Thank goodness he romped home as it turned out. If you think America's international standing was mud already, just imagine if the election had gone the other way. I think even I would have been considering a semtex strap-on. But as it is, this makes up for Martin Luther King. What a wonderful moment.
Mind you, who would want the job after the country and the world's been thoroughly shafted now? Besides, give him a few years and a few mistakes, and we'll see the press and voters turn on him. The Blair effect. But what a gifted guy!
Meanwhile, tomorrow's the day I get the lump out. The hospital phoned and told me to turn up at 7 a.m. I pointed out that the doc told me he'd do me at the end of his list, around lunchtime, so what was I going to do for 5 hours? "You could read a magazine." Bugger that, I'll turn up mid morning and they'll still have a couple of hours to run around with their forms.
Then the woman said don't eat anything at all after tonight. I pointed out that it's to be a local anaesthetic, not a general. "Well I'm just telling you what I've been told to say." The admin people are Australians, so they haven't a clue. If I'm to hang around in a ward for half the day, I'm not doing it on an empty stomach. Fasting for a local anaesthetic! They've got to be kidding. Porridge bacon and eggs here we come.
I think I'm going to be a bolshie patient now that I'm not getting it for nothing.
And my manager, all heart, when he heard I'd be off for a day asked me to do some extra paperwork because Q, the person I'm standing in for, should have done it before they went on holiday. I couldn't be bothered reasoning with him, so I decided to start getting the hang of these mind games - I told him I'd do it, knowing full well it would unfortunately slip my mind, just like it slipped Q's mind.
Wednesday, November 5
Monday, November 3
one lump or two?
It's lump time again. I had been observing a small neck lump for months, and when it became impossible to believe it was still just as small, I went to the doc. She referred me for an ultrasound, but I had to wait a week for the appointment. Over the course of that week I moved gradually from laid back cockiness to panicky pessimism. By the time of the ultrasound I was, well let's just say I wouldn't need laxatives.
After they handed me the results, I waited till I was on the bus before tearing open the envelope. I deciphered the jargon using what I could remember from second-year medicine. Hurrah! "No hilum can be indentified" - that must be a good thing, who wants to have a hilum, whatever it is? "No vascularity is apparent at colour doppler". That must be good too. I seem to recall that one of the first things that the black spot does after moving in is install decent plumbing.
But everything balances up, and the same report said they had found a second, smaller lump.
Since then, I've had a week of R and R and denial. This afternoon I've to see the surgeon, so just now I thought I'd prepare by using the web to look up the jargon from the ultrasound. Now I wish I hadn't.
Still, I suppose it's good to clue myself up before seeing the guy. You can't give informed consent if you refuse to be informed.
At the same time, I'm working a four day week (on 2.5 days' pay mind you) for a month. At least it gives me something else to focus on and gets me out of the house every day. Hurray for work! And when I'm not immediately busy, I'm building myself a new home computer in my office. If I get stuck, I can get help from the hardware people.
This morning I had a joyless walk with the dog, and now I'm going back to bed till lunchtime, to read and maybe sleep.
I ended up trying to meditate in bed, so I was asleep by the fifth breath, but I had time to notice how with each breath the throat relaxed and opened up, accompanied by a similar relaxation in the trouser department. I made a mental note to try this mediatation thing again, just in case there's something in it.
My oldest friend in Scotland is a doc himself. He told me about the shorthand terms they use at his hospital. An anaesthetist is referred to as a "gas man," an orthopaedic surgeon is a joiner or a chippie. Urologists are called plumbers. A plastic surgeon is a painter and decorator. Most surgeons are butchers.
So I went this afternoon to see the butcher, and he said it'll have to come out. The good news is he agreed to do it under a local. He gave me the choice of paying my own way ("we could do you this week") or for free ("maybe the end of the month"). So it was a mental toss-up between fear and stinginess, and fear won. Of course, once I got out of there I was kicking myself for my decision. Even "the end of the month" would have been sheer bloody luxury compared to a Britsh NHS waiting list.
Never mind, I get a day off work but the actual op only takes about half an hour, so I'm ahead on the deal. Tonight I've had my first real beer since Duneditin, for relaxation purposes. But in the long term I'm going to have to learn to meditate. It has come to this.
After they handed me the results, I waited till I was on the bus before tearing open the envelope. I deciphered the jargon using what I could remember from second-year medicine. Hurrah! "No hilum can be indentified" - that must be a good thing, who wants to have a hilum, whatever it is? "No vascularity is apparent at colour doppler". That must be good too. I seem to recall that one of the first things that the black spot does after moving in is install decent plumbing.
But everything balances up, and the same report said they had found a second, smaller lump.
Since then, I've had a week of R and R and denial. This afternoon I've to see the surgeon, so just now I thought I'd prepare by using the web to look up the jargon from the ultrasound. Now I wish I hadn't.
Still, I suppose it's good to clue myself up before seeing the guy. You can't give informed consent if you refuse to be informed.
At the same time, I'm working a four day week (on 2.5 days' pay mind you) for a month. At least it gives me something else to focus on and gets me out of the house every day. Hurray for work! And when I'm not immediately busy, I'm building myself a new home computer in my office. If I get stuck, I can get help from the hardware people.
This morning I had a joyless walk with the dog, and now I'm going back to bed till lunchtime, to read and maybe sleep.
I ended up trying to meditate in bed, so I was asleep by the fifth breath, but I had time to notice how with each breath the throat relaxed and opened up, accompanied by a similar relaxation in the trouser department. I made a mental note to try this mediatation thing again, just in case there's something in it.
My oldest friend in Scotland is a doc himself. He told me about the shorthand terms they use at his hospital. An anaesthetist is referred to as a "gas man," an orthopaedic surgeon is a joiner or a chippie. Urologists are called plumbers. A plastic surgeon is a painter and decorator. Most surgeons are butchers.
So I went this afternoon to see the butcher, and he said it'll have to come out. The good news is he agreed to do it under a local. He gave me the choice of paying my own way ("we could do you this week") or for free ("maybe the end of the month"). So it was a mental toss-up between fear and stinginess, and fear won. Of course, once I got out of there I was kicking myself for my decision. Even "the end of the month" would have been sheer bloody luxury compared to a Britsh NHS waiting list.
Never mind, I get a day off work but the actual op only takes about half an hour, so I'm ahead on the deal. Tonight I've had my first real beer since Duneditin, for relaxation purposes. But in the long term I'm going to have to learn to meditate. It has come to this.
Saturday, November 1
love-hate balance
Scientists at University College London have shown that there really is a thin line between love and hate, at least in the brain.
A new study reveals that the brain's "love" and "hate" circuits share identical structures.
At last, I think I understand why I pursued the annoying but delightful Denny for years, then let her slip away after I had won her, yet still missed her even after she was dead.
Everything in the universe, it's all just more and more balancing up. I'm hoping I can still see things that way when I'm at death's door, just balancing up my birth. That would help.
A new study reveals that the brain's "love" and "hate" circuits share identical structures.
At last, I think I understand why I pursued the annoying but delightful Denny for years, then let her slip away after I had won her, yet still missed her even after she was dead.
Everything in the universe, it's all just more and more balancing up. I'm hoping I can still see things that way when I'm at death's door, just balancing up my birth. That would help.
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