway?

(I kid you not, it really was like that)

A. smiled and odded and continued reading.

Mr T. interrupted again. Matron explained to him that the complaint was *not about personalities, but with the administrative system.

A. continued reading, and offered a very simple plan for *everyone* (me included) so that what health problems I have that can be "cured" can be "cured", and what health problems I have that possibly can't be, can at least have approriate support and palliative care.

It boiled down to one request, really - could someone *please* be in possession of all the facts and co-ordinate my treatments, so that I can stop taking up valuable NHS resources as far as it possible.


Mr T began blustering - I've done this, I've done that, I've written to so and so... look, here's the letter, and so and so has replied...

Oh.

smiley - blush



Oh dear.

So and so doesn't seem to have replied.

Moving swiftly on...


A. reassured Mr T it wasn't about personalities, that I had no complaints against his (medical) treatment and skills. Matron did the same.

I kept schtum a bit longer. I'm gonna smiley - cheesethis bloke in a mminute I thought. In the meantime, just smile and nod, and keep it on track.

More blustering - and each time, the silly bugger dug bigger and bigger holes for himself - he himself was proving my point over and over again, to *his* detriment. No one knew what the hell anyone else was doing, and that the whole treatment, had gone stagnent.

I was beginning to get the hang of this. My god, I thought, Silly sod - he's got all those letters after his name and he's absolutely useless at people! He's only clever with arseholes and bottomy things - I can take this bloke on and control the conversation. If I can manage 2 teenage boys, this little man poses no problem.

So I took a deep breathe, when Mr T started his defensive/aggressive act the next time, and reassured him this wasn't about personalities (etc), and the upshot was he held an impromptu consultation there and then and he's shuffling me off to the God of the Colorectal specialists up at Barts because he (Mr T) doesn't think I'm a good candidate for remedial surgery, (merely the last hope, a colostomy) but I may be able to discuss my concerns with Mr God, and waste his time, because he(Mr T) is far too busy to go thru all my notes as it's far too big a file.....and.....

I think by then, even he realised just how awful his bedside manner was and shut up enormously. Matron asked me if I'd care to stay behind *after Mr T had left* and discuss matters with her in more detail.

And I didn't wink...and I didn't allow the huge melon like grin I wanted to grin at her show, I just nodded gravely, and said, very mildly " I'd like that a lot Matron - I appreciate it. Thank you Mr T, Please don't let me waste any more of your time"

I don't remember anyone even acknowledging him as he left the room. Infact, I couldn't be asked to even say goodbye, and no one else bothered to, either. He's a busy busy man, after all.smiley - whistle


After that, Matron took over the meeting - and the first thing she said was an apology for Mr T's attitude.

(This surprised me a great deal, frankly)

Right, she said; would you mind telling me what your medical problems are, as you see them?

So I did.

A. handed her a list of all the medications I'm on and for what purpose, and a list of Stuff what I have got not quite working properly, as I understood them.

He also asked my permission to tell them a bit about my background - and did(the abususive childhood stuff and the consequences as a younger adult) I thought he was going for the Hearts and Flowers card at the time but now I look back objectively I can see his reasens; Matron really *did* Need to Know. The physical abuse I suffered as a youngster may well have been contributory to my surrent situation. Fact.

Matron, who I shall now refer to as Sweetheat came up with a solution; she's taken it upon herself to take my huge brick of a file home with her and have a read thru it (and I have gladly given her written permission), and glean the appropriate information about my medical condition and will co ordinate my treatment.

I, in my turn, will regularly check with my GP to ensure I have all the information I need, and ensure that he and the support Nurse(s) are all au fait with what's going on. Matron Sweetheart has volunteered, in short, to be a mutual liason point.


smiley - divaResult, or what, eh?smiley - diva

I don't expect miracles. I don't expect I will magically become un disabled, and nor do I expect all of the problems with my gut to be magically disappeared. Some of the problems are mechanical, and there is no guarantee I'll be a suitable condidate for repair surgury, which will mean eventually I will have to have a colostomy - which I'd prefer not to happen, but if that's the case I will learn to cope with.

But I'd like to get to the root of the problem; I'd like to know which is organic, which is mechanical, and which problem interlinks/has a knock-on effect with the other problems, be they symptomatic or the reaction of one prescribed drug with another or whatever. If you want to ask questions, please do, but I really don't want to write a resume of which bits are packing up with me, it really is very tedious for me to do so - and more to the point, it's a tad depressing. I'd sooner concentrate on the bits of me that are still working and stay positive.





And the Consultant's secretary will Be Spoken To about her telephone manner yet again. With a bit of luck she'll be demoted to her true vocation, that of a gestapo interrogator. She really is not a very nice person atall. GPs receptionists are pussycats compared to her.

See? There really really is a god, after allsmiley - winkeye


In conclusion, gentle readers, I have learnt this:

If an academically brilliant individual spends his whole working life looking at the general public's ani, he runs the risk of behaving like an a@sehole himself.

Do not let this happen to yousmiley - winkeye

Discuss this Journal entry [6]

Latest reply: Sep 11, 2009


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