Groundhog Day:it all repeats, and repeats, and repeats...

I felt all week as if I've been in my own little version of the film Groundhog Day. There has been a "sameness" to every day in that I seem to be doing the same things over and over again, like a drone. It's been more than a little disconcerting.

After I posted last week, I went to see Dr. Dimples. I thought (based on what he told me two years ago) that this time he would discharge me from his clinic, since there is nothing else his team can do for me. So last year, he referred me back to Queen Square, and that whole scenario is one that you already know. But, wahoo (or words to that effect) I was quite mistaken.

I told him about Dr. Davies, and the repeating of the 2011 tests, and the fact that improvement was up to 58%-and he seemed really pleased-jovial, even. He is keeping me in the clinic until March, when we will probably retest again at Queen Square. He wants to keep note of my progress. So do I, in fact.

So that was a positive outcome. Unfortunately, there was a flip side: it rained. Heavily. I got caught in it, and it was terrible. I could hardly walk up the road, it rained so hard. The Brits call it "pissing down"-maybe it's crude, but so descriptive, and so very appropriate. And believe me, I waited to see Dimples and I was sitting in the clinic, cold, wet, peed off, and soaked to the skin. When my name was called, I didn't walk down the corridor-I sloshed. I left a water trail. By the time I finally got back to North London I was-still wet. It was definitely not fun. And on Wednesday it was just as bad. I rushed to walk (or, rather, stagger, which is all I can do in the rain) in the morning, and I just got in my door as the skies opened. I like rain. I like to watch it. I like to watch it when I am inside and warm and dry, and I don't have to go anywhere. And, anyway, my clothes were still wet from the day before. So I wasn't very cheerful on Wednesday.

On Thursday I went along to see Steve and have him check the offending expander. Sure enough, it was misbehaving; after only a week, that right side was already showing signs of sinking. I was sinking, too. I kept thinking that I might have to go through the whole procedure again.

We talked it over, and Steve decided to inflate that side again, and continue to inflate weekly if necessary. Eventually we might need to remove the port, and see if the expander keeps contracting. So I have one decent looking breast and one that is, to put it mildly, concave. Ick. If we remove the port and the thing keeps sinking, then we will need to replace both expanders with permanent silicone implants. At least I know what level of pain to expect. If that has to happen, I must remember to request regular visits to the bathroom. That will save me from catapulting myself off the bottom of the bed and nearly knocking myself unconscious in an effort to avoid using those odious bedpans!

Tomorrow marks six weeks since the surgery-and I am so happy that it is now, and not six weeks ago. I can only wait to see what happens when I go back to the clinic on Thursday.

I have started to make a conscious effort to change the way I do things. I take different routes to get to wherever I need to go. I even start the day differently. I've been trying to mix things up a little. I have had terrible trouble sleeping, because that right expander makes things very painful, so the pain keeps me awake at night. So does trying to move around to find a comfortable position. There is no comfortable position. Even breathing causes pain-but I think I will just have to deal with it. Or-I will just have to live with it.

I've started doing all my vestibular exercises again, even though we have had a lot of rain, and even though I've been a bit demoralized by the fact that I have had a major setback in the balance and vision areas. But I've had a setback. It was to be expected. I just need to understand that I will regain what levels I've lost. It'll take some time, and a whole lot of effort. But I've done it before, and I will do it again.

One thing I have been thinking a lot about this past week is the fact that I have been so busy trying to survive over the last five years that I forgot to enjoy life. And-I know I pulled the genetic short straw, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't enjoy whatever time I have left in front of me. I want to get to that truckstop in the sky (but not for many, many, many years) and be able to look back at my life and say that it was not just traumatic, but also filled with joy, good times, good people-and even if one person reads this blog and realizes that we just have to move forward, and never give up, no matter what the circumstances, and be happy anyway-I will have done something for someone.

As for that truckstop in the sky, they'd better have a huge stock of Kettle Chips. And Starbucks. Otherwise I'm not going.