Sunday, December 24, 2006

another depressing post, I'm afraid: the teensy tiny hole on the surgical incision line has pretty much gone, because it has been replaced by a gap in my actual skin the size of a penny (American, not the old Australian ones, thank goodness.). What do I mean by a gap in my skin? I mean there is no skin there, just a bit of (erk) muscle visible. and of course this has developed over the past week and gradually curtailed my activities, so now it's Xmas eve and I have no dr appointment, a main dr on leave until Feb, a locum dr on holiday until the middle of next week, a strange burning sensation like I might be getting an infection (I have antibiotics, haven't started them yet), the prospect of surgery, a heap of (paid) work to do that will only aggravate thing but must be done, a rental flat to set up that I can't move things into or clean myself, and a massive bout of despair which is of course aimed at dh who has been working long hours and now is on holiday but has shopping and relaxing of his own to do. and the kid gets short shrift if he comes within a mile of my wound, or indeed bugs me when I'm busy feeling sorry for myself.

so I will almost certainly lose this implant and face a) a three-year, prosthesis-using, wait, potentially, until it's safe to use stomach muscle or b) the strange and not-very-attractive prospect of using back muscle. or of course giving up the baby idea and using stomach muscle and fat, of which there is plenty due to forced inactivity this past eight months, now, or at least in Feb when dr returns (and when I'll have the flat happening and another bout of work.)

fucking radiotherapy. it had darn well better have saved my life is all I can say, to make all this worthwhile.

A: believes in Santa and would naturally believe in God if we told him there was one; came into our room to give me a teddy at 1 or 2 am last night, followed by a visit to ask what my favourite colour was; says "Wow" and means it whenever he sees something cool; still naps in the afternoon at three years old, thank (non-existent) God; is partially toilet trained, but not so much I'd dare leave his nappy off; measures things with a measuring tape and says confidently "thirty dollars"; is a sweetheart and a cuddlepuss and a naughty rabbit and I love him.

I hope you can get it sorted out soon and don't have to give up your dream of another child. Wishing for you this Christmas that the pain stops, the hole somehow closes on it's own and you get to spend lots of time listening to your son's wonderful ways. (that did make me smile). Thinking of you.
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