I'm trying to do too many things at once this evening. On the DVD player is the Shakespeare Retold episode, Macbeth, starring James McAvoy and Keeley Hawkes. Unlike the retellings of Much Ado About Nothing and The Taming of the Shrew, which I loved, this new Macbeth isn't holding my attention (although turning the three witches into three garbage men was quite inspired). I've been browsing the internet instead. Very addictive and a complete timewaster. Suddenly 90 minutes have disappeared with little or nothing to show for it.
This week just passed, the last week of January, has been dominated by medical matters. On Thursday, my portacath was removed (it's the little port that was popped into my chest just below my collarbone to make giving me chemo easier - and it did make having chemo easier. I didn't have to suffer any of that horrid searching for veins that many people have to go through). Having it removed turned out to be pretty easy. My favourite anaesthetist was with me, knocked me out and brought me round without any ill effects. I took painkillers on Friday and had my last hit on Saturday night. Of course, I still have to remind Mr M that I have a sore chest when he jumps a bit too exuberantly. And I will have a scar but it will be a very thin, neat one - not the big clunky thing that was there previously.
I had thought that the removal of the portacath might bring a sense of completion (I'm not going to use that terrible word closure) to last year's experiences. I'm still waiting. Instead, my eyes have just lifted to the next goal on the horizon - my first post-surgery mammogram in March. After that, there will be the next checkup and then the next and before I know it years will have gone by. In the meantime, I have most of February off work, finally taking the rec leave I was intending to take last April, before I became ill. No trip to Shanghai because of last week's surgery but I hope we will get some nice days at the beach.
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