28 May 2008

Post 45: First try at cutting links with Tash

Yesterday, as if things couldn't get much worse, I did the hardest thing I've ever had to do – something that is still filling my eyes with tears – I told Tash not to bother visiting again and that I will stop calling her or emailing her because we both need to get on with our lives or in my case, start trying to live it again.
It's certainly true that it's nice to not be in hospital anymore. Although my tiredness persists I'd rather be tired in these surroundings. I have also been able to do a couple of things that would have been virtually impossible in hospital. The first was going to see the comedian Chris Rock at the O2 (the old dome) on friday night. For starters he was hilarious (one or two of his gags have still got me chuckling) especially how he would rename the desperate housewives 'the ungrateful bitches' and his diatribe about how stand up comedy or comedy in general was an anti-depressant in human form and that anyone who took anti-depressants and then went to watch a stand up comedian should be 'ashamed' of themselves. He has obviously never been depressed.
Anyway, on saturday night, I went too an awesome restaurant at the Piccadilly Circus end of Regent Street called Cocoon. It was the sort of dining that I'm definitely not used too. Saying Chardonnay was probably as likely to get the head of the nearest bleached blond bimbette to turn as to get you a bottle of wine... such was the clientele. What mattered was that the food was nice, did I say nice? I meant great. For both these expeditions which would have been unthinkable a few months ago, I have Tanya to thank. Her exotic taste coupled with great patience and tolerance have allowed me to go places that would have been way beyond my reach even recently. It is now imperative that if I go ANYWHERE it needs to be checked out ahead of time. Even this is sometimes not enough. A few weeks back Vicky kindly arranged My friend Emma's pre-wedding party at a bar on South Bank with disability access and me in mind. That was kind and considerate in itself. When we got there there was a huge curb outside which required me to stand up (supported to stop me falling over) and three big blokes to lift (my incredibly heavy wheelchair). After this mission we finally got in the ground floor only to be confronted by a lift that resolutely refused to work and to cap it off an extremely unapologetic manager. Luckily, everyone very kindly agreed to switch venues which was very kind of people, not to mention extremely lucky of us to find a suitable venue a few hundred yards down the river. I bring all this up to say thanks to all those who helped out but equally to highlight that nothing is ever simple anymore and it drives me mad, exhausts me and makes me cry (another thing to add to an incredibly (pathetically) long list).
Despite these adventures, which most would find routine , living out of hospital is working out OK. The work that my brother has done and continues to do on the house is incredible. Without his input none of this would have been possible and I probably would have ended up more of a basket case in the corner of some Nursing home! Despite all these positive points my mood remains low and is only ever buoyed by good weather, good comedy and good visits. Come on British Summer!

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