Can I have a word …. with my Daddy.

 Dear Dad,

                          Happy Fathers Day. I’ve been thinking of you a lot these past two weeks, seen as everywhere has been plastered with well wishes for fathers and suggestions of gifts I’m supposed to buy you to put a smile on your face :S  The only thing of any use to you now is a promise that I still love you and I’m trying hard to remember and hold on to the good times… trying to hold onto your face, your smile, your laugh… and the promise made to a very young girl that everything would be ok in the end.

It’s hard.  It’s so hard and the few pleasant memories I have feel as if they are fading away.  I’m trying to move on. I want to forgive.  Really. I need to let go of this burden I’ve carried for over ten years now. I wish you were here to show me how.  I’d say Father’s Day is killing me this year, but you know this day has been pulling at the cracks you left in my heart for years ever since the mind of the man I knew completely left his body, since you turned your head away from me in disgust. I knew then that you had left in spirit even if your body was still here to offer me some false hope. I couldn’t bring myself to see you after that moment. I couldn’t cope and for that I am sorry.  I shed so many tears over the years I felt I had no strength left. I fought so hard to hold onto myself and still be loyal to you. I tore myself apart trying to reach you.  I failed.

I want to be the bigger person, but the truth is dad, I’m still mad. I have no idea how anybody could look into their own child’s eyes and do what you did to me and when I see all the people out there despair hoping for children to care for… when I watch a new father look into his baby’s eyes I do everything to shut you out because the thought of what you did makes me physically sick.  The truth is I wish I could have looked you in the eyes and told you that. A lot of people have that voice inside their head – the one that tells them they are ugly or worthless or failing. The one that sticks the knife in and twists at all their insecurities… but mine speaks with your voice and there are days when I hate you for that.

I’m bitter, I can be paranoid and I sometimes feel like the whole world is going to let me down just the way you did. I used to wonder what I’d done wrong… what it was that is so awful about me. I used to think I deserved it. If you knew this is what your “few drinks” were doing to me, would it have made a difference?  I ask myself that a lot and to be honest is I’m not sure it would.

Yet still I love you. I really do.  I used to want to hurt you the way you were destroying me, but over the last few years I believe karma may have done that for me… and now I truly hope that you’re at peace.  It’s not fair that you saddled me with the burden of memories of humiliation and pain to carry the rest of my life. It’s not FAIR, but I won’t give up, I will not give in and I will make myself strong enough. I’ll carry on… and I will shine. Just watch me.

I know why you carried pain most of your life. I understand now how much it must have crushed you to lose your parents when you were barely a man. What was it?  Did I remind you of her? Did it hurt you every time you looked at me? Were you trying to do anything just to make that pain go away? Because I know what that’s like… thanks to you. I think I feel it too….

I miss you. I miss the father you should have been. I think of all the days you’ve missed, all the milestones. I dreamed of hugging you on my graduation. I would have been proud to be on that man’s arm on my wedding day. Most of all, I wanted your arms so much the day that parenthood seemed to have been taken away from me. I could have screamed for you. The smiles and the hugs of my infancy are still some of the best I’ve ever had and though you left me with this jumble of emotions to figure out on my own… a hole in my heart I’ve had for years that only now I’m allowed to grieve for. I cry for that man. I long for that man. I’m helpless as the eight year old child you left behind.

I love you. I was made that way, I love you: strong, stubborn, funny, flawed and tragic …

I am a lot like you, but my life will not end as a tragedy. I will triumph in my own special way. I know this because I’m sorry, but I AM stronger than you. I take stubborn to a whole new level.  Nobody could ever hurt me the way you did and look: I’m still here I bet in a twisted way you’re proud..

But most of all I know this because I will carry the burden of your most awful mistake for the rest of my life and still if I had been there that morning you know that I would have held you so tight. I would have looked into those eyes if I could… caressed your gray hair and kissed that wrinkled cheek.  I would have whispered in your ear as you drifted away. Don’t be afraid. I still love you daddy… I forgive you, though its so hard to forget.

All my love

Your Amazing Daughter, Your poppet,

Ali xX

Can I have a word … about adverse weather conditions.

Am I the only one who finds the UK’s inability to deal with adverse weather conditions ridiculous and a little embarrassing?

Tuesday I woke up to a light covering of snow! I love snow. No really… and we don’t get to see it to often here on the Wirral. In fact, I can’t remember when. The last time there was snow that actually stayed on the ground was when we got our first snow just before Christmas. I was so excited. I went to my usual four hour shift volunteering at a hospital across the water in Liverpool. Getting there was a nightmare in itself. I bought my usual day ticket which should get me all the way to hospital and home again. The bus was of course running late but I can handle that:  it was snowing. When I arrived in Liverpool it became clear that the bus company wasn’t running its usual service up to the hospital. Rather odd, I thought, given that there was literally just a dusting of snow on the ground. The roads were pretty much ok. Anyways, no big deal. I bought my second ticket and arrived at the hospital about 30 minutes late.

The snow kept falling. I was enjoying watching it from the staff room windows as I was taking down the Christmas tree and packing it away, ready for someone to find next December. A lot of the staff had not made it into work and things were perhaps a little stretched. There was a shortage of bed linen and baby blankets because the hospitals laundry is outsourced and the delivery hadn’t been able to get through. We were all vearing from “oh my isn’t this pretty” … “I’ve never seen it like this before” to “OMG I am not sleeping here tonight” … “how am I going to get home??” People around here don’t have too much experience driving in snow and stories abound of crashes and people slipping off the roads. Some moterways by us were closed, the news informed us. That’s going to make you nervous. By about 2 pm it became clear I was going to have to leave early to stand a chance of getting home on public transport. At this point we’re talking maybe 2 – 3 inches on the ground. The office where I sign out was shut as the occupants having already gone home due to “adverse weather conditions”.  Parents were getting calls (from their kids not the schools!) as all over the region schools were shutting down. Announcements were made on the radio/TV, which is not much help if you work in a hospital and are by and large far to busy to even think about TV.  I repeat 2-3 inches! All the buses had stopped. There was only one way left to get safely across the river Mersey and that’s pray that the trains are still running and thank my lucky stars that I brought my purse with me today because I usually don’t. An hour of queuing later, I finally have a ticket and make it into the relative warmth of the underground station. There is no information on train times and all I’m hearing about are cancellations. Another hour wait just for a train going in the right direction and I’m hoping you’ll agree with me. This is REDICULOUS! 2- 3 inches people!!!

The train was so packed people can hardly breathe. A lady not too far from me is screaming that her baby is being squashed and falling fast into an all out panic attack “GET ME OFF THE TRAIN. I JUST WANT TO GET OFF!!!” Did anyone wait? Nope.  She waited two stops before we were able to get her out and onto the platform clutching this small child. I would have got off with her to check she was ok but I couldn’t move even if I tried. As it was I barely got out in time at my own stop after much shouting that hay there is someone here who needs out. I’m only 5 foot 1 and I’m not joking when I say I spent that journey unable to see sandsquwished between some guys crotch and some dudes tits… being short is a pain in the ass!

I left the hospital at 2pm and made it home about 5.45pm. Our local council has run out of grit/salt, so none of the roads by are being treated at all. Schools have been closed since Tuesday. Universities are closed till Monday. There’s been no postal deliveries (caused by weather or strike action… I dunno which).  It’s a nightmare! KM is holding me captive because he’s convinced if I go out I’m going to break my neck.

2-3 inches!!!!!!!!  Do we need to rethink something … I THINK SO!  How are we running out of grit!? It’s not like we get snow that often.

This is about the third year now that the UK or parts of it have been shut down by “the wrong type of snow”. Perhaps we need to think about a PLAN to deal with it??!  People all over the world must be looking over here and laughing themselves silly at all the panic. And I wouldn’t blame them. It’s stoopid.

I havn’t even been able to take pictures or make a snowman *pout*

Cabin fever!

Ali xX

Can I have a word…About the (uncussesful) Chicago 2016 bid.

I’m just gonna come out and say this: I wanted Chicago to win the 2016 Olympic bid so badly.  Yes, I cared even more about this than when London was in the running for the 2012 games and seen as it has been my hope that the games would come somewhere near me since I was small I can tell you that I wanted London to win its contest a whole lot. Last time I got lucky and the victory tasted sweet. This year, not so lucky. Chicago came last of the four possible cities in the contest for this great honor and quite frankly I, like many people, was SHOCKED… and so very disappointed. LAST?

Chicago is (allow me to sneak in the expected Frank Sinatra reference here) my kind of town. It pains me to say this given my baseball loyalties, but I even prefer it to New York. I often like to joke that Chicago is like New York except chilled out a bit and with a larger dose of fun.  I believe, mostly because of its size, New York like London can be a little impersonal and overwhelming. I LOVE it, but I find it kinda hard to relax. I doubt I would ever want to live in Manhattan. After a few days I’d be so ready to get out of there and recover from what feels like sensory overload from the city that never stops.

Chicago is not like that. I love the vibe when I visited 2 years ago now I found the people so welcoming and friendly. They took the time to look me in the eyes and ask me where I came from how I liked their city and even threw in a few “thanks for coming out to see us.”  Overall, I got such a sense of hospitality. Now, you might or might not know that Gadget Guy is from there so I will admit this whole feeling welcomed and at home may have had a lot to do with having friends over there to show me around as opposed to having to go in on my own tourist style. I still believe the town has something special and the people here are FUN and have a great sense of humor, although the insane bias of the place towards the Chicago Cubs has me a little puzzled… like guys, there’s a second team here ya know.  Those White Sox ain’t too bad. I mean, they have actually won it all THIS CENTURY… but anyways I digress. The architectural history of this lakeside city gives it a truly jaw dropping skyline, not to mention the flowers, trees and general greenness  squeezed into every space it seems at times. Do you know they have a beach here too… with palm trees? I’ve seen it!  The place looks GOOD and if you don’t believe me, take a car down Lake Shore Drive. You’ll see.

So why do I care?   Like I said, I love the city. In fact I’ve spent most of the two years since I got back trying to figure out when I can go again and rather sad I never went sooner. It’s safe to say that internationally this gem is somewhat overlooked. It doesn’t have the same destination status of New York, L..A. or even Florida. I truly believe this is a mistake and that the city is capable of hosting a fantastic games which would put Chicago and all its charm firmly on the tourist map for years to come, not to mention if the Games showed up in the Windy City I would move heaven and earth to be there and soak up that atmosphere.

I’ve heard a lot of theories as to why the result was so shocking, why Chicago got ditched in the first round. Of course we will never know, but it may have been some flaw in the bid, some concerns about money, people love to blame whether it be Chicagoans blaming Mayor Daley or Republicans clamoring from the rooftops that this yet an other Obama disaster. Whatever. Sometimes it’s nobody’s fault. Maybe Rio really did have a stronger case and you have to admit that the Olympics going to South America for the first time is pretty cool.

I’m disappointed with another issue and these are the stories that were emerging from the city that public opinion was so against the games that people were actually burning Chicago flags. Seriously. I don’t understand these anti-Olympic feelings. Yes, I get that the games cost money LOTS of money, but I don’t buy the argument that this is just not the “right” time.  I suspect that actually hosting the games is kind of like having a child: there never is a “right” time. You do it because you want to and you make it work.  Yes, we’re in a financial downturn, sure, but 2016 is 7 years away. 7 years. A lot can happen in that time, so Chi-town you’ll get no sympathy from this British girl  given that London won the games BEFORE this financial implosion and we have 3 years now to figure something out. Do you hear us bitching or throwing the toys out the pram and refusing because we suddenly think this REALLY ISN’T the right time for us? NO. Because hosting the games is an honor.  It’s a privilege to welcome champions and citizens for all over the world to your home, to be a part of the Olympic  legacy of  hope, peace  and healthy competition  is a once in a life time chance.   It’s pretty darn special.

Yeah, I know traffic will be HELL. I know the crowds will be a major disruption to your lives and probably would make living downtown kinda crap for anyone who can’t afford to take time out from daily life just because the Olympics roll into town… BUT it’s not forever.  It’s 2 weeks. 14 DAYS. Suck it up already.

I worry that the international reputation of the town has only suffered because of this “not in my backyard” attitude and I can’t help feeling this type of thinking is a little short sighted. To be quite honest, it’s not what I expected form the people of the Midwest who made me feel so welcomed.  You kind of came off grumpy and unsupportive and at the end of the day, much though it saddens me, perhaps a town where this disapproving voice is so loud, doesn’t deserve the games. How sad.

Congratulations Rio. See you in 2016!!

Ali xX

Can I have a word … Derek Jeter.

Dear Mr. Jeter,
I hope you are well. I have to say this because recently when I see you play you seem to be wearing more support strapping with every at bat and I worry one day you are going to appear in an all over body support that will leave you looking like an Olympic swimmer under those pinstripes. It’s concerning for a Yankee fan, who became so partly due to the intoxicating atmosphere at the old Yankee Stadium, but in no small part due to the fact that she was taken to a game by her sports fan father and brother and this very impressionable British girl took a shine to one of the many men trying to hit that ridiculously fast moving ball a redonkulously long way with what looked like a very small piece of wood. You were in your first couple of seasons then, and while your career has progressed from strength to strength, you’ll be relieved to know that my knowledge and love of America’s Game has increased beyond measure. I actually have a clue what’s going on now.  I know that while pitches always look fast they are actually traveling in several different ways.  I know that you’re NOT trying to hit the ball out of the park every single time because, well, there’s all this strategy.  I know that this game is an awful lot more complicated than it first appears, despite the assertion that its a simple game: you throw the ball, you hit the ball you catch the ball. I know that win or lose you roll with the punches, always play hard and NEVER cry. And I finally discovered what these Cracker Jack things someone is supposed to buy me are almost 10 years after I first heard that famous song.

I also know that there is no place I’d rather be than at a ball park, watching a game even though this is only a very rare pleasure for me given the whole “Atlantic Ocean gets in the way” problem. Because of this, I don’t call myself a true fan. I am simply unable to follow the team or the game in the way that I would like because of time zones, distances, etc. I can’t see every game. I guess I don’t have die hard loyalties to one team or the understanding of the game that comes with growing up at the ball park, but I’m trying.

I’m left with these questions and I figure you’re rocking the world of baseball as Yankee captain, so when it comes to the game if you don’t know the answers, well, there must just not be an answer.  That, and you seem like an all-round approachable chap (that’s British for nice guy), so I’m hoping you could take a few minutes of your time to read the musings of a confused Brit who just wants to understand the game you love and maybe clear a few things up.

Like, for example, why do some batters tap the plate with the tip of the bat before lifting it above there head? Is it a good luck thing?  Is it some tradition I don’t know about? Is it to remind you just how small the pitchers strike zone actually is, so you don’t freak out at the fact that a hard  ball is about to come hurling at you over 80 miles an hour? Does it help? Why do some players tap once… some twice, some not at all. It’s very strange.

Added to this the whole circling the bat above your head thing. Again, some do, some don’t. Does that help with momentum? Is it some odd attempt to distract the pitcher?  Why, Derek, Why ?

Moving on.. some other things I don’t understand: why all the spitting / chewing gum with your mouth open  / scratching… I know, I know… you are guys and its a guys game and well its just how ball players are, but really they are fowl habits and some traditions should be ended even in baseball. I’m telling you, Yankee captain or not, if you spit on the floor in my house I will show you the door and that’s a promise, so why spit all over the park? Eww… the gum chewing thing has me even more puzzled when you’re in the batter’s box, getting ready for your swing. Does the rhythmic chewing  help you there too, because I have to tell you with all that exertion I freak out that one of you is going to breathe in at the wrong moment sending the gum to the back of your throat and causing you to choke to death. Yeah, maybe I’m neurotic but you know it could happen!? OK… scratching the groin: I will never understand the need but also being a woman and therefore not encumbered with those… umm… additions to my body, I guess I can’t judge you.  It may be much more of a hindrance than I realize. I don’t know. So if you can’t avoid the need to rearrange in public, do you think we could at least have some type of camera man education program because, let’s be honest, the close up shots of an at the time faceless ball player rearranging the furniture are kind of distracting and NOT in a good way. I’m sure you’re not too fond of the world and his wife getting an eye full either?

I’m convinced that you guys are just so focused on what you need to do in the game in front of you, your next at bat, the next play, etc. that sometimes you forget where you are and just how many people are watching. I have to confess to being appalled lately when, during your recent encounters with the Braves, I caught some shots of the dugout littered with cups and all kinds of crap. How hard is it to find a trash can? Seriously?  I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that while watching a game I can drop my peanut shells allover the floor without a barrage of disapproving looks that shames me into picking them up… but my few shells are nothing compared to the mess in there. I pity the poor person that has to clear up after you guys. Do you have a trash can in there?

I could go on and on but you’re a busy man so I will leave it at that. Thanks for listening to a confused fan looking at your world through foreign eyes. Now get back to work because the Yankees are the best team in baseball and, at the time of this writing, we have at least 4 games to make up, if we want to prove it.  I’ll be rooting for you and the boys.  LET’S GO YANKEES!!!

All the best from a worshiper of the church of baseball

Ali xX

Can I have a word….. In memory of Michael Jackson (1958-2009).

So listen…  I’m not going to write a huge spiel here going into all the intricacies of my opinions about this colorful character of a man but I felt something should be said so here goes.

First it should be noted that I am not really a Michael Jackson fan. I know his music because really who doesn’t. I own one of his albums in fact. Thriller was the first CD I ever bought at age 11 but I wouldn’t call myself a fan and I’m certainly not a fanatic supporter.

That being said, the King of pop / MJ / Jacko was a global icon and his passing sort of marks the end of an era. There’s this odd feeling when a person of such significance is sadly and suddenly no longer around. As a woman who was living in Britain at the time of Princess Diana’s death, I can’t say this is the first time I’ve experienced the departure of someone so built into the fabric of society that somehow you just assumed they would be around forever. No, I am not comparing them in any way other than the facts that both were widely known and influenced so many. The ripples they create even in death are wide spread; affect many people from all different backgrounds. Everybody has their opinions and suddenly becomes keen to voice them. There’s this mixtures of anger, shock, disbelief and sadness.

Like I said everyone has their opinion and this is my blog, so here is mine. Michael Jackson was a legend – an amazing talent. His music is the soundtrack to the time he lived through, hit after hit after hit… and all of them have me singing along even when I don’t consider myself a fan or follower of his work.  When an artist has that many iconic hits, you don’t need to follow them because the songs get so much exposure you can’t NOT be aware of them, be it radio, TV, adverts, remixes and imitations. Some people’s talent just shines bright in the world and unashamedly seeps into your consciousness, demanding your acknowledgement. Michael Jackson is one such star and his music will live on as his legacy to the world.

When you draw attention to yourself through some great talent that you possess, you are at the mercy of the society you put yourself on stage in front of.   You amass success and influence. Unfortunately you seem to become somewhat public property. You can’t showcase just part of your life anymore. It’s all or nothing: in the public eye or out of it and when you’re in the spotlight you can bet that a good number of people are looking to shoot you down.

You and I both know the accusations leveled in Michael’s direction as well as we know those songs we’re tapping our feet along to. Pedophilia and the crimes of child molestation and abuse are abhorrent and those guilty of such things are evil in my mind. It’s as simple as that. No excuses, no mercy. However, in my opinion, wrongfully accusing an innocent person of the most disgusting of offences is just as inexcusable. I will not tar somebody with that child abuser label without being damn sure I know what I was talking about. I believe there are only two things in this world that justify openly labeling someone as a pedophile: one is criminal conviction in a court of law where the burden of proof is beyond all reasonable doubt,  and the second is personal experience of abuse and an abused loved one . MJ was never convicted and I certainly don’t know anyone of his accusers personally. Therefore, I will leave him to face judgment and punishment from God on this question for he is much better qualified than me to know the truth.

All I see when I look at the life of this icon is a person forced to grow out of childhood far too fast, reaching the top of their profession before they were mature enough to cope with such things and suffering immense and overwhelming insecurity, trying to recapture the worry free days of a childhood he never had. And that is so very tragic.  The amount of surgery that man put himself through in order to try and feel accepted and “beautiful” is tragic. Somebody who is that out of touch with reality is tragic. Somebody that insecure in the public eye for so long surrounded by supporters and enemies but without any actual help appears tragic to me. If anything is to be learned from the life and death of this tortured soul maybe the simplest lesson is this: here is definitive proof that money and fame do NOT simply buy you happiness and peace of mind.  That is something you must find and not acquire.

Can we please take a moment to stop arguing over the rights and wrongs of the choices he made in his life or the accusations leveled against him because at the end of the day, none of it matters? Now, a man has passed away. Have some respect for the dead.  If you can’t think of anything positive to say, now is the time for quiet. Give his family and friends the respect they deserve on the loss of a loved one and move on with your life .

For my part I will mourn the Michael Jackson that was in the beginning: the bright young star whose music was an inspiration and I will hope that the Michael Jackson he became – the insecure tormented controversial soul – finally is at peace in a better place.

I chose to remember the good and try to let go of the bad… because when somebody has died it seems like the right thing to do.

Rest In Peace Michael and may your family find a little compassion and comfort in the world at this time

Ali xX

Can I have a word…about my expectations.

Let me tell you how I live my life. I live my life always looking over my shoulder, always wondering, always waiting for the good things to crumble into dust, expecting the people around me to let me down and hurt me. I’ve learned not to let others get too close. I try not to open up to them.  I’d rather keep myself back behind these walls that I build… or the masks that I wear.  The less I give you, the less you can destroy.  It’s a horribly lonely way to exist. It’s lonely and exhausting.  One day I would like to stop but you see I’ve grown up this way.  It’s what I know.  There’s a deep rooted fear inside me that I must battle. Everyday I struggle to some degree to open up – to share, to trust. I come across perhaps skeptical. A cynic with more bitterness than your average lemon maybe. All lessons in self preservation I picked up along the way.

Most little girls who are born into this world, lucky enough to have a daddy present in their lives, idolize this man from the moment they open their eyes. They watch, listen, learn and grow. My daddy was smart. REALLY smart. He was a scientist and a bloody clever one. I knew so much – had travelled too. Well, when I was little, it felt like my dad had been everywhere.  He knew EVERYTHING. He was funny too… well at least the big people around him seemed to think so. They were always laughing. I loved my daddy so much I never imagined life without him. I wanted to grow up to be clever just like him. Obviously realizing your father does not have super human powers is all part of the growing up process. I guess it happens to people at different times in different ways.

I found out my dad was vulnerable when I first saw him cry (he was watching a Freddie Mercury tribute not long after the singer passed away.  I remember sitting on his knee. )

I realized I didn’t want to be anything like him when he first hit me right across the face in public. Julia Roberts is right *bam and it feels like your eye is gonna explode* but what goes on inside hurts even more.  It’s like tearing at the fabric of your soul… your self esteem. I looked up to this guy for everything, so I must have done something really wrong, right!? There must be something wrong with me… something I did… something  I said… the way I look perhaps…  there must be something WRONG with me. It never gets easier to cope with… or at least it didn’t for me. Some nights I would lie in bed biting my own fist to keep from screaming because of the things my parents were yelling at each other.  I’d cry and pray to anyone that would listen that when he did come upstairs he wouldn’t open my bedroom door.

My dad betrayed me – the one guy in this world a girl is always meant to be able to run to, the one who will supposedly never hurt her….He got to me before any other damn bloke got a chance. He used me… and at the same time he twisted all my perceptions out of shape. My mother didn’t believe me.

I may be damaged but I’m still here… and I’m trying to work this stuff out.

I know I’m not the only one. I know it wasn’t my fault.  It doesn’t make trusting people any easier. Old habits die hard. when I get hurt I can’t talk about it  I won’t come to you and tell you because part of my brain still believes that my feelings don’t matter or that there will be dire consequences to opening up to you like that. Sometimes I need friends to just realize on their own. If I do, by some happy chance, let you know that something is annoying me or upsetting me, please… can you just stop doing it? Don’t say sorry unless you mean it. Your words are sort of empty if they are not followed up by a change in your behavior, just like all the gifts my father would buy me after his latest….violation.

I’m a loyal person… really. I endured years at my father’s hands before I attempted to tell anyone. I hate to see people hurting. It makes me mad.  All I want to do is help people make a difference in the world and matter to somebody..  I still cling to the belief that people are basically good.

I trust you – please don’t let me down.. I share myself with you – all of it.  Even the broken stuff.  I’m not asking you to have the answers. I don’t want you to fix me. I just want somebody I can trust, someone I can be myself with… where I don’t have to hide or feel stupid or silly and inferior. I really don’t want to feel like you’re here because you pity me, because you feel like I have nobody else so you better step up. I don’t hold you to any obligation.

All I ask is this this:

Honesty: really, just be honest, tell the truth… even if its going to hurt me a little… even a lot. Nothing you can say will match the hurt I’ve already been through. And to be hurt by honest truth as opposed to mislead and deceived with lies.

Respect: don’t make me feel degraded… or belittle me. I deserve respect just like anybody else.

Keep your promises:  if you give me your word on something you better stick to it. If you can’t keep your promises. Don’t make them.

A two way street: if you want to help me and be there for me you have to realize I want to do the same for you in any way I can. LET ME. I hate feeling indebted to anyone. You can’t expect me to come to your call but not respond to mine. You can’t expect me to open up and tell you everything while never sharing anything about yourself. I don’t want to feel I’m imposing or laying all my crap on you.

I still have a little pride left. Please don’t attack what remains.

Thank you

Ali xX

Can I have a word… Doctor !?

I hate doctor’s appointments. Really really HATE. I’m not too sure who is to blame for this; either the NHS and their stooopid 10 minute appointment time  or the individual doctor,  but either way I came away from our brief encounter today feeling down right depressed and pretty worthless. I didn’t actually get any of my questions answered. I still don’t have any explanation for the things I don’t understand that are going on with my own body. All you seemed interested in was whether I was about to collapse and die today.  If the answer is no then I should just STFU and move along. At least that’s how it felt! You failed to even look up from typing away on your laptop ONCE during the whole ordeal.  So I’m there trying to have a conversation about some quite personal issues and I feel like I’m interrupting. THAT’S NOT RIGHT.  OK, so, granted what you were actually doing was making notes, but, hay doc, for all your intelligence I’ve got to tell you EYE contact works wonders. I’m human just like you, ya know! FFS I’m the one who’s actually dealing with this on a day to day basis. When you ask me what the issue is, I expect you to acknowledge my response at LEAST. Maybe even let me finish my sentence before you cut me off with some dismissive remark. I know you may see people in much worse states than me so to you this seems like nothing but it’s a big damn deal to me. Right now my health is making my life hard everyday.  I want to fix it, but I need advice and help support from someone who supposedly knows about these things – someone like you. It takes a lot to even get me in your office, so if I sat in front of you, give me some respect. Please!   Now I feel totally worthless another number. a statistic. A piece of meat. An item of curiosity. I’m so MAD.  I don’t feel like going back. Was that your aim!?  Because I tell you  3 months ago that’s what I would have done crawled back into the hole I came out of and not seen a doctor again for a good long while, but I’m different now.  I’ve got my fighting gloves on and I will not give up. I’m going to get control of this thing with or without your help but I sure could use you on my side.

Despite being told to wait till yesterday for my appointment so the new surgery would have my notes, I got there to find that you had no such information which makes both of our lives miserable. So when I asked about counseling, I got a shrug. I asked about medication for PCOS and I got a prescription. Oh and then I got showed out the door because obviously I was only there because I wanted pills. For God sake what will it take for somebody to actually sit down and explain things to me in a way I can understand? What do I have to do just to feel like someone is honestly listening when I talk and not thinking about the previous patient or what they are going to have for lunch? I need somebody to look at the whole picture here, not just how I feel in the 10 minutes I’m in your office. IS ANYBODY LISTENING?? DOES ANYONE ACTUALLY WANT TO HELP!??

And another thing… if  as it appears you have no clue what PCOS actually is or what the best advice for me might be, could you at least make some attempt to either find out or put me in touch with somebody who does know?  is that too much to ask? Don’t fob me off.  If you don’t know – SAY SO. I won’t think any less of you. Honest. Until 2 years ago I had no clue either!

Oh and thanks so much for the last minute referral to the diet & lifestyle clinic.   an appointment time given to me on a scrap of screwed up paper that looks like its a rude note that’s been passed round a class room a few times before it got to me. Thanks. That made me feel just great. Yes I KNOW I’m overweight. Yes I know it’s not good for me… believe it or not I want to do something about it to. UH HUH I care. I’ve tried so many diets before I can’t even list them all. Does the person running this clinic actually know what PCOS is? Will they be able to help me control it with diet… or will they just be another person who see’s my failing attempts to lose weight, assumes I’m lazy and looks down on me?. Because, seriously, I’m not sure how many more condescending clueless people I have room for in my life right now.

Your very frustrated and desperate patient

Ali xX