Live long and prosper

I haven't felt like doing any computer work all week. I did go to see the surgeon-and he was pleased with his handiwork. Now he wants me to massage aqueous cream (or E45, or anything similar-greasy but moisturizing) into the wound, twice a day, religiously. Eeek!! I figured out that I could do that and still not look at myself in the mirror. I'm not quite ready for that traumatic experience (again) yet.

Andy is going to do a film night of Star Trek at the Unitarian Church. Star Trek. I love it-the original, I saw it when I was a kid, and it was hilarious: cardboard sets, terrible acting, directing and scripting. But it was the best of all of them. I can even do the Vulcan greeting. Does that make me a trekkie-or just a weirdo? I still love my t-shirt that says "Beam me up, Scotty, there's no intelligent life down here". I should wear it around here; of course, nobody would get the joke. In fact, nobody would know the difference. Sigh. Beam me to some area where there are intelligent human beings (how about New York?).

Well, I'm stuck here, so I might as well do the best of a bad job, as they say. And you can tell I've had a very depressed week. I've only been out of surgery four weeks-and I must admit I am feeling the effects, although the pain has lessened considerably. Still hurts to twist. And bend. And stretch. And move. And breathe. But I'm glad it is now and not four weeks ago. I would not want to relive the last four weeks!

In our culture, breasts are everything-for women, anyway. Women who are flat-chested are looked at with pity, it seems, while the double Ds get noticed. Of course they do! If you don't have brains, get big breasts. It's like a man and his penis. Size helps, but it isn't everything. I have known a few men who had the size but were totally useless (okay, well, only one, and that was about five years ago. He's an idiot; I was a bigger idiot for going out with him). Men even have enlargement surgery. Now that is really sad. Nobody is ever happy or satisfied with what they've got, are they?

I remember my ex-sister in law. She worked for a health authority in Devon, and she ordered all kinds of prosthetic devices. She would send us information about knees, hips, and so on. She once sent us something about a prosthesis called the "Jonas splint". Now, this is an absolutely true story (I always tell you true stories. Truth is often stranger than fiction-much stranger!).

So-the Jonas splint is an implant, and it works rather like an Anglepoise lamp. If a man has trouble, he gets this thing inserted, and when he wants to -um - function, shall we say? (in case any kids or anyone squeamish happen to be reading this)-he folds it up, does his thing, and then folds it down and puts it away. Really. Can you imagine how it would feel to have your partner say, excuse me while I restructure? I would be laughing so hard I wouldn't be able to have relations with anyone who has been fitted with a splint. I'd be covering my mouth to try to calm down, and I would probably be falling off the bed in hysterics. I certainly wouldn't be a good partner, that is for sure.

Now how did I get on the subject? Oh, yes- I was talking about not being satisfied with what we've got (I blame the Tamoxifen for my lapses in memory. It's a side effect. That is my story, and I am sticking to it). And I do have to say that most of my t-shirts fit better, now that I am flat. There is always a silver lining.

I saw Margaret, and we went over my choice to see a Macmillan (cancer) nurse next week, and to find a local support group (she approves, says it's a good way to recover). Then she weighed me. Oh, that was nasty. I was wearing jeans-and they weigh at least a pound! And I weighed in at under 50kgs-even with jeans-about 49 kilos. I got the riot act on that. I was ordered to eat more and gain weight, because I won't heal properly unless I practice good nutrition-etc, etc (I like being 49 kilos. I think the last time I weighed 49 kilos I was about 12 years old). So, I have to eat. And I did: yesterday I had a bag of potato wedges, and a lot of cheese...and salad...and I do tell lies about what and how much I eat, so...more good food. No Kettle Chips for awhile.

What can I say about that? Eat. May the forks be with you.