Monthly Archives: September 2009

Three or so months ago I noticed that the lumpiness I felt in my breasts associated with menstruation was not dissipating as it usually did when I went back on the pill; in one breast there was a noticeable unevenness and hardening to the structure of it whereas the other stayed pliable and well, breast-tissue-y. There was no change to the skin or nipple. I kept feeling to see what it did, if it grew or moved or went on holiday, and after waiting a couple of cycles to see if it resolved itself today I took myself and my boobs to the GP for a good old feel.

After getting topless for my Doctor she checked out how my breasts looked overall – equal with no outer variation – and got me to rest my arm on hers before she poked around my upper chest near the collarbone and underneath each armpit. Feeling nothing of note there she got me to lie back and sort of pancaked each breast with the flat of her hands whilst poking about with her fingers. She seemed unable to find anything on the left side but when she moved on to the right and started to move her fingers closer around my nipple I knew she’d struck gold, so to speak.

I felt relieved she’d confirmed what I felt, that I was believed and didn’t have to persuade the medical system to work for me as I have had to do in the past. The mass is definitely isolated to the right breast and is around 4cm or so in size but it has been increasing; it is mobile (not fixed to my skeleton or muscle – it sort of slides about) which my GP says is a good thing in terms of possible diagnoses.

My Mum had “pre-cancerous breast cancer” as she calls it – I think Ductal Carcinoma In Situ – around six years ago which resulted in her having a small portion of her breast surgically removed with a five year course of Tamoxifen as follow-up. I believe that her Mum had breast cancer of some sorts many years back and although I was quite unsure about dates etcetera, because of this history and the fact that it has been there for a few months and is not going anywhere I have been referred under the “Urgent” two week time limit to the breast clinic at my nearest hospital.

I have to admit it was fairly weird to be sat there as the Doctor read through the (conflicting!) NHS Trust and NICE guidelines on “Referral For Suspected Cancer” to check whether or not I should be referred as an urgent case; although it is very unlikely I have anything malign going on, there is still a small part of me that thought “Shit” as I smiled through talk of boobs and waiting lists.

Nine out of every ten lumpy breasted women turn out to have benign growths in their breasts- In all likelihood I have something benign that is called a Fibroadenoma, also known as the all kinds of awesome “breast mouse” (!) due to the hard mass sliding about under the skin. I may be nursing a breast mouse. How very odd.

A Fibroadenoma won’t turn cancerous and treatment can consist of either leaving it alone or surgically excising the lump; I am of course hoping it is this “mouse” that I have rather than anything else. The letter for referral is being sent off tomorrow so within two weeks I will probably have been x-rayed, ultrasounded and stuck so that I can find out what the little blighter is.

I teared up a little this evening as I learnt about breast problems benign and malignant, but then I teared up in the car this morning listening to Etta James belt out “At Last”. Sigh…

Image: “Fibroadenoma, Fine Needle Aspiration Biopsy (Papanicolou stain). The image shows a sheet of epithelial cells in the typical antler pattern.” [source]

Super quick before I hit the shower and then bed: I had an excellent night out on Friday for Bobby Convey’s birthday, however the aftermath was of a viciousness that I have not experienced in many a year: Sunglasses had to be worn inside as the rather dim light of a grey day turned out to be too challenging for my alcohol obliterated eyeballs. Fucking hell.

More to follow.

One year ago today the Dubai Bombshell was dropped; subsequently and rather perversely me and MW#1 became much closer as a light seemed to be set dinging in MW#1’s head that I would be a good thing to have around. Drama and confessions ensued – I realised how much I mean to MW#1 but simultaneously how little – and look where we are today… Of all the crap he’s put me through and of all that I have put up with, this past year has been the most challenging (for a variety of reasons), which really is saying something considering…

I could recap, I could expand on my thoughts, but i’m tired and my carrot cake is unsatisfying… DS then bed…

Net-A-Porter: Balmain – Pailette mini dress

This dress is all kinds of awesome, but somehow I don’t think my budget stretches to the supremely eye-watering amount of £7,070…

Over the weekend I had an unexplained hankering for a pair of black sequined leggings – yes, really – and upon finally finding a typically horribly overpriced pair at Topshop I was unfortunately unable to get them any further up my leg than my calf.

Yes, I wasn’t struggling to get them past my thighs, as I have encountered many a time with tight trousers, it was my not-exactly-huge calves that put the kibosh on the whole idea.

Fucking Topshop and their catering to fifteen-year-olds with more money than me and barely-there calves.

Anyway, hopefully i’ll be out again this weekend for Bobby Convey’s birthday and i’ll get to put on something short and bright that clings in all the right places and gracefully skims the padding; I have not had a proper girly night out with Bobby et al for a very long time indeed- It will be good to scare the locals…

So how is my break from MW#1 going? Well… sort of.

For the first two weeks I was all, “Oh, I feel *nothing*” “I’m glad not to have to think about that all the time” “It’s like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders…” When I took him off MSN I felt relieved, as I wouldn’t have to endure the game of “Is he going to talk to me today?” that had been the norm of late. I didn’t spend weekends moping because I knew he wasn’t going to contact me about going out and I kept myself busy by meeting up with Doctor Shrunk, Caversham Princess, Bobby Convey, Leia Ewok Village and Flambé. Occasionally he popped up in my thoughts, but it was more in a pondering the future way without conjuring much upset. I made it through the usual hormonal angst when I would usually be feeling sad and pine most terribly; generally time passed uneventfully and I pondered on…

… until the weekend of week two when I began to feel the twinges of missing him. Quelle horreur! I thought, and ever since then his existence and the non-consensual arrangement have been floating far more prominently in my mind. UGH. Whereas a couple of weeks before I went to bed alone and rather content, now I lie awake post-DS wishing I could feel his warm fuzzyness against my back or that I could curl up against him and feel small and looked-after. I miss his easy company, his manfur, the smell of his skin, however…

…at the same time as I lie there, I think of the reasons that led me to decide to have a break in the first place and the *myriad* problems with both his behaviour and the non-consensual arrangement; I am reminded just how deeply frustrated and unfulfilled I feel and how this reaches across so very many aspects of our interactions. I could go on but I won’t. Anyway, a few more weeks to go; I have no idea what will happen when I become visible to radar again…

I’d like very much to talk to him and share my thoughts but so far he has been resolutely appalling at commenting- My letting him know about my time away was met with no reply and a similar response was meted out to my texts about him letting me know if anything major happens. Much sighing and eye rolling all round…

Freshly made scones are SCRUMPTIOUS, and are even better with clotted cream piled on them… MMmmmmmm… Eating more healthily my undoubtedly widening arse… :D

I heard this on the mighty WFMU the other day
and was reminded of its AWESOMENESS

You’re Gonna Miss Me
The 13th Floor Elevators
1966

The weekend: I had a very enjoyable meal avec ma Meré in Lahndahn tahn at a rather lovely establishment where the young French Maître d’ wore Yves San Laurent-style glasses – he remembered me from my last visit (it’s the hair); I had home cured Bresaola, rib-eye and fries with Béarnaise and white chocolate cheesecake with raspberry sauce with a kir royale to start and Fleurie to accompany. It was scrummy.

Although our time together was delightful as is usual, some sad news was imparted in that my “eel with whiskers” Twisty the Weather Loach died last week. My bro came down to feed him one morning to find him grey and lifeless; nothing had been wrong with him as far as i’m aware so I figure that due to him being fifteen or so years old that he perhaps died of old age? I shed a few tears when my Mum told me; I shall miss his rooting around/slug-like awesomeness. He was a Good Fish.

Anyway, after lunch we wandered from Covent Garden to Trafalgar Square where on the way to the National Gallery I got waylaid like a moth to a flame by a bunch of religious nuts telling us that we were all sinners and must repent. I engaged one of them in conversation for around twenty minutes; unsurprisingly I was unsuccessful in using “science” and “facts” to make my case that gays really aren’t sinners and adultery is indeed a lesser “crime” than mass murder. Yes, really.

The same man also told me that the earth is 6000 years old and questioned why if evolution existed us humans have “left behind” other creatures; my attempts to explain that the lizards stay lizards because they fill a niche they are “comfortable in” at the moment were not accepted and I was challenged on my assertion that there is quite strong evidence for in utero sexual orientation- Apparently there are many Christian “scientific” (my emphasis) papers telling me the opposite. Really?

Take a gander at their site to see what I may have come up against when trying to use fact and not “truth” or belief in an argument: Zion Tabernacle

Here is a passage on this years Pride in London:

“Sarah Brown, the Prime Minister’s wife, was at the front of the procession. She was carrying the pink version of the Union Jack. Instead of blue pink has been inserted. She also appeared to have a whistle round her neck. It is a sodomite tactic to try and drown out what people are saying by blowing their whistles in unison. She was left in no doubt as to what God’s people thought of her presence there.”

and from their Sermon Audio page:

“In addition, we stand outside abortion clinics and Brook Clinics which channel people to abortion clinics and who hand out contraceptives like sweets to youngsters. We set up a table with pro-life literature in town centres around the area. We find this method to be very effective in reaching young people.”

You can see why these people got my rage on. Free speech or hate speech? It was ridiculous that down by Nelsons Column were these fucks whilst up near the gallery were Iranian women protesting for their right to be able to be free, wear what they want, take a job- Of all people they have a pretty fucking good idea of what it’s like to live under the religious fundamentalism being touted by the Zion Tabernacle. They’re a charity by the way.

Eventually I had to give up as my Mum had abandoned me to the pigeons as art was calling; it was encouraging to have quite a few strangers thank me or shake my hand for giving it a go- Hope!

After Lahndahn I met up with Doctor Shrunk of whom I had seen hide nor hair of in around four or five years. I was very sad indeed to see and hear that life had kicked the motherloving crap out of him over the last few years; he’s still the same personality-wise but he has a fragility that I don’t remember and is physically much thinner- It was a bit of a shock to be honest, especially as he’s six foot plus. I wanted to feed him up and give him hugs, but I settled for buying him dinner and booze. It was awesome to shoot-the-shit after so long (and spend a bit of time in the company of a nice tall man!), however it’s not so good that he’s back in town as he’s unemployed and is being driven crazy by his parents. Not good. At all.

As part of my weekend entertainment I made a cake as planned- A lemon & Greek yoghurt cake. I combined two recipes together and aside from two slices presented to my Mum – “Look what I made Mum!” (I am five) – I ate the entire thing in the space of twelve hours. I had cake for late night post-booze snack, cake for breakfast and lunch and cake for dessert. Economical, and healthy, ‘cos if you ignore the sugar and butter there’s the juice and zest of one whole lemon- *totally* Five-A-Day.

I have spent this evening bathing chicken in lemony juices and am now drinking the recipe’s leftover half glass of white directly from the bottle, which happens to be quite on the tasty side, even if it is Gallo Chardonnay. Klassy.

I’m now on to week two of my attempt to get more variety into my diet; aside from spending vast amounts of cash on equipment things are going well (so far) with most of my dinners providing me with leftovers for the next day or for lunch to take to work. Last week I had lamb, mint and feta meatballs with spaghetti, lamb bolognaise, chicken Milanese salad and pea and chicken pasta with red pepper vinaigrette.

The meatballs were *all* kinds of *awesome* but the pea pasta was a bit of a let down with the dressing turning out to be far too tart so in order to rescue it I had to stick a load of tomato in it and make it into a sauce; it was still good but not what I was hoping. The chicken Milanese salad was bad due to the ridiculous amounts of smoke produced, which when you live in one room is not really so good.

This evening I made enough chilli to last me two days of lunch and dinners; it would be nice to freeze some of my leftovers but i’ve noticed that my food in the communal freezer gets pretty fucked up what with the amount of other tenants food stuffed in there and the delightfully unsanitary loose food that escapes from peoples’ freezer bags. Niiice. I hope to bake myself something resembling a cake at some point over the weekend (woo!) but otherwise I shall be doing my best to take it easy, meeting up with my Mum for our usual four hour lunch in Lahndahn tahn before having dinner and drinks with a very long time no see friend, both of which I am looking forward to immensely.

Today at work I hope to experiment a bit more with something I am inexplicably proud of: My marvellously shoddy pinhole camera made from an ice cream tub. I’ve done none of the mathematics nor taken the measurements you’re suppose to take, I just covered the inside of the tub with black sugar paper and poked a hole in one end with a drawing pin; the images i’ve produced so far on the paper could not really be classed as “good” but I still can’t get over the fun of my big white box of a camera. Eeee.

smitten kitchen –
summer pea and roasted red pepper pasta salad
smitten kitchen – chicken Milanese
Delicious – Lamb and feta meatballs with tomato sauce

This evening I received the following missive in my generic nopoke site email:

Ermm… Obviously some cunt with a lot of issues. Aww, such a waste
of human life really. So I gather that your parents never
considered abortion ? because they’re obviously full of regret.

Grow the FUCK up douchebag and sort your head out mongoloid. :-)

Yes, I’ve received My First hate mail. Wooo!

I do not know this person and thanks to his hushmail account i’m unable to see where he sent it from; I assume it’s a he in that the language is sufficiently misogynistic and crude. I am left a little confused by this absolute master work. Who is the cunt here? And who are the douchebag and the mongoloid? Are they all one and the same i.e. me, or is this internet ire directed at someone other than myself i.e. MW#1?

Is the douchebag one person and the mongoloid another? I find the FUCK amusing, as I imagine some rather pathetic individual mumbling the “Grow the…” part then shouting the “FUCK” before mumbling again.
Also, I would hope that it would be my Mother who would consider abortion rather than my “Parents”. Indeed.

Upon searching for some info about this individual I was led to pantagruel who had been a target of a similarly odd screed. I am shall we say, intrigued. Someone found my site and took the time to write me a little message complaining. Interesting.

pantagruel – grading the hate mail

As from tomorrow i’ve decided to spend a little time flying under the radar when it comes to all things MW#1 related. I’m going to stay off MSN and refrain from contacting him via text or email; i’ve been thinking about doing this for a while now and I guess now seemed as good a time as any to give it a go.

What am I trying to fly from? I suppose I could describe it as the tyranny of desire, the weekends spent wishing I could have a hug or spend time with him, wake up next to him. I text him and he doesn’t reply or he’s “busy” but is clearly trying to dodge my company; i’m fed up of many things but feeling bad when I think of seeing him or when I get in contact with him is something i’d like to avoid.

I’ve been feeling really unsatisfied with the way things are ever since we got back from Berlin and these last few weeks of barely any communication have done much to reinforce those feelings. I’ve lost that warm fuzzy feeling I used to get when I thought of him; I don’t know whether this is a temporary loss or something more permanent, but I figure some time away from everything might help my heart either grow fonder or become decidedly on the frosty side.

I’ve spent three years putting up with things, dealing with problems and being there for him emotionally and physically with not much in the way of reciprocation; I need a break. As much as i’d like to textually talk through my feelings on here, the whole point is that i’m not supposed to be communicating, plus i’m not sure that there’s anything left to say that hasn’t already been said at some point in the last few years. It’s far from rocket science.

I know i’ll still think about him and wish he was kissing my nose or cupping his hand over my stomach, but i’ll at least know he’s not going to see me because i’m not available, so to speak. The break will probably do nothing because the problems of our “non-consensual arrangement” are not going to be solved and therefore my feelings of unhappiness will still remain. I’ve got to at least give it a try and see how things go.

I still love him and care for his well-being, and I do still want him in my life, so I hope that he’ll get in touch if anything major happens; I was going to say I hope he gets in touch if he needs me, but in any case i’m not entirely convinced he knows whether or not he needs me. Maybe my absence will help him on that front.

My thoughts are super organised about this so it’s proving very easy to write about, but it would be against the spirit of what i’m trying to do. It may all end in failure with me getting in contact or everything falling apart when my sojourn away ends, but I must try.

As the clouds glower and the rain falls and falls…

Keep An Eye On Summer
The Beach Boys
1964

3.6MB
http://rapidshare.com/files/274859574/bb_kaeos.rar.html

A fair few things have happened over the last couple of weeks or so – The trip to the spa with the shoddy service, Leia Ewok Village’s birthday outing and the ocean of alcohol consumed, my new attempt to try and eat more healthily by planning what I eat, my new DS obsessions, the return to the chalkface with new classes and a new room- But i’m tired, and feeling lazy and need to linger under a hot shower, so there we go…

I’ve been wondering if the whole MW#1 “thing” has quietly keeled over when I wasn’t looking, whilst I was doing the washing up or having a small snooze; at first I was decidedly not bothered about the lack of our usual conversing but as I listen to The Beach Boys singing about Keeping An Eye On The Summer I feel glum.

At least it’s only a couple of days to the weekend…