The Final Countdown (hopefully not too final!)

I only have a few more days before I am admitted into the hospital for my reconstruction. I can still change my mind-but I probably won't. I know what to expect. I have an immunology team, and an immunology consultant-and a hospital-that are far superior to the Royal London (and the four cripplers). For the first time in five years, I'm not afraid that if I go on the ward I might not come out (except in a wheelchair or a bodybag). Seriously-these new guys are really working hard to show me that I have nothing to worry about.

Of course, I thought the same thing last time-and that didn't work out so well, did it? Ah, the cynic in me (or should I say the realist?). I'll keep blogging as long as I can-but after the surgery I expect to get lots and lots of morphine. I did ask the surgeon to give me enough morphine to keep me sedated until Christmas-but that didn't go down so well (I wonder why).

I've kept on top of all the things that need doing before I go in: bills to pay, friends and family to contact, and, of course, cleaning the house. I will probably not be able to raise my arms for awhile. And my GP tells me not to be frightened when I see my chest after the surgery-as if I really want to look. For awhile. Maybe a few months.

I went to the museums this past week, got together with friends, and mostly looked like (their words) a deer caught in the headlights. Surgery is still surgery, and I will still need anesthesia. Eww. Yesterday I went to see my friend in East London-and the train stopped between stations, which was a bit annoying. It reminded me of the London bombings ten years ago. Now nobody is afraid to travel on the underground. The bombings are history. And history might repeat itself-there are crazies everywhere.

I got to my friend's house and met his new girlfriend; we had a few coffees, some lunch, and the dog (a Staffordshire terrier) jumped up to say hello and immediately began to hump my leg. You haven't lived until you've had about 100 pounds of Staffy trying to shag your leg. My friends were aghast-but I was laughing so hard I nearly fell off the chair. Not the first time a dog has tried to shag my leg. And they only go for the left leg-any dog behaviorists out there have a theory on this?

I will be uploading another video to YouTube before I go into the hospital at the weekend. YouTube is so addictive! I'll let you know when I've done it. Now I am too busy and preoccupied with the upcoming surgery to worry about the cripplers. I have almost done all I can to blow the whistle and let the world know what has happened-and will continue to happen until these monsters are stopped. But-one person can only do so much.

There is no such thing in this country as a class-action suit-or everyone would sue the makers of Gentamicin, and the vicious drug would be withdrawn from the market. It's only because it is cheap (there are better drugs out there, ones that do the job but are a little more expensive-and less toxic) that the NHS refuse to stop using it. This is because the NHS aren't interested in patients-only money.

Ooh-I nearly forgot to mention the lion-killing dentist. I actually did go on Facebook, and there were a lot of comments about how disgusting that this man gets away with it. So, me being me, I posted that someone should find him, yank out all his teeth with no anesthesia, shoot him in the legs (preferably the kneecaps), and smash his fingers so he can never hold any kind of weapon. I added that, of course, everyone knows I am a pacifist.

Did I ever get abuse for those comments! Some people have no sense of humor (or proportion).