Don't read this with your breakfast...

A haimisheh Warhol for light relief.  Now leave this blog unless you can cope with gore.
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Phoned Oxford in a bit of a flap last night;  BBIL very wisely suggested I take a codeine; fell asleep ten minutes into The Belles of St Trinian's (Alistair Sim, none of that Russell Brand nonsense); woke to go to bed with my hot Badam milk;  undressing, cross-eyed, my scar tissue had opened a full inch giving me a far too clear view of the depths within;  panicked.  Phoned my Breast Care Nurse, knowing it to be pointless, but at least thinking mine might be the first message she hears when she plays them back in the morning.  

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Tried NHS Direct, "Your out-of-hours service will phone you back, and if appropriate will call you into their clinic";  "What if I can't get there?  Can't they send someone round with a needle and thread?";  "In these situations people usually call a taxi or a friend".  Good point.  Friends.  Why hadn't I thought of that?  Phoned J Opp [is everyone called J? J next door, cousin J, lifelong J known here as S~S, or even J in America];  no answer;  knocked on her door - 12.15 pm by now.   She didn't answer;  stood in my dressing gown in the middle of a road so silent it could be a movie set for some post-nuclear nightmare, saying "Sh*t, sh*t", and by a mercy, she looked out of her bedroom window.  "I'm knocking because you've got a car...";  as I explained, the GP phoned back, talked me down, convinced me I needed nothing doing right then, and that my miserable wound would do something called secondary healing, which is far better than being stitched, which risks sewing an infection in.  I could always go to the surgery in the morning to have it packed.  

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Keep thinking, "but I'm meant to be having a skin-saving mastectomy:  how will that work if I haven't got any skin?"

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Tom Jones singing 'Sex Bomb';  an unusual choice, but I'm finding playing everything in alphabetical order a wonderful source of eclectic distractions, suits my continual mood-swinging.  Skipped 'She's a Lady' to Razorlight's 'Somewhere Else', far more appropriate.  Sorry neighbours.  Full volume this one. "I really, really wish I could be somewhere else than here".

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Ever tried EFT?  Repeat aloud:  "Even though [insert current crisis here] I completely and unconditionally love and accept myself".  Ha blinkin' ha.

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[Wrote all the above waiting for Dr's Reception to open.  Dr Limbani (who he?) plus female chaperone will see me at 9am.  No nurses available.]