Self-pity and Poppycock

A little more gloom has descended today. Let's hope it's not a downward slide to my surgery which is in fact on Thursday although I have to go in on Wednesday anyway to be scanned and probed and all that. Have my blood pressure taken again. Asked how important my religion is to me again. The one upside to this is I will at least get to watch Relocation, Relocation and the new series of Grand Designs in hospital the night before. Perhaps they'll give me some Valium too. Prescription drugs and property programmes. I'm almost looking forward to it.

I read a blog of someone else who has had a brain tumour whipped out today. It wasn't as detailed as I had thought. Just wait for my self-pitying, tortured poignancy and expressions of the innermost depths of the psyche.

I am knackered. I have been sleeping nine or ten hours every night, possibly because being asleep is better than being awake, although I think that's overstating it a little. The mornings are unpleasant as I lie there with my eyes closed waiting to see how bad the weird distorted vision will be when I open them. I'm almost used to it now, mind you, and I am told they'll go back to normal. That will be a joy. I had to look at a document at work earlier that I had put together a couple of days before the whole debacle kicked off. It's as if there is a dividing line between my life before finding out and the time after. Everything following that day is coloured by the existence of this thing in my head. Discoloured, in fact. Bleached, you might say, as if it drains the warmth out of experiences. Life in sepia.

The bright side, of course, is that once I come through the other side I will be a much stronger person. I already am. One also has a rather different sense of perspective. That irritating couple on Relocation, Relocation last week pulled out of a sale because they just 'couldn't go through that heartbreak again' and I thought 'you haven't even the slightly morsel of a clue of what life is really about, have you?'. Heartbreak? Heartbreak? You don't even know what it is. Have a look at my heart love, if you can find it. I'm not sure if it's still there, let alone broken.

Anyway, that was supposed to be the bright side. Cynicism for the problems of others is not the way forward. I have still not resolved the dillemma of my hospital wardrobe, but aim to do so shortly. It's the most important aspect of the whole scenario.

So that's the first bit of self-indulgent drivel which isn't bad going for three days, I don't think. This blog is about my sanity, anyway, rather than purely Bridget Jones style wit and frivolity. Not about how many followers or comments I get. Although that would make me feel fun and popular.