You've heard of Deadpool; now meet Bloodpool

Four weeks yesterday I had the implants removed-and what a disaster that was!! I ended up with a hematoma the size of Brazil. From waist to shoulder, all the way around the back, down to the buttocks-and it hurt like hell, too.

The docs tried to do a needle aspiration - they removed a syringe filled with blood (that was a week after surgery)-but then the blood clots became solid, and I was told that I should be out of pain in-maybe-six months.

If I've already told you this, feel free to go make a coffee for the next few sentences. It just means that that malady I call CRS (Can't Remember Shit) has once again reached up and bitten me on the ass. I can tell you that people I know quite well suffer from this as well-as do people in their 20s and 30s-so it's no longer just a middle aged person's malady. It's everywhere-like flu. Does that make me feel a little bit smug? It shouldn't-but it does.

Last week the surgeon removed the stitches from one side. He's waiting until Monday to remove the rest. I asked him if he thinks that any earlier would make my chest fall out if I coughed. He thought that was funny. If he was in my shoes, he wouldn't think anything is funny. He even told me that the pooled blood and all the blood clots would migrate down my buttocks and stomach, and I shouldn't be worried. Seriously? I asked him what I should do when it all reaches my ankles: stand on my head? Dangle upside down until it all starts to move the other way? Huh. Idiots.

Well, here I am, four weeks later, and a lot of the bruising has subsided, although the bruising on my chest still looks like someone kicked me while I was under the anesthesia. Kicked, punched, dropped a 20 kilo weight-whatever. I must have that effect on people: they want to wait until I'm comatose and then kick the shit out of me.

A doctor I know advised me to use heat-so I've been using a heating pad every day for about the last two weeks-and, between the heating pad and the arnica (I swear by arnica-too bad I don't have any stock in the company. Another missed opportunity), I think that it's all looking a bit less black. Now it's all dark grey. How exciting is that? I really need to get out more...

I do have some interesting news, and this is about the whole needles/syringes debacle. I persisted-almost daily, because you know that when someone really, really pisses me off I just go for the jugular, no matter how long it takes. I received an apology from my GP. It wasn't a grovelling apology, but it wasn't far off. Then on Thursday I was due to go over to the surgery for my annual flu shot-some media idiots are bleating that this will be the worst flu epidemic in years (they do that every year. It frightens people, and it sells what these idiots laughingly call "newspapers").

I go because of the whole immune system/chest challenges. And I'm sitting there, waiting for the doc to see me, and who walks out of her office- my GP. Of course. WTF...and other expressions of dismay...

She came straight over to me and apologized again, said that she was very foolish, and blah blah blah. Of course, every patient advocacy group-plus the MP-were after her, so she might have done this to get the heat off (finally). She also might have been genuinely sorry that she and her team of morons screwed up so royally. So we are going to meet in a couple of weeks and sit down and just put this all behind us. Perhaps I should wear a bullet-proof vest...or maybe she should?

I'm glad I persevered, and that this whole matter is nearly at an end, and if I never hear about needles and syringes again it will be absolutely wonderful.

My friend Dee says that anything for a quiet life-at any cost-is exactly what she wants, and she just doesn't like any kind of confrontation. She runs from it. I can understand that-in some ways-and I know her for a number of years, and if she was really happy to live her life that way, I would applaud her. I know that she isn't- because she never stands up for herself. But hey, whatever floats your boat.

I seem to be in battle mode a large percentage of time, fighting for myself, or for anyone who needs (and asks for) help...and I wonder which of us is healthier, the fighter or the - not fighter. I'm not so sure I want to keep fighting all the time. It's very wearing. In this country, if you fight for anyone's rights (including your own) you're pilloried and demonized. Who needs that?

I'm telling you: I'm going to take up kick boxing...