Hysterectomies are Hysterical

There are few events that lead to me eating Conoisseur Gand Marnier Ice Cream with choc coated almonds from the tub and alternating with Weiss Passionfruit and Cream icecream or washing my curtains. These apparently are my deep stress release valves.

Why am I indulging in these mad antics? Well I don't talk about my health, I am rarely unwell apart from moaning constantly when I get a cold and I don't particularly like old people who go on and on about their varicose veins or sit at the table rubbing their tennis elbows and arthritic knees. I can't stand being peered at over bi-focals and listening to complaints of failing eyesight. Of course I'm sympathetic to the frail and ill but there is the tendency to go on about it just a tad too long, just a smidge too often. And, in my lifetime, I've only ever been in hospital to have my tonsils out, a quick de-coke and valve grind after a miscarriage and two babies.

However today I have had to absorb a lot of information - too much information. Besides the Crimson Wave turning into a Sunami over recent months I've enjoyed rude health. However, recent examinations into the explosion of mensus have revealed that my reproductive system, useless as it is, is in fact not worthy of being carried around by me any longer. I wanted to lose weight but this is ridiculous. A decent sized lump on my left ovary and a thwacking great fibroid in my once productive womb have necessitated a number of humiliating probes and prods and more blood tests than I care to admit to. Now that I have tracks on my inside arm and the digging and delving is over I have finally acquainted myself with a rather handsome South African gyneocologist who has seen more of me than any of my lovers ever did and managed to smile through the process and talk about old times.

Apparently, I am to have my womanhood removed on 29th November (I checked out his hands to make sure they weren't shaking) . . . so look out Thommo, Struth Ruth, TheTeacher, Arky and Sparky . . . my visit with you next month is the last big bang and I intend to behave badly.

At least 6 days in hospital and an inability to drive for 4 weeks will be long enough to kick the bad habits. Who knows, I might finally achieve my New Year's resolution of losing weight, giving up smoking and getting laid (well the first two are on the cards). If I ask him nicely, I wonder if he'll throw a tummy tuck into the bargain. And, I avoid that menopausal thing apart, I am told, from a tendency to flush hot now and then. Oh joy and in the summer heat to boot!

So don't feel sorry for me. I'll do plenty of that myself. But here's your big chance to get it off your chest, compare scars, tell me your stitched up stories . . . I want this to be light and entertaining so no staff infections please.


. . .now . . .who's gonna lend me a laptop six days without blogs or email and I'll go ballistic!