Yearly Archives: 2009
I am now officially discharged from the breast clinic; at my visit yesterday the plastic covering was peeled off and I got the results of the biopsy of the lump taken out. The plastic covering was steadily peeled off by the nurse and this was much less of an issue that I thought it would be – it wasn’t particularly painful with only a small bleed from the scar around my areola. You can barely see the scar, especially when compared to the dark bruising of my nipple and the red rash i’ve picked up from the Tegaderm covering. Nice…
My consultant poked around a bit to check how things were healing internally – now this was fucking sore! My poor boob was very painful for the rest of the day and it’s only today that things seem to have calmed down. Anyway, the official verdict on what I had – “Chronic inflammation with a touch of mastitis.” Yes, something different from what I was told before; at least it’s out now and so I will know if anything else pops up that it’s not that. I asked whether it would be likely to reoccur – yes, possibly, but not necessarily in the same place.
I don’t quite understand how I can have mastitis without breastfeeding or a piercing; the “chronic inflammation” I guess is the fibrocystic breast changes I had read about before. It’s all rather confusing.
Anyway, post-boob poke I went into town with Leia Ewok Village and had an awesome evening drinking to excess and making fun of drunken fools stupid enough to try and approach me. I wore the sequinned shorts and was amused to see that wherever I moved about many eyes would follow. Of course, the one you want to notice you never does…
So New Years- I am spending it alone and inside away from the freeeezing weather. I’ve bought myself steak which I will have medium rare with fried potatoes and salad; I plan to do this however my sense of taste and smell is decidedly ropey post-boozing, so I may lay off the steak and have fried eggs instead. Whatever I eat i’m going to drink lots of juice and watch Cleopatra and marvel at Elizabeth Taylor and the awesome costumes. I will not be crying in the corner or staring wistfully into the distance. Hooray.
Here’s to a better year…
I’m back in my nest after nearly a week en famille… I spent most of that time getting pissed off at my Dad and losing my sense of taste and smell; although I am away from my father I have not entirely regained my senses. Imagine Christmas dinner without them. Yeah, oohhh sooo fun.
Later today I have my follow up appointment at the clinic where, I presume, they’ll remove my plastic wound cover – as i’ve previously written I am not looking forward to this. My boob has been sore over the last week- when sleeping I notice that the pressure from my duvet makes it feel rather tender. I think the healing is going well and hope that the soreness is just hormonal; time and the medical powers-that-be will tell I suppose.
Later on i’m going to wear my new overly short sequinned shorts into town for cocktails with Leia Ewok Village; it’s faaar too chilly for such attire but, whatever, after a week away from having personal time and space- I NEED BOOZE.
I hope that everyone reading this has as stress-free a festive period as is possible; I hope that you get to spend it somewhere warm where you can occasionally feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I’m off up North to play some DS and see my family when i’m not playing :) I think the train’s going to be a bit on the nightmarish-side, but better that than attempting to drive.
I’m going to leave a nice big pile of washing up to greet me upon my return – I really do need to have a proper tidy up. It will be nice to see family and aunts, uncles and cousins, but just as last year I felt sad because MW#1 was in the process of interviewing to leave for Dubai, this year I will again feel sad at his behaviour and his loss from my life.
Re-reading entries from around this time last year I am reminded of the sadness I felt, the moments where I felt happy or hopeful. I know that although this grouch might be surrounded by people that love and care for me I am going to feel rather lonely when everyone has gone to bed and I curl up alone in my adolescent bed.
Good lord I am very glad I live so close to the town centre i.e. within walking distance; last night it took some motorists SEVEN hours to travel less than one mile… Nightmare. Loads abandoned their cars at the side of the road and people faced hours long walks through freezing conditions. Nice to see that the council sorted the grit and salt out before anyone suffered…
Oh, and it’s a damned good thing that I chose to get operated on last week- today my local hospital has cancelled all elective surgery. Oh the joy.
Soothing when the snow stops falling and you’ve got to find a way to fill the time between dinner and bed:
Watching Star Trek: The Next Generation, specifically episodes where the Borg make an appearance- The one where the always excellent Q introduces the pesky cyber-Swedes and the two-parter where Picard is captured and turned into Locutus.
Awesome pop sci-fi that is not in any way as deep as Battlestar Galactica nor really as engaging, but due to the total piece of shit that the finale to BSG was, I can happily shout BOOOOM! at my laptop screen as the Borg Cube blows into smithereens.
Image taken from Memory Alpha: Battle of Wolf 359
My recovery is going well so far with the swelling in my breast dissipating and the pain lessening, although after time spent walking or moving about it does get a bit uncomfortable and I have to reach for the successful tag team of ibuprofen and paracetamol. OhhhYeaaahhhhh… I have to go back at the end of the month to get my dressing changed and my wound assessed; I am definitely not looking forward to having the clear plastic covering peeled off- UGH. It gives me The Fear just thinking about it. At least I don’t have to have my stitches removed (all dissolvable) but I can see under my shrink wrap that there are areas of wound in contact with the adhesive sheet…
The conversation I had with the Strapping Antipodean Anaesthetist went like this:
Strapping: So what medications are you taking?I guess he was talking about problems with higher concentrations of oxygen or an allergy to latex masks/tubing used in inducing the patient into unconsciousness…? A fun, totally wrong conversation to have anyway :)
Me: Nasonex for my nasal polyps, antihistamines for erm, life and microgynon for err, sex.
Strapping: (laughing) Ahh, so you’re not allergic to that then?
Me: Erm, no! but I read about a woman who was-
Me: Yes, she was allergic to semen, so they couldn’t have kids.
Strapping: Ah… Well I had a patient once who was allergic to oxygen!
Me: Really? That is super odd…
Outside the snow is falling steadily and thickly; although I have driven through snow before I reeaaally do not fancy taking on the drive to visit my familial home up North- it’s not the hours of motorway driving that is the problem, it’s when I get off the motorway and have to spend a half hour or so driving along wiggly country roads that have many bends and hilly sections- snow on its own i’d be prepared to tackle but snow that has partially melted and so is topped with a layer of ice? Ermmm *not* so much- I can see me and MR T ending up in a ditch together. How romantic.
Over the weekend I visited Bobby Convey and MG for Crap Crimbo, the annual event of poor gift giving and epic food and booze consumption. It was lovely to see so many people and I felt better than I had felt wandering about town the previous day; I felt very glum indeed as I manoeuvred my way through the Christmas shoppers and excitable children, thinking about my operation, this time of year and all the supposed happiness that is associated with it and the disparity with that and how I usually feel.
The behaviour of MW#1 is proving particularly difficult to deal with at the moment, what with the “festive” period and my operation. His near refusal to communicate with me is infuriating, and what messages he does send end up riling me more with their “Hey! I’m going to write something non-committal that doesn’t answer any questions before finishing off with something disingenuous” format. He’s not around for me to offload how I feel nor does he respond to any question I ask so all I can do is mutter “Jesus FUCKING Christ!” to myself and internalise my outrage.
Instead of me having to suffer through all this bullshit, this is how things should have gone BACK IN AUGUST:
MW#1: Hey.. I think I need some time away from things to think through stuff regarding you and me…Of course, this reasonable behaviour is just a fantasy; I think it’s rather sad that all i’m asking for is “reasonable”, like that’s something so alien. His poor communication makes me feel like throwing the towel in, or at the very least being very rude :) He repeatedly refuses to answer my queries as to an estimate of how much time he might need to consider things – not even a “I don’t know”, so I am left in limbo, unable to move on unless I end things, but lacking the knowledge to do so- i.e. if he needs another month, what would be the point in ending it?
Me: Okay… I understand… How long do you think you need? To sort through things and get back to me I mean
MW#1: Errr.. Six months..? I’m not really sure…
Me: Okay. How about you take six months and update me then on what you think? Like get in touch if anything major happens etc.
MW#1: Will do. I just need some time to sort stuff out? Berlin has got me thinking about a lot of things
Me: I understand what you mean
MW#1: Thank you.. :)
Me: Okay so set a date of the end of February?
MW#1: Yup. Will get in contact with you then
Me: Cool. Well, take care of yourself Fuzzball… Love you muchly… x
On the other hand, maybe he’s trying to force my hand and make me end things? Maybe his behaviour is calculated? If this is the case my sitting things out makes sense, as there is no way i’m going to give in to that sort of shit.
Whatever the case, I get the impression that what will probably happen is he’ll send an email saying something along the lines of “Sorry, I can’t” and i’ll have no right of reply and will thus spend about a bajillion hours being furious. So reasonable and so, so helpful. UGH.
Anyway, i’m heading up North on Wednesday and will spend a few days far away from all of this shite yet thinking about it every day. FUN TIMES.
The surgery went well it seems- no puking, hitting myself or talking rubbish. I’m sore and feel very tired and a little glum as well as unwell; boob-wise things don’t look too bad, with my right breast looking less full than the other but not overly so- under the clear dressings I can see a scar of around an inch or so running around the top of the areola.
The nurses were smiley and lovely and everything was uber efficient – I was out by half twelve; Leia Ewok Village looked after me feeding me a bacon sarnie, lots of coffee and daytime television and I got lots of very kind messages of support from loads of people. Bad times, but good times… at the same time. Heh. Anyway, an early night and a long lie in tomorrow… More info to come when I feel a bit more like updating; I had an excellent conversation with the rather strapping Antipodean anaesthetist on the subject of semen. Yes, really.
Yes, sorry, been crap on the updates front. Just not felt like it, slobbing out any chance I can get… I’ve seen Caversham Princess, Leia Ewok Village, Grande Homme Brum et La Rousse at various points over the last few weeks; i’ve got my hair cut super short and virtually all my red hair is gone. I’ve spent a fair bit of time being sad and vexed by the behaviour of MW#1 and quite a lot of time feeling like i’m a bug being tortured under a magnifying glass. The light – It BURNS.
Away from the chalkface as of today for two weeks and i’m off to the chop shop tomorrow; i’m apprehensive but prepared. Will take a few pics of my boobs tonight just in case; i’m going in horribly early – 7.30am – and will be taking the DS with me to pass the time in the Adult Day Surgery Unit. Woo. Am glad it’s only fifteen minutes walk to the hospital from my den- the blizzards today do not bode well for tomorrow morning when it’s dark…
Mantronix & Joyce Sims
Sad face- My teeny tiny skull bracelet that I have worked hard to look after and keep safe is gone… I fixed the broken bracelet a few times but it appears to have come undone and fallen off as I wandered about town today… My wrist seems rather bare without it… :(
Today I realised that I have been getting upset rather frequently of late. For example, yesterday it was weeping over the songs of Madonna, today it was tearing up in the car listening to Terry Wogan before having to hold it back at work when I pre-watched a video on domestic violence I am considering showing to my form. This evening it was full on tears over Captain Kirk Senior being exploded out of existence as his son James Tiberius was born. What the fuck is going on, eh?
Pop psychiatrising myself it’s down to a) Not getting enough sleep, b) Getting sentimental as I get older, c) The upcoming possibility of having a less-perfect-than-it-is-now boob and d) The MW#1 situation. Score!!!
What can I do about these things? Well, I can try and get to bed earlier :)
Julie & Julia was entertaining fluff that filled my post-Madonna, post-weeping hours fairly effectively; I get the impression that I was supposed to be rooting for the modern-day “heroine” in her quest to Master The Art Of French Cooking, but for a fairly significant proportion of her screen time I wanted to take her shoulders in my hands and give her a good shake.
Meryl Streep and Stanley Tucci were immensely appealing (i.e. awesome) – To be honest I would have preferred the entire Julie part of the film to be excised like the bones from a deboned duck, and I think the entire enterprise would be far better off for it. The A.V. Club review of the film sums up my feelings on the matter thus:
“… an accidental dissection of Internet-enabled 21st-century narcissism rendered in broad strokes and easy punchlines.”Bon Appétit!
Quicker than a ray of light by Supermariolxpt [cc]
I had a lovely time today trawling the shops in town with Leia Ewok Village; thanks to her I am now the very excited owner of three Madonna albums – Like A Virgin, True Blue and Like A Prayer. I am spending part of my evening listening to them at high volume on my headphones and dancing about my room. Oh, it is just *so* goood! I LOVE IT. And my new sequinned shorts I finally managed to find after looking through about seven different shops (yes, really)… I listen and jig about before for no discernible reason tearing up and eventually crying my eyes out – Oh Live to Tell, Cherish, Oh Father – UGH – perhaps it’s because the music is so emotionally full-on? Happy happy! or Glum or Missing You so much… Who knows…
I watched Truth or Dare recently and was impressed by the workrate, professionalism and attitude of Ms. Ciccone; I had not expected it, and was somewhat taken aback at this businesswoman working so darned hard. And the music, costuming and dancing was fabulous too :)
Anyway, i’ve now wept copiously over Madonna so I figure I should do something else… I hope a spot of Julie & Julia will brighten my rainy evening…
Inspired by Constant Siege
Left: Approximately Day 3355, having been to Chicago, Houston & San Antonio, New York x 2, Salzburg, Paris, County Laois x 2, County Antrim, Berlin x 2, Oxford, Liverpool, all around London & Manchester, and various places in-between.
Right: Day 0001, ready to repeat a few mistakes and make some new ones…
Yes, using part of my birthday money I purchased a replacement for my nine-year-old beloved Superstars; I feel rather sad at my parting with them but the water creeping through the bottom of their fractured soles was getting a little much. The new ones are not quite as good as the old, lacking metal rivets and the metal Adidas tag… I guess they don’t make ’em like they used to…
My much-anticipated night on the town last Saturday was as awesome as I had hoped for and more. I spent the evening surrounded by people I dearly love and value; copious amounts of booze was consumed and many hours of Eighties music were danced to with the evening winding down just after 3.30am. I wore something that was very short and clingy and leopard print :D GOOD TIMES.
It’s so lovely to be in the same room (or on the same dancefloor) as so many excellent human beings… I take it (and them) for granted rather too much of the time… I woke up the next morning feeling a little on the rough side but nothing like the aftermath of the last time The Supergroup went out, thank fuck.
Work has been busy what with reviews to be done, Parents Evenings to attend and a lesson observation to be done- Somehow I earned myself an “Outstanding”, which is good to hear and all and my first observed lesson to be rated so, however the grading is related to Ofsted, so in many ways I know the rating is bollocks because of this.
This weekend I’m looking forwards to spending some quality time sleeping, curling up under my blanket and eating homemade soup… Gah…
Twenty-nine. I spent the time after work alone cooking myself stir fry before I replied to kind wishes from various people and then opened cards and presents. I was feeling rather glum due to being tired from lack of quality sleep – I keep waking early – so when I opened the card from my Granny I began to well up.
She’s in a Clinical Decision Unit at the moment waiting to come home; she’s extremely frail and the small, wobbly hand writing Happy Birthday in the card made me feel very sad. It’s not as if i’m close to her; i’m clearly getting sentimental in my increasing years. Ugh.
My birthday outing will be infinitely better than this evening. I wish Saturday would hurry up.
Aside from my trip into Lahndahn tahn on Friday evening I have spend the entire weekend holed up at home hiding out from the appalling weather. Consequently i’ve not eaten the best food and so I am feeling a bit dissatisfied. Tomorrow food shopping should help alleviate this food woe, which is all the more acute due to the delicious ginger chicken udon and ebi katsu I had at Wagamama on Friday evening pre-ballet.
The ballet was marvellous- beautiful, strange, confusing, wondrous. As i’m not at all educated in the ins-and-outs of ballet I feel very confused when watching it, especially when there isn’t a narrative to give me a hand. Most performance art I can understand, with a little information, but watching the dancers work together and apart I feel like I have no areas of reference, so I feel rather weirded out by the whole thing. It’s beautiful to watch with feats of unbelievable strength, control and athleticism; it just has me fascinated but going “hmmm” at the same time. Perhaps a good thing to be out of my comfort zone.
Limen was the second work I have seen by Wayne McGregor (warning- sound), the Resident Choreographer of the Royal Ballet and was as confusing to me as Chroma was before. The work had a sort-of-narrative – in the loosest sense – of life, love, death and loss; these themes were reflected I guess in the colours used on stage, the contrast between pure colour and loss of colour i.e. darkness. The dancers walked naturally to each other to begin each set of movements, differing from the very controlled, high-falutin’ walk seen in the other two productions I saw; the movements were very odd- Like Chroma there were lots of very small movements repeated singly or in pairs or threes with the occasional lift or spin or jump. Everyone mixed with dancers having no set partner and all wore skin-toned or brightly-coloured Lycra; both men and women wore leggings, leotards, unitards, shorts and there was no obvious costuming gender divide. The dancers were there to express and dance and although men were frequently paired with women there was more variety than “strong man lift, lithe woman jump” seen in more traditional productions.
Anyway, I don’t understand it but I enjoyed myself, wandering about during the intervals eating my chocolate ice cream and drinking my glass of champagne, people watching and noticing people watch me. I had particularly big hair and metallic purple eyeshadow and the yellow wedges make me stand out even further :) I really should try and go more frequently, especially getting out of my creative comfort zone…
The meeting with my consultant today didn’t go terribly well in that i’m booked in for an excision but feel more unsure about my decision than I did before. When I asked him what would happen if I wasn’t happy with the results of the operation I was told along the lines that “Duh, you take tissue out you should expect it won’t look the same!” so it seems that any deformity is to be put up with…
I was fairly unsettled by this; the theme of poor communication was continued and he was very round-a-bout when putting a finger on exactly what i’ve got. In theory all will be well and i’ll be left without much difference from one boob to the other but this lack of concrete information has left me worrying. Yes, about something else now JOY.
So the date i’ve picked for my operation is the 18th of December; this is the last day of term at work and so if I need a week or so to recover i’ll be able to hibernate at home or take things easy for the few days I have to spend En Famille for Christmas. After the date was sorted I had to take my charts to the “Fit For Surgery” assessment; I waited for TWO and A HALF motherfucking hours for the purpose of filling in a tick sheet, having my blood pressure taken and be weighed and measured. UGH.
I was seriously grumpy by the time I was seen, especially as I had to wait starving as the nursing staff had their lunch, dithered about a lot and saw people behind me in the queue before me. Eleven comes before twelve ladies! I had to put serious effort into being sweetness and light by the time I hopped up on the paper covered bench. Grrr. I then had to dash back to work for the dubious delights of Art Club and Parents Evening…
Anyway, i’m feeling pretty glum about it all, which is unexpected. Tomorrow i’m spending the evening at the Royal Ballet but i’m tired and sad and not very enthused. I’m sure once i’m there it’ll be awesome and i’ll have a fabulous time; roll on 3.30pm…
Another trip to the clinic tomorrow and my first meeting with the consultant responsible for cutting, scooping and shutting; then it’s back to skool and a Parents Evening with Year 13. Joy. At the moment it seems like when I wake in the morning I wish it was the end of the day, the end of the week, the end of term so that I could crawl back under my duvet and curl up with Patrick. I’m trying to get to bed earlier but it’s often the case that the myriad things rumbling about my brain keep me awake, or I wake up an hour or two before my alarm is due to go off but then i’m unable to get back to sleep.
On the noise front I have a new weapon courtesy of an early birthday present from my Dad- An all-singing, all-dancing clock radio – yes, really, I actually asked for this – that as well as being a DAB and FM radio has the curious function of being able to play a selection of natural sounds. So when I turn the light off I get to listen to “small waves” or “forest rain” that effectively drowns out most noise coming through my walls.
It’s rather relaxing and helps me switch off for the night; sometimes however I like to indulge in a bit of fantasy life living by imagining that the waves I hear are the waves lapping against the Hawaiian beach I lie on or that the rain I hear is pitter-pattering against the French windows of the grand hotel i’m staying in. I curl up and I imagine and escape for a bit, but I still feel glum at having no-one to curl up with on the warm sand and by the crackling fire in the hearth. Sigh.
I survived the company of ninety Year 9’s and had a thoroughly enjoyable day around the Hampshire/ Dorset border. It was cold, blustery and beautiful and i’m sure i’ll sleep well tonight.
It was great to be windswept for a while and get a change of scene; I found being outdoors by the sea deeply satisfying and calming, despite the wind-whipped water.
I thought a lot as I walked and felt happy even when sea spray was turning to sleet against my face.
I’m tired, in need of better food with more menu planning, and yet tomorrow I am off to the seaside with 90 Year 9’s to look at groynes… Heh heh. Groynes of the coastal protection variety, natch.
It’s going to rain and probably be very cold, but i’ll get to be beside the sea for a while and laugh at the girls edging towards hypothermia in their inappropriate for fieldwork attire. Fun. Actually I am looking forward to the sea and the blusteryness – but not the rain methinks – and shall delight in getting my green stripy wellies out. Hurrah. I have fond memories of the residential A Level Geography course I went on back in the mists of time and I will probably find all the erosion we’re going to look at rather interesting. Find things interesting? Aw, Miss, you loser!
On a separate note, look at this fucking gorgeous hotel nearby where we’re daytripping to:
Cheapest room £313 a night midweek… SIGH
Ugh. I’m currently experiencing the full-blown awful of a post-Bang Face comedown; after waking up Saturday afternoon I have been feeling fairly rubbish, tired when I shouldn’t be and generally rather glum. My self-medicating consisted of nothing more than a couple of rum, tonic and limes, and after a good night out and an even more enjoyable Half Term I can’t quite explain why i’ve spent this weekend feeling so very down.
I decided to try a change of scene and a treat so I took my “interestingly” styled bedhead down the hill into town and the luxury of Wagamama to take away; I was amused to see the waitress put two sets of chopsticks along with the cartons of food- No, it is just me. All for me…
I hoped all the tasty food would act like a slightly more upmarket version of the healing power of grease found at my usual purveyor of comfort food McDonalds but no; the food was delicious and exciting to eat in my own room (gyoza! deep-fried shrimp!) but I still felt rather glum by the time i’d got to the end of it.
I lay awake for hours that night, thinking about things- MW#1, the assembly me and my form have to come up with, my birthday; when I did eventually manage to drop off I slept fitfully and woke feeling very unrefreshed. To try and cheer myself up I made poached eggs on hot buttered muffins accompanied with a couple of Mini-Babybels and as the rain fell heavily outside my window I curled up in my seat and drank coffee and read the New York Times Weddings and Celebrations pages, marvelling at the stories of love and difficulty within. And the dresses.
And so I spent today doing not very much at all; did the washing up, cooked chorizo pasta for dinner and grilled a giant grapefruit with sugar and rum for dessert. I drank hot chocolate and watched the goddamned Sex and the City Movie again and cried again and felt hopeless again.
Not that we are going out, but it’s fairly stressful waiting to see if you’re going to be dumped, and although I am but a member of a non-consensual arrangement I feel similarly to those in relationships waiting for the knife to fall and having no input. Stressed. Anxious. Upset.
Every night I lie awake and think about the impending DOOOOM, saying over-and-over in my head “I can’t take much more of this” before tossing and turning my way towards sleep; I clutch Patrick close to me, imagining I was being held and that the ache filling my throat and chest was gone. Oh, the unbridled joy of weekends…
I was feeling fairly hopeful on the MW#1 email of DOOOOM front, but as the days have passed the harder things have got; although I try not to sometimes I initiate conversation with him online, but they inevitably tail off when he seems to lose interest. He told me not to worry about the email – he knows I worry about things – which I took as a sign that it might not be all doom and disaster. I now realise however that perhaps he was telling me not to worry in that there is no point worrying over the inevitable i.e. the “It’s not you, it’s me” statement?
The last email of DOOOOM I received from him was after the whole lying about having a girlfriend episode; I remember how he didn’t bother to fight for my friendship, finally admitting fault but in doing so giving me absolutely no comeback. I will always remember his signing off sentence:
“I will always hope that you are well”
UGH! What a frakking cop-out. You can’t just admit fault and then walk away, friendship or non-consensual arrangement. You’ve got to cool down, think things over and then at least try to talk. Try. Make efforts towards solving the problem; even if things are broken beyond the point of repair at least you can both say you have tried.
I’ve been in this arrangement for years so you’d think that a while – a week, a month, three months, who knows? – wouldn’t make a huge amount of difference. But o, the waiting! It’s like that bit in Grosse Pointe Blank where Jeremy Piven before he was cool‘s character is exclaiming over and over how long its been since he last saw his highschool buddy John Cusack. I feel like that, but I don’t drive a Beamer…
Three years! THREE YEARS! Thrrrreeeee yearrrs!
The ibuprofen took the edge off and a hot shower has helped greatly; my finger is still stiff and very sore and I still have trouble bending it but the pain is lessened and gripping and typing is a lot easier. Hurrah. I await further developments…
Why is it I look at least five years younger than I am yet the nasal polyps, breast tissue thickening and potentially arthritic finger are all conditions not generally seen in someone my age? What is going on here Goshdarnit…?
To my great confusion and consternation this morning I woke up to find that the middle finger of my right hand was experiencing a great deal of pain; it is swollen and seriously painful when I try to open or close it as part of a fist and is really sore when resting. I can feel the blood pulsing through it from the middle joint through to my knuckle; it is getting worse and I am waiting to see if ibuprofen will take the edge off it…
If not, i’ll take more and then if that doesn’t work i’ll make yet another appointment with the medical powers that be. It concerns me because it’s getting worse and if it continues into next week i’m not actually sure how i’ll get on with gripping the steering wheel of my car; at least the surgery is only a half hour’s walk away if I need to go.
I haven’t bumped it, squashed or crushed it nor twisted it in ways it should not go. Maybe it’s the first sign of arthritis? This would be FUN. The swelling and pain is confined to the one finger and joint although the pain is starting to be transferred down my arm a bit and the surrounding fingers are also slightly swollen. In the space of an hour or so it has got more painful to the point where I have shed a couple of tears; doing things like filling the kettle for coffee have been a bit challenging however I have discovered that holding my hand under warm running water takes the edge off the deep throbbing pain. UGH. Please go away…
Guardian – Inquiry fails to find single trafficker who forced anybody into prostitution
“The UK’s biggest ever investigation of sex trafficking failed to find a single person who had forced anybody into prostitution in spite of hundreds of raids on sex workers in a six-month campaign by government departments, specialist agencies and every police force in the country.”Guardian – Prostitution and trafficking – the anatomy of a moral panic
“The failure has been disclosed by a Guardian investigation which also suggests that the scale of and nature of sex trafficking into the UK has been exaggerated by politicians and media.”
“However, the key point is that on the sidelines of a debate which has been dominated by ideology, a chorus of alarm from the prostitutes themselves is singing out virtually unheard. In the cause of protecting “thousands” of victims of trafficking, Harriet Harman, the deputy Labour leader and minister for women and equality, has led the parliamentary campaign for a law to penalise men who pay for sex with women who are “controlled for gain” even if the men do so in genuine ignorance.”Follow this up with: Guardian – Comment Is Free – Sex trafficking is no illusion. The comments rebutting the article that is trying to rebut the original are excellent…
“Repeatedly, prostitutes groups have argued that the proposal is as wrong as the trafficking estimates on which it is based, and that it will aggravate every form of jeopardy which they face in their work, whether by encouraging them to work alone in an attempt to show that they are free of control or by pressurising them to have sex without condoms to hold on to worried customers. Thus far, their voices remain largely ignored by news media and politicians who, once more, have been swept away on a tide of misinformation.”
I spent hours lying awake last night attempting to sleep; I felt too warm but was too cold with the duvet off and thoughts about MW#1’s looming letter kept my mind going until the very small hours.
Today I thought about him and the letter as I carefully filled in an irregular shape in the cubist web of a pupil’s portrait; as I dragged the paintbrush along I watched the intense blue of the watercolour fill the space and thought, “Oh, blue line… Hmmm… MW#1” It was a peaceful feeling like some sort of weird meditative practice? Not that I do that sort of thing, but perhaps it was because I was concentrating on helping my student with her brush control that I had a sort of quiet moment where the emotions were distanced but acknowledged? Fuck knows, but I found it interesting when it happened.
Perhaps it’s because i’m tired from having little sleep but I feel better about it than I did last night. It’s more out of my hands now, which is frustrating in that i’m unable to express my thoughts and feelings about everything as I just have to wait and see, but then I can at least gauge his thoughts on the matter and act accordingly.
It’s an odd thing- This is another example of MW#1 thinking about things I would never think he would consider; there have been a fair few examples of this and it surprises me every time. It’s nice to think i’m not alone in my feelings but at the same time it feels a little weird. My behaviour is shaped by the lack of security in our non-consensual arrangement so even in Berlin I was unable to fully “be”- I was being careful to be extra easygoing because it was our first experience of spending extended time in each other’s company (though that didn’t stop me taking the piss of course :D); at many a point I felt very unsure of things, was confused by just what I was- A friend with benefits to holiday with or…?
The whole security issue is a BIG one- I feel I can’t act how i’d like to act, be or share or ask for things because i’m a full-time casual acquaintance, because he’s seeing/fucking other people etcetera and is unable to commit. Berlin proved (to me at least!) that we get on well in each other’s company; we are of course absolutely woeful at expressing how we feel, talk about problems etcetera, but I would hope that with security a bit more confidence on my part would appear. I don’t know whether this is wishful thinking.
I am nervous at what might be in the letter; things are slowly moving to some sort of conclusion perhaps? Or perhaps not, and whatever happens i’m sure the fallout will last for a very long time indeed…
Oh dear. After all my rantyness I am to expect an email explaining MW#1’s recent uncommunicativeness towards me; I am now bracing myself for an email of DOOOOOM. I’ve butterflies and an increasing sense of dread- Which is a load of malarky really given all that’s happened over the last few years. But who the fuck said this had to make any sort of sense. JOY.
So the lump i’m carting round and the over-excitable lymph node under my are are all officially benign. Hooray. The lump isn’t a Fibroadenoma but general hormonal thickening, fibrocystic I think (the nurse wasn’t terribly clear). I have to go back in a month to talk to the consultant about surgery options, i.e. the pros and cons of having my lump removed; I’m leaning towards having it taken out but the more info I have the more sure I will feel.
I treated myself to some products from the Golden Arches in celebration of my cancer-free boob; perhaps it was more like comfort food than celebratory. I am happy that it is going to require nowt but an operation but I still feel a bit glum as the evening has worn on and life became quiet, or at least even more quiet than it usually is.
I suppose it’s because i’m going to bed too late, but I feel extra tired and so this encourages the glum. The glum happens too when I try things on and see my stomach bulging over everything or rounding out my t-shirts. Ugh. All of this and more then makes me wish I could curl up somewhere warm and dark with someone who would not mind the flab, the sniffling, the twitching, just holding me as I dozed off. Someone who wouldn’t mind if my breast was slightly smaller and a bit dented or scarred or had an inverted nipple.
I would hope that anyone I chose to be intimate with would simply accept these potential problems along with my other flaws…