Blue Witch

MR I

Yesterday the atoms inside my head were magnetically shaken up.

There are supposed to be no effects to this.

I'm intrigued, then, as to why the differential alignment of the contents of my brain's cells has since resulted in cessation of almost all the muscle and joint aches, pains, and stiffness that I have been experiencing on an increasingly debilitating basis, for the past few months. I am left with the sort of weird numbness and lack of feeling of control in both arms that I have previously had when I have had a trapped nerve in my shoulder. If it lasts it will be wonderful. I didn't want to go to sleep last night because I was afraid that when I woke up the aches and pains would be back. I hadn't realised quite how much their presence was filling my life while they were there.

I remind those of you who disbelieve in the Forces of Energy, and those of you who laugh at the current research and debate on the effects of electrical hypersensitivity, such as mobile phone signals, or the use of wireless routers (thanks to Birdy for sending me those links recently - don't know if you got my reply Birdy as it, and the response to request for verification of authenticity, repeatedly bounced back from your spam filter) that it's not that long since smoking, tha1idomide (my mother was actually given that drug for morning sickness when she was pregnant with me but fortunately didn't take it as her sister, an academic geneticist, had heard rumours of safety doubt) The Pill, HRT, and living under electric pylons was considered safe. And let's not forget how long acceptance of early scientific evidence that 'mad cow disease' could cross into humans took.

My advice - where there is even the teeniest bit of doubt about the long-term effects of something where health is concerned, it is better to err on the side of nuttery caution. So, switch off your wireless
router when you're not using it (especially at night), don't walk around with your mobile phone constantly at your ear or otherwise attached closely to your body, and don't situate a wireless phone somewhere where its waves have got to travel through your body to
get to the sender unit.

As if the effects of energy (and even if they are temporary, it tells me something) weren't spooky enough, there is more... bob sent me a thoughtful (and muchly appreciated) email last night with the same title as this post. A title that I had already come up with. An hour later I altered a link from somewhere else and looked at something I've probably only ever done three or four times before - the number of Technorati links here. 666.

Hmmm. Someone is trying to tell me something...

Later, when I feel up to it, I shall write 'Tales from the Tunnel' as there is a definite lack of any sensible first-hand accounts of MRI experience.

Thought for the day

Investigating an untrue thought will always lead you back to who you are. It hurts to believe you are other than who you are, to live any story other than happiness. If you put your hand into the fire, does anyone have to tell you to move it? Do you have to decide? No: when your hand starts to burn, it moves. You don't have to direct it; the hand moves itself. In the same way, once you understand, through inquiry, that an untrue thought causes suffering, you move away from it.

- Byron Katie

More info on this subject here.

Rain stops play

Last Thursday it was a hot, sunny, 24 degrees, here.

Why, then, has it been very rainy, with near gale force winds, and very cold (9.6 degrees according to the weather station, minus the windchill) just because it's a Bank Holiday weekend, and Mr BW has an extra day's holiday tomorrow?

I keep telling people moaning about this year's weather that last May was pretty rainy too (we know, the roof was off The Coven and we had water coming through every ceiling), but I don't think it was quite this bad, or this cold. Or maybe it was... blogs are so useful for reference sometimes.

It's bad enough only having the energy to do an hour or so of light work in the garden, before laying down or sleeping for the same amount of time, but, balancing work/sleep/timing of rain showers is proving almost impossible. There is so much to do, and it's annoying that we can't get out there to do it. With all this relentless rain, I can't even get a decent picture of Mr BW's finished metal sculpture (but it is very pretty now it has its coloured glass panels).

Plus, the internet has been dead for most of the weekend so far, probably in response to my urgent need to gather relevant medical information. On which subject, tests continue, but at least I now have a sensible private consultant overseeing things. All I can say is, thank goodness for private medical insurance, because, without it, I could have remained undiagnosed, "Because you don't meet the PCT's criteria for those tests." I know there are lots of people around who have positive tales of the NHS to relate. Sadly, my personal recent experience, and those of several family members and close friends, have been anything but positive. Official complaints may well follow (because if people don't complain, the system just gets worse, and workers within the system, and system administrators, get away with things that are not in anyone's best medical interests).

So far (and through a scan that was done by-the-by, but which I was refused on the NHS 3 years ago, despite having strong evidence that it was necessary), I have discovered why my lower back feels like it is collapsing most of the time (hurdling, long jumping, high jumping to county level, plus trampolining, in one's teens have a lot to answer for in terms of compressed vertebrae in later life, listen up all you young over-exercising gym bunnies) . Surprisingly though, in view of this, and against the general trend at my age, I seem to have grown half an inch since I was last officially measured. So I am now 5' 9 1/2". Must be living with someone 6" taller than me.

But, I do think humans should have more vampire-friendly means of extracting blood from them. Veins can only be used a few times before they become useless for the purpose. Not looking forward to where they may end up injecting dye if they need to on Wednesday when I have an MRI brain scan. What a good job I still have the CT scan images that were done back in 1991 - they might come in very useful for comparison. No doubt they would have been 'misplaced' had The System kept them (as has happened to the X-Rays of my neck done after my brush with death/an impatient lorry driver/a dual carriageway crash-barrier back in 2000) . More evidence for my great belief in the necessity for people to keep their own medical records.

And, as the final straw to the current State of Woe, my trusty and beloved camera (over 12,000 images taken in the past 3.5 years now) has got to an unreliable stage. I think the lenses must have moved (I always have it in my bag, and I do fly about a lot), as a lot of the photos I've taken recently aren't quite in focus. And the batteries aren't lasting longer than about 30 minutes, even when fully recharged, and displaying 120 minute charge. It's the longest a camera has ever lasted me. I think it cost about £350 new (at a Value place) - but I expect I could get ten times the camera for that price now. But, I don't want ten times the camera, I want the same camera, but new. Small, light, with macro, good ability to cope in all lighting conditions, able to point and shoot or be fiddled with a bit when I can be bothered, and rechargeable (ie lithium or similar) batteries. Now, where to start the search...

Want one!

As seen at Chelsea:
If you watched the series on Kew Gardens last year you'll have seen how they rediscovered the Wollemi Pine deep in a canyon in the Australian Blue Mountains.

Described on the website as, "One of the world's oldest and rarest plants dating back to the time of the dinosaurs. With less than 100 adult trees known to exist in the wild, the Wollemi Pine is now the focus of extensive research to safeguard its survival."

The ones now for sale (well, on sale in this country again from tomorrow) look like this. The pale green tip growth is this year's.

Just £97 *coughs* for a 3 litre pot with a 40-45cm baby tree.

Get the keen gardening public to safeguard its survival, what an excellent idea!

Call it this year's contribuution to world tree conservation... and this year's contribution to Internet English Grammar might need to be made too...

Chelsea 2007 Pictures: Part 2

This one was Mr BW's favourite:

This one was the judges' favourite:

Life on Mars? The TV series was much better.

Amongst the many and varied sellers of over-priced products to the over-rich, I didn't manage to find anything I really liked enough to even consider buying (or even getting Mr BW to make) this year, and I couldn't imagine who would want to buy this ghastly green canvas tent/gazebo. Sheer folly.

I always go home after Chelsea with aching feet, and I wear sensible, flat, comfy shoes. How (or indeed, why) some women walk around all day in shoes with 3" stiletto heels, and pointed toes, completely baffles me.

Chelsea 2007 pictures - Part 1

This one, "A Garden to Take Tea In" was probably my favourite.

Or, then again, perhaps it was this one, "A Touch of France: Le Jardin de Vincent".

Or maybe it was one of the others I'll post later. I can't quite decide, because none of them really grabbed me the way they sometimes have before.

But, it definitely wasn't the one where Doctor Who's TARDIS had landed in the Grand Pavillion. Apart from the fact that there wasn't a Dalek in sight, it just seemed contrived and to be cashing on on the current popularity of the programme. I think they must have spent the budget on a very ropey looking replica TARDIS, because they certainly hadn't spend it on plants.

We saw lots of 'celebs', according to Mr BW, who recognises them. Personally, I was more interested in the flowers (which I sometimes couldn't see as there were film crews crawling everywhere at every turn), but I did laugh at the sign in the back of the VW Sharan picking up one presenter with an over-inflated ego who rudely pushed past me earlier in the afternoon on his way to film in the Red Concrete Best In Show Garden (he apparently hates being called that, so I suspect that a different company might be collecting him tonight...). The same company were also picking up Joe Swift - who got a ride home in a big brand new silver Merc. Successful spell of retribution methinks :)

Cordial gardens

The penultimate week in May can mean but one two things.

Time to make elderflower cordial.

And time to pop off to SW 3 for the afternoon. Having stocked up the energy bank in advance with 14 hours of sleep.

They even have a blog this year... I, erm, hope that the gardens will be better than the blog entries ;)

And, the RHS have just updated the main site with the 2007 medal winners, so I shall quickly print them out for reference, because you can rarely see what medal each garden was awarded - and part of the fun is, of course, disagreeing with the judges! Unless the Bradstone Mars Garden is very much better than it appears on TV, I think I may already disagree with it being given Best in Show... I'm afraid that I always think that all gardens look like they are from Mars if they are made of large expanses of manufactured-from-cement stone.

I'm looking forward to seeing the New for 2007 Roof Gardens as our new Balcony Garden isn't quite right. In fact it's not at all right, and I'm going to have to start again. However, judging by the fact that only 3 of the 5 entrants in the Chelsea class won any medal, and that there wasn't a Gold, I suspect that I may not find the inspiration I am seeking. Maybe I should run a BW competition to design our Balcony Garden? The designer of the winning entry could then come and make it... and be rewarded with a picture spread on BW, a jar of BW Special (bees are very trendy this year I see from the Fortnum and Mason Garden so we'd best lock up our old hives lest they go the same way as the missing hens) and the opportunity to make their own stained glass roundel under Mr BW's expert tutelage. Entries to the usual address (and, just a hint... this sort of thing is not what I am looking for!!!) :)

The picture is of part of our long border. Nothing at all to do with this post, but I just liked the juxtaposition of the lime green of the tree and the burgundy of the tree peony. And, oh dear, the hedge does need a cut, but Mr BW can't do everything at once.

As ever, we've been avidly watching the advance coverage of Chelsea, to get an advance flavour, and I have been delighted to see that almost all the new plants I picked out in my trips around Linco1nshire Nurseries while Mr BW played with fire at the weekend have appeared.

To anyone near that area who loves plants, try Hall Farm Nurseries. Now only open weekdays (and a few special summer weekends), but one of the best nurseries I have been to in a long, long time - they really know their plants and have some superb rare gems on offer. The owners' garden is fabulous, they'll happily let you walk round (free!), and they even manage to have the plants you adore in the garden available to purchase.

That's a view of a tiny part of Hall Farm Garden, not a Chelsea Garden, by the way. Although, if all the Chelsea Gardens were of that standard, the RHS would be out of Gold Medals.

Pics from Chelsea will no doubt follow.

What we have been doing since Thursday

While Mr BW spent two and a half days 150 miles north of here in a knocking shop, I drove round some very flat countryside, and visited some very nice plant nurseries. I also had to spend 3 hours asleep in a field because I got too tired to do anything else and there seemed to be a distinct lack of anywhere more suitable to rest. So many plants from the specialist plant nurseries had jumped into the car while I wasn't looking that I couldn't recline the seat into a comfortable sleeping position.

I managed to achieve what had proved impossible to date. Above the manufacturer's declared combined fuel consumption of 60mpg. It actually got to 61.2, but I had to find somewhere safe to stop, to record the event for posterity, and that was up a hill.

I am particularly pleased about this because Mr BW (who is much more patient than me, and so usually manages to get a couple of miles more out of every gallon of diesel than I do) hasn't yet managed it. I can confirm, though, that it is absolutely impossible to achieve the 70mpg at 56mph that Renault claim (but I shall have them download another software update when it's next serviced just in case it's the electronics as they claimed last time we complained about it).

I laughed at this:

You wouldn't see a sign like that in a shop round here.

I laughed at this too:

And Mr BW made this:

Of which more another time.
It's not finished as it has to have coloured glass installed in the roundels.

It's nearly as tall as me, and I'm a Tall Witch.
I nearly had to be left behind because we nearly couldn't all fit in the car.

When we got home 2 hens had mysteriously disappeared from our secure grounds. A very old one and a very new one. No evidence whatsoever, and the electric fence was still fully charged.

Walk with me...

... down the garden path.

Isn't that, after all, where the 'Government' (sic), the media and big business are leading us all?

Is there actually anyone left working in the 'public sector' who actually gives a f*ck about anything but their pension, how many hours they can fiddle on their flexi-time, how many packs of Post-Its they can half-inch, or how they can qualify for enhanced early retirement?

Is there actually anyone left working in the private sector, for an employer, who gives a f*ck about anything except getting through the year without upsetting an influential person or missing an unrealistic target and so being made redundant?

Are those of us who have got out of The System to downshift and/or work for ourselves, because it was the only way we could morally, ethically, and mentally continue to exist and meet our own high standards, the only ones left who actually care about what we do? Is the current sorry state of affairs our fault because we got out rather than stayed to fight, and challenge and improve the system, rather than let daft ideas rule because those who weren't intellectually capable of seeing the full picture and envisaging the knock-on effects over time of short-sighted quick-fix policies thought they were a good idea when they dreamt them up to get their manager off their backs?

Or is it just that the modern world demands too much of people and life has become too complex and over-burdened by the 'always on' culture which worships material things rather than social ideals and compassion for one's neighbour?

Forgive me, I am jaded. Jaded by the knowledge that the education and health services are not what they were even 10 years ago, and that big business's sole purpose is to screw you for every penny they can (while hiding behind worthy/wordy ideas such as 'corporate social responsibility') in the interests of shareholders' profit, whilst hoping you won't notice, or won't do anything about it.

It seems that everyone hides behind 'protocols', 'criteria', 'policies' and 'targets' which have absolutely no relation to real life, real people, and real problems.

I'm just angry that my own health/energy problems have rendered me currently incapable of fighting the corners of those less articulate and less able than me as I would normally.

A 37 year old mother of 2 young boys (10 and 8) shouldn't have had to spend 21 days in hospitals (the latter ten 50 miles away from her loved ones) waiting for a life-saving heart-bypass operation that still has no scheduled date. A 75 year old whose husband is in heart fai1ure shouldn't be denied the opportunity to leave hospital and die at home with dignity as she and he wish because 'the support services are too costly and our budget is overspent', and the mother of a boy with a serious spec1fic 1earning difficu1ty who was today told by his prospective secondary school that, "We only aim to meet the needs of average pupils and the rest are put in C streams at the age of 11 and 'contained' until they are old enough to leave school... you'd be better educating him at home or putting him a private school!" shouldn't currently be trying to find a way to raise £12,000 a year for the next 5 years to fund the education he needs and has a right to.

Those people are my c1eaner, a close Nice Lady friend, and an 11 year old I've worked with for the past year. I can think of many other people I know who the system is failing, because no-one will assume responsibility or help them find their way through bureaucracy unfamiliar to them.

Maybe you know people similarly caught in a system? Maybe you are part of an unsatisfactory system but are quietly saying nothing, whilst secretly planning an escape, because you have your own agendas and value your job security and future prospects above all else?

If you can see a black pipe running across the garden path in the picture above, it's one of our greywater pipes. Because, you see, I do give a damn about the future, even if none of my own genes will share in it. Which means that we are currently heating our water with solar power, growing our own fruit and veg, recycling absolutely everything possible, having no kids, a super-insulated house, an electricity bill £20 lower now than it was before prices went up 50%, having 2 wood burners for heating (run on wood saved from landfill or fallen dead trees), and thinking twice about every journey.

I'm sick of the excuse, "It's not my responsibility!" or, "There's nothing I can do!".

Yes. There is. The only person who is going to make a difference is you. Do something about it today.

And my message to the current 'government' (sic), in particular the departing Bliar, and the way they have reduced the country to a Nanny State, where people are no longer encouraged or enabled to take responsibility for their own lives, and which caters for only those outside the 'norm', is well summed up by The Black Fluffy Familiar:

Thought for the day

Voluntary simplicity means going fewer places in one day rather than more, seeing less so I can see more, doing less so I can do more, acquiring less so I can have more.

- Jon Kabat-Zinn

Are you sitting comfortably?

I hope so, because this is a very long story.

So long in fact that I will precis it.

Cut short, it amounts to the fact that it is a month today since I first saw a doctor about a cluster of odd symptoms that have totally wiped me out, mentally, physically, communicatively and emotionally, and made me feel like a soggy sponge.

In that month there has been mostly sleeping, interspersed with two hen deaths (old age), one broody hen, one 37 year old human heart attack, followed by a saga of truly unbelievable NHS bungling, one 94th grandparent's birthday (celebrated by having to sell her home for the last 84 years to pay nursing home fees - which wouldn't have been necessary had she lived in the part of the UK called Scotland of course), one TIA, several doctors appointments (not all of which were free, but I'd still be waiting worriedly had I not invested wisely), several blood tests, 6 blue fertiile eggs that are white (that one involves shared blog children chickens, and will be returned to anon), one fluffy white lined cushion cover, one spring bulb painting, one replacement round exhaust pipe that should have been flat oval so got bent so that it didn't resemble a boy racer's, one 10 year old's birthday party ruined by NHS inefficiency, one broken feline paw necessitating 3 trips to the vets and pink, green and red plasters, one 13th anniversary, three doses of arsenic and an ongoing one of hedge, one house cleaner on loan, one district council election with a very unfortunate outcome, the production of one book, some gardening, and the first rain for that month on Monday (traditional for a Bank Holiday).

Today we're onto Hen Watch Day 8 (that's Evil Maran in the photo), and today I finally got the referral to a specialist that I went to the doctors for a month ago.

But only after spurious diagnoses of diabetes, hypothyroidism, anaemia, underperforming endocrine system, liver or kidney problems, poor diet leading to high cholesterol (firmly quashed by a dietician who said that I was the most inappropriate referral she had ever had in her 30-odd years experience, and had a 'fantastic and enviable' diet).

"The things your tests are measuring are all symptoms, not the root cause!" I kept repeating, until I was blue in the face (quite hard as I am quite uncharacteristically white, and frequently evoking comments of, "You don't look very well dear!" from various of the Nice Ladies and Crafty Ladies, at present). "No, I don't want statins, HRT, or any other current pharmaceutical wonder-drug that will be found to be harmful in a few years time. All I want is to be referred to an appropriate specialist, because I want to find out why my body is feeling as it is, and producing test results that are totally at odds with past tests I've had, and with each other from day to day. And I don't even want the NHS to pay for it!"

Why, when we have private medical insurance (which costs us nearly £500 in tax every year) has it taken a month to get a referral to a private specialist I hear you ask?

Well, it has to do with the fact that the 'Associate GP' (whatever they are) that I got to see in my normal GP's absence decided that she couldn't work out who to refer me to, and wouldn't just go with my idea until she had wasted umpteen pounds of NHS money, not to mention many hours of my time and many needles, attempting to find out herself with test after test. After I got a second set of blood tests done privately, with very different results to those done on the NHS, she began to think that maybe, just maybe, some patients actually know more about their own bodies (and/or how to use a search engine) than doctors.

Mind you, it took me 25 minutes (rather than the 8 I was allocated - you should have seen the looks I got from those patients who'd had to wait because I refused to be palmed off again), and refusing yet another series of blood tests, "Because I forgot to do FSH/LH before," ("Yes, but we both know I have been peri-menopausal for nearly 3 years, which is probably a part of the problem, and all that test will do is confirm that, surely?!") and, "'because The Protocol says you have to have this one because that one was high, even though you have taken your own blood glucose levels 3 times a day over nearly 3 weeks and proved to everyone's satisfaction that you have not even a tendency to diabetes," ("Why should I volunteer to travel 19.2 miles each way to get to a hospital for a test that could be done 2.2 miles from my front door, if there was any sense in the NHS, then drink 75g of glucose (which would be foul as I detest sweet things), and have 2 more needles stuck in my arm 2 hours apart just to satisy some Protocol?") to get her round to that conclusion.

So, just 2 weeks until the specialist's appointment to wait now...

One can only wonder where I would be now without private medical insurance. It seems that unless you abuse your body in some way, or have very obvious symptoms, the NHS isn't interested in helping you, and unless you are prepared to go along with a 'just take these tablets for the rest of your life because they're good for you because I say so' attitude, and not challenge the 'you can't have that test because the PCT won't fund it because you don't exactly fit their criteria' excuse, you are increasingly going to have to get used to feeling unwell for unexplained reasons.

I'm a great believer in evaluating learning experiences. Particularly the more negative ones. It can help me (or others) avoid the same trap again. So:

What I have learnt from this experience: If you have a medical problem, particularly a complex one, write it all down, preferably in bullet-point form, together with a potted medical history, and a family health history, and present it to whatever doctor you see. At the end, state your 'desired outcome'. Doctors can apparently read but not listen.

And finally... apologies to those who've phoned or emailed and not had a reply. Thank you for your questions and good wishes, which I appreciate greatly. The only way I am getting through some days is by being uncommunicative, as I am really very tired, and finding it very hard to concentrate for long. This is the longest communication I have managed for ages. Off for a sleep now.

Thought for the day

Life is what one wants in one’s soul.

- D H Lawrence