Hysterectomy, with a little Hysteria

The alarm sounded at five o'clock, I drank the two bottles of pre-op somethng-or-other the hospital had given me, reset the alarm for six fifteen and went back to sleep. I'd only been in bed since midnight, after a delayed train journey back from a couple of days working in Glasgow, so when I got up again and went to the hospital for my hysterectomy, I felt like I could have gone to sleep for the operation without any assistance from the anaesthetists.

The nurse gave me the usual gown to change into, a pair of tights with grips on the soles, and also a pair of hospital knickers. What an absurd item of underwear these are. I refuse to believe that anyone is actually that shape.

The good news was that I was number one on the surgical schedule, so I was soon wheeled off to the room where they send you away with the fairies. I've been through this routine six (or is it seven?) times before, so I am well used to it. Other than the prick in the left hand as they set up the cannula, it is quite a pleasant experience, drifting off to controlled unconsciousness looking forward to waking up with it all over, maybe a little uncomfortable but sufficiently drugged up to feel relieved, relaxed and happy.

Spanish Lesson

Guardia Civil
know the drill
Drafted in from other places 
beating unfamiliar faces

Keepers of the peace

That's the theory:
There and here, we
expect protection 
get subjection

Saw that theory
cracked in practice
Dragged and kicked
grabbed and nicked

Keepers of the peace

1917: Nine Months That Shook The World

On Thursday, the women cried Bread, Peace and Land
On Friday, the workers walked out, joined their stand
On Saturday, more marched, a whole city spanned
On Sunday, the Tsar made the Duma disband
By Monday, Provisional and Soviet command

Farewell, Tsar
He went too far
Nasty Nick
Legged it quick
And now he's off -
Bye, Romanov

When Will The Revolution Come?

When the shepherd can't whistle
and the sheep will not herd
The alarm couldn't sound
and when nobody stirred

When the owner growls Sit!
and the dog won't stay
The conductor drops the baton
and the orchestra won't play

That's when the revolution comes

When the piper can't pipe
and the children won't follow
When the lenders can not lend
and the borrowers won't borrow

Whipping it all out

This morning, I was at Homerton Hospital preparing for surgery next month. So, what's occurring?

Back in January, the medics discovered something dodgy on my cervix. It turned out to be a cervical ectropion - nothing too serious, but it would need some investigation and treatment. (It's probably related to my having had endometriosis for many years, though fortunately, much more mildly than many women do.) Well, I pondered to myself, what's the point of treating this ectropion thing? Aged fifty, with all my child-bearing done, I don't even need a cervix any more anyway. 

Then I remembered the long list of Tamoxifen side effects, and that it included increased likelihood of uterine cancer. That's annoying, I thought: I don't even need my uterus any more.

And then I found out that having your ovaries removed reduces your chance of breast cancer coming back. That's interesting, I mulled: I don't even need my ovaries any more.

You can see where I'm going here, can't you?


Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that.
How awful.
I don't know what to say.

At least they caught it early.
Oh, they didn't?
Well, I'm sure you'll still be OK.

My friend's got that.
She's having chemo -
Head down the toilet all day.

My mum had that. They gave her a year.
That was sixteen years ago -
She's still here!


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