Hospital must-haves

If you are contemplating a stay in hospital, I would recommend any or all of the following (clockwise from left):
1. Crocs - fleece-lined (present from JP) they work as slippers or shoes, so when you are up to forays off the ward you can wear them as shoes. You can also wear them in the shower, and take the fleece bits out to dry them. Gonna get some more crocs, although Jules says they're 'dykey'.
2. Ted (Rob won him in a raffle). He was at Rob's Mum's care home until she died. 'He is used to looking after ladies'.
3. Cardboard bowler hats which work as sick-bowls or recepticals for other random fluids. The hospital supply these.
4. Hand cream. General anaesthetic dehydrates skin.
5. Biscuits. The last meal is served at 5pm and it's a long fast till morning.
6. DAB radio. Radio 4 helps keep you sane.
7. MP3 player, cuts out out ward din. Listening to your own music helps you feel human. You can also put relaxation tapes on there, good for sleepless nights.
8. Holding cross (present from JP) can be comforting for the religiously minded. (I am Catholic albeit not a very good one)
9. Somersaulting frog. (present from Jules) amuses the nurses.
10. Blackberry or other smartphone/handheld device. An absolute lifeline. Thankfully they let you have mobiles these days in hospital.

Hang Parliament

As the future of British politics stays suspended in the air, I've been hanging out in cafes with Jules. First time out in public since emerging from hospital. It all helps in the normalisation process.

Having something life-threatening can make you appreciate the mundane - corny but true. We sat in Le Mistral, sipping Earl Grey, the buzz of ordinarly life around us, and it was wonderful.

I have been walking very slowly around places I normally run through, stopping to talk to old men on park benches, pat dogs, sniff at blossom and photograph trees.

Yesterday my bosses came, bearing chocolate and poems. They are part of the tidal wave of good will that has engulfed me since my diagnosis, helping to make this cancer chapter a bizarrely positive experience.

Gordon is right

About nurses being angels. When I went back on the ward to have my dressings removed they greeted me like a long-lost sister. They are now dealing with another intake of people going through what I went through, and so it goes on, day in day out, week after week. So here's to Sarah and Rachel and Becky and Marcia and Adele and all the other Gillies girls who give of their best, day and night.

The auxilliaries who came to wash me in the mornings wanted everyone to vote Lib Dem because apparently Clegg has pledged to put their wages up to a whopping £8.30 an hour. Currently they earn little over £6.

Just been to the synagogue to vote. This is an interesting election for me and my colleagues because we work for a bit of Government that may be done away with if certain of the parties get in.

Some of the candidates have been banging on about bureaucrats in the civil service wasting tax-payers money, but I'd say that if there is time and resource wasted it is spent doing the bidding of politicians - and that is true whatever hue of Government is in power.

Oscar rehab

This is Oscar, an orange cat who lives here.

He runs a clinic in the conservatory for recovering alcoholics and other jaded souls.

Therapy consists of sitting on people and administering acupuncture.

I am currently availing myself of his services.

"I don't want no chemo shit!"

Overheard in the results clinic. The girl who said it only looked about 19.

If you are going to have breast cancer, I think my sort of age (mid-40 something) is the optimum time to get it because:
- you are more confident in your body so losing a breast is less important
- menopause-inducing treatment is less of an issue because that's the way you're headed anyway
- you are still young enough and strong enough for your body to cope
- chances are you're in a solid enough relationship by now to take the strain.

JP's back at work today so I'm fending for myself. Each day brings little triumphs on the recuperation road - yesterday's were walking round Mill Lake and having sufficient dexterity to put my contact lenses in. Recovery from the op is of course just the end of the beginning. Phase 2 will be determined next week by Miss Bello's Black Box. Fingers crossed for a low-grade, non-invasive cancer. I don't want no chemo shit either!

Visiting hours

In hospital, visitors weren't allowed until 2.30pm and flowers were forbidden. No such restrictions exist here, and we're running out of vases. It's like a continual house party in which I am allowed to be a crap host. Guests sort themselves out and don't think it rude if I zone out for a while and have a little snooze.

One recent visitor put me to sleep intentionally. She is a hypnotherapist and ran a special session for me in which we deflated bubbles of negativity. It was nice. The session lasted half an hour but seemed much less.

People are very generous at times like this and have given freely of their time and expertise. I am fortunate in having among my friends a physio, a doctor, a yoga teacher, a hypnotherapist, an Indian Head masseuse and several cancer survivors, not to mention all the people who are just good to talk to. Thank you!

Recovery

"I like living. I have sometimes been wildly, despairingly, acutely miserable, racked with sorrow, but through it all I still know quite certainly that just to be alive is a grand thing" Agatha Christie (1890 - 1976)

Today we went to the marina to see the boat. Managed to walk to the lock and back - about 1 mile. It won't be long before I am able to go out on the boat again. But I won't be able to do locks and things for a very long time - if ever!

Afterwards Liza took me bra shopping. I am turning into a person who seeks advice in bra shops and tries things on. Did you know you get 17.5% (VAT) off certain bras if you've had breast surgery?