A very difficult day…

Today I made a complaint about not being consulted about the building project. I had registered my objection when it was listed at no.7 on that road, but no-one informed me when it changed to 6/7.

My objection is possibly still valid. I don’t know the law on planning. No work has gone on today. They say they only consult neighbours but no neighbour will be affected. Only I am affected.

I have found today very trying. I cried this morning after I spoke with a case worker at the planning office.

Then someone came, and I had just settled down to write when there was someone at the door. It was the postman, who said he had lots of packages for me. I suddenly felt overwhelmed and asked him to bring them in and help me open them. He asked me something, which sparked a nerve and I exploded at him briefly.

I felt so ashamed. Two medicines that I take affect my mood and temper. I am normally easy going and happily peaceful. I hate myself when I feel overwhelmed and then react badly. It isn’t me.

So I am waiting to hear what happens about the building. And waiting for John, the postman, so I can apologise.

My packages were mainly plants. So I transfered them to the garden and planted most of them. The rest will hopefully go in tomorrow, even if the storm comes.

I need a downpour to be out in. I love storm.


A New Year, just the next day…

I have put some time between new year’s eve and now, or rather, God has. I am still not relaxed, but I am doing better than I was.

Thank you to those who have expressed concern and care. I will respond when I feel able.

I woke this morning at 5.15 and knew that sleep would not return to me. I wrote a complaint to the hospital about Dr Davies. You know, I have noticed that surgeons generally have consistently more compassion than doctors. I think there is something about seeing a patient vulnerable, lying on the gurney, that makes them feel something that some doctors don’t become capable of. So far, I have not encountered a surgeon who was lacking human warmth. I realise now, I’ve only encountered two surgeons, but my first, the Professor, who is sadly now deceased, had a team of registrars and junior doctors who were all lovely. Wait, I think there may be a third, the guy who diagnosed me, but I was too ill to notice.

So, my complaint – I told how I was only asked about now. I was not asked any of my history. This was a first. Dr Davies was entirely uninterested in how my respiratory problems started. Or how it was at the beginning. He was only interested in right now. That is strange. And he wants me to have tests that will cause me pain and distress. I am not about to have a baby. No this is the twenty first century. I can have tests without pain and distress. Medicine has progressed that far.

In my complaint, I also mentioned my state of mind when leaving the hospital and when I got home. I cannot allow anyone else to go through what I went through. I have a role within the local NHS Foundation Trust. I need to fulfil that role. I’m firstly human. I have a duty to other humans.

I haven’t yet attempted to approach my daughter. It is too soon. I have messaged her boyfriend, and asked him to google two of the medicines I need, because their side effects are costing me my identity as me. I can become a argumentative person if someone gets under my skin. It doesn’t happen often, but it has happened most with my daughter. Because we are close.

So, I am not yet physically at peace, but my mind is getting there.