Mortality Bites

Nope-still not dead. Yet.

I've had a really bad couple of weeks. My arm suddenly became very swollen-and painful-and I couldn't even pick up a kettle, let alone write. I think it might have been a reaction to the 8 cannulas-most of them were in the same arm. Whatever. Did I go to the doctor? Or the hospital? Of course not. I'm developing a phobia of anyone who is medical. So I just waited, rubbed in Arnica, hoped it would all settle down. It's taken more than two weeks-but it seems to be much better. So far.

I was very, very depressed. Since the 20th or thereabouts, I started crying for no good reason. In fact, last weekend I kept bursting into tears - in the street, in the supermarket, just about everywhere-including church. How embarrassing-I'm a grown-up, after all!

Then I had one of those light bulb moments- you know, the one where you want to smack yourself in the head and kick yourself in the shins because it took so long to figure it out. And I had the "aha", but I didn't hit (or kick) myself. It was because I was thinking back to last year.

Last year-last April-I had the biopsy that changed my life-or should have done, anyway. I had to wait until May 1st to get the verdict-even as I was sitting in the waiting area outside Mr. Tan's office, I kept hoping he would say it was nothing. But-somehow I knew, and when he told me I had breast cancer I burst into tears (yeah, I do cry a lot. I even cry when I watch a sad movie. Duh. Cry-baby).

So that was what it was all about! I didn't even do my usual Brit-bashing. And I love Brit-bashing, as you know. I had two decades of Yankee-bashing from these inbreds, I figure it's time to give some of it back. Plus-it's fun. I know I'm taking pot shots at the brain-dead,obnoxious, rude, and all the things I said in my last post-but it is all so true. I remember after the mastectomy, lying in the room, feeling absolutely awful-and a nurse came in and said "I know exactly how you feel".

I said "you had breast cancer?". I think I was hoping for an ally. Instead, she replied "oh, no, but I had knee surgery. Torn cartilage". She pulled up her trouser leg and showed me a scar from keyhole surgery. And she compared that with breast cancer and a double mastectomy. I couldn't believe it. I asked her if she thought both conditions were the same. She said - well, it was surgery. And I just had to turn away in disbelief. And there you have it: proof positive of the resident brain-dead inbreds. She wasn't the first, and she won't be the last-but brain-dead? Absolutely.

Well, I must say I had to smile at that - so everything I say about the Brits is absolutely accurate, true and objective. You just have to laugh and really wonder how these guys ever made it past puberty. No wonder they're nearly a third world country. And no wonder they needed us to win the war. Eeek.

I'm feeling better now-finally. I'm not sure I did a very good job of grieving-grieving for my balance that was destroyed four years ago, grieving for my breasts - but I'm working on it. Anyway, breasts are highly overrated-unless I happen to be on a plane that decides to go down over the Atlantic. Then I want a seat mate who is at least the size of Katie Price. So I would probably not need the life jacket they give you, complete with whistle and flashlight.

You are in the middle of the Atlantic. Who is going to see a light from a flashlight? And who on earth is going to hear a bloody tiny whistle? Are they nuts? Just seat me next to the black box-those nearly always make it.

Some people get very down and they turn to alcohol, or drugs, or guns, or whatever. I turn to Kettle Chips-much better, in my view (but fattening as hell). I wonder if they count as one of your five-a-day. Sure, of course they do-just have a tomato at the same time. Then you can call it two of your five-a-day.

Speaking of Kettle Chips, mine are calling "eat me, eat me already". So you know I must be feeling better.