Boobs on Parade

I've lost a week-or, rather, I've misplaced a week. How very careless of me!

By the time I was finished with my infusions last Thursday-Guy Fawkes Day, when it rained and rather demolished any chance of fireworks- I got back and was so tired, I was pretty comatose. I didn't feel like doing anything-and, because it was pouring outside, I couldn't do anything (except be very, very pissed off).

I really didn't do anything at all for the next few days. I forced myself to walk as much as I could every day-and that is because I was too afraid not to walk, since I know that all the balance issues get so much worse with inactivity. There were fireworks on Friday, and on Saturday, and I walked outside to have a look-but apart from that I was essentially motionless. I read, I watched programs that I had taped (months ago), and I allowed myself to recover from all the tests, doctors, and waiting. The waiting, ah, the waiting-I still have no patience, and if there is a patience gene I was born without that one, too. Grrr. Welcome to the NHS: hurry up and wait. And now it's been all over the news: the NHS has missed all its' targets, cancer patients are not being treated, and junior doctors are about to go out on strike. Just so you know: the theory behind the NHS is a good one. In practice, it sucks.

Sunday was Remembrance Day, and Wednesday was Armistice Day. There were two minutes of silence on both days to remember the war dead. I felt so awful. You would think that the world would have learned something from war-but no, there is no peace anywhere. The motto seems to be: let's all kill each other. Every time we turn around, someone else has been slaughtered. And here we are, supposed to be the most intelligent life on earth. Uh-seriously??

Yesterday it was "boobs on parade". I went to the hospital (first time this week. Hooray) to see Steve, my boob man (technically my second boob man, if you count Mr. T, the oncologist). We had a frank and open discussion about changing the expanders and inserting the more permanent silicone implants. He is against, because he is concerned about my health. I am for, since I want everything to look pretty (aren't I vain!!), and to be more functional. So he will do the surgery, but I am on his waiting list and probably won't be able to have the swap until March or April. Lots of women are having reconstruction-and that is a good thing, in my opinion. I may not have perfection, but at least I am no longer flat chested; actually, I am no longer concave. In that respect, life is pretty good.

I still sound somewhat frog-like...but my voice is slowly coming back to normal. So, if I am going to make any dirty phone calls, I'd better do it now, while I am still growling.

That brings you up to date-and I am now on my way to the gym. First time in such a long time, I have a training session, so I will try not to get too gung-ho and rupture something. At least I can do chest exercises without worrying about one of the expanders winding up under my armpit. Now that would be interesting!

I'm being so good that I will have to celebrate returning to the gym with a bag of Kettle Chips: a large bag of Kettle Chips. People keep telling me I need to eat-so that's what I am going to do!