Back in the saddle - and what a pain in the butt it's been, too...

I wish I could say that I haven't been online for three weeks because I was whisked away for a dirty weekend-or three weeks-by some fabulous, brilliant, stable, sane, single man - who also has all his own hair and teeth, and is still breathing (always helpful). Alas, no. The ones I find myself meeting don't have their own hair, have rotten teeth (if any teeth at all), are about 90 years old, and have beer guts so big they look like they're giving birth to a T-Rex.

And by the way, all the married ones are simply bloody ugly. Someone clearly wants them-but yuck!!

No, my computer finally expired. Of course, I've got three, and all are dead as the proverbial dodo. My PC is about 14 years old, one laptop is 13 years old, the other laptop is five years old-all dead. If anyone was stupid enough to actually break into this property, they would find three dead computers, a television that is so old that it has a VHS slot on the bottom of the front panel (but it hasn't played a tape since Clinton was President. And it didn't work well then, either). My little mini-stereo is falling apart, and in grave danger of starting an electrical fire-but I've had it since 2005. So I've been lucky. Up until now.

I had three weeks of hospital visits-not every day, but most days-only to be discharged from two clinics because I've been pronounced well ("for my age"-harrumph!). Apart from my antibody replacement every two weeks, I don't need to actually go near anything remotely resembling a hospital until September, when I see whoever is remaining, only to be told-guess what? I'm fine.
AND-I'm not complaining, because it took me "only" six years to reach this point. I thought that I would probably be dead by now-but it looks like I will be around to irritate the hell out of everyone for a very long time to come.

Not bad for any "old girl", am I?

On Wednesday it was eight weeks since the reconstruction, and Steve was very pleased - he told me I can go back to the gym this week. Hooray for that-before my bingo wings grow so huge that I will lift my arm and fracture some innocent passerby's skull. Oops...I've got wings.

This is a time of anniversaries. Wednesday marked eight weeks (so glad it is now and not then!). Tomorrow marks three years since the double mastectomy-so, technically, tomorrow night I will be three years breast cancer free. I kinda feel like I've won the lottery. So I am celebrating by taking myself to the West End to see Jersey Boys again. It's an English cast (again)-and the accents will be nauseating, but the music...it's the music I'm after. I listen to a radio station that plays a lot of the Four Seasons, and their music just lifts my spirits. After the gentamicin, when Dr. Dimples told me that they nearly killed me, and that I would never regain my balance system (destroyed for good, he said), he also told me that one other side effect was permanent deafness. So once again-I'm lucky, because I have my hearing-and my music. Music really helped save me when I was too sick to do anything.

Next month it will be six years since gentamicin-not exactly a happy anniversary-but I have to look back and see just how far determination, willfulness, bloody-mindedness, and just pure anger have gotten me. I'm nowhere near the 90% balance I'm after, but I won't stop until I get there. In September I will undergo all the tests again, so we will see how far I have come after all the hard work.

I think it's time to do something for myself-apart from Jersey Boys. So, I bought another mini-stereo, and I'm awaiting delivery. I would love something that is a decent size, but then I would set it up and have to sleep in the garden. So, a mini-stereo it is. And I will do a pilgrimage to the West End to search for another laptop. I can't continue to go to the library to email and blog. It's awful. The keyboards are always sticky with some mystery (biological? Eww) matter, I could make a four course meal before the things power up (and then they are always crashing). Of course, I could wear gloves and take antiseptic wipes, but I would feel silly (and that is where I am now, and that is what I did, silly or not. Who knows what is on those keyboards? Probably something horrible and contagious).

Even my car is fourteen years old. I kept it after 2010 because it represents freedom to me, and I can now drive short distances; eventually I will be able to take longer journeys, although motorways are (and will remain) out of the question-as will driving under certain conditions (like, at night. I can't even walk at night, let alone drive. I don't want to kill anyone. Well--maybe a few people!!).

So on Monday I went along to my local Volkswagen dealer, test drove a beautiful Polo, and that was it: a brand spanking new VW Polo. Yes, I bought a new car.

And here is the thing:   I'm worth it.