Exhibitionism

But why have a blog at all? For whom? For why? I type quicker than I write. Last time I had surgery, the tiny movements needed for handwriting were murderously painful for weeks, but strangely, I could still type. So, in pessimistic preparation, here we are. Diary on-line, self-publishing without waiting for a publisher, without finishing a chapter, let alone a book, without knowing where the story is heading, or what will unfold.

Can I really put adverts on this without driving folk mad?

The photo is an out-of-focus early attempt with my newly acquired digital camera; Atlantic beach, Cape Cod. So much new in so few days: camera, ipod, blog, and now, next, hospital drama & chaos all over again?

Eat breakfast now, you fool, before they send you to the end of the queue and you have to wait even longer for any sort of revelation.

Who are you kidding; there's no answers to be had today - not until after CT scan, bone scan, mammogram and biopsy results, and the whole medical team have sat down and had a good think, and then Mr D will sit in front of me and lay out one test result after another, just like last time, until they add up to incontrovertible proof of where this is all heading. And he won't do that until next Tuesday. I could always get half the results today, but he's away, and it would be that daft bloody woman who can't even figure out her password on the hospital computer. Doesn't exactly inspire confidence.

Who in their right mind will read through all of this? It's for my own benefit, really. Thank you if you have bothered to read thus far, whoever. And actually, I've so far told precisely one person my blog address. Wonderful sense of freedom, this anonymity. Not for long.