From one hospital to another then… I’m at Hammersmith Hospital having my latest dermatologist check. No doubt they’ll be burning off more of me shortly, leaving me with even less of the original me.
Before long there’ll just be the odd atom left that’s unscathed, of what there was 5 and a half years ago.
I’m going to be leaving hospital on Thursday – it’s really my own decision to – on the basis that I don’t really think they are doing anything positive for me in terms of ‘ rehab ‘ – as in there isn’t anything they are doing that I can’t do myself at home – and being in a hospital is bloody depressing ( particularly in the evenings/ night times, when I feel most trapped )
So relative freedom from Thursday night then – phew.
Whilst here in the waiting room there’s an elderly lady talking to (at) me/ anyone about her cat. If there’s anyone in the world less interested in cats than me then I’d like to meet them, so conversation is very one way. My solitary happy memory of a cat is when as a boy my older brother and I tipped a bucket of water over the stray cat that Stuart ( our little brother ) had finally managed to reassure enough to eat from his hand, in the back yard of our house. As we tipped the bucket from a first floor window, it was a bit of a shock to the cat, and Stuart ( our 8 year old brother ). Needless to say, the cat never ever came back.
Some would call this act unkind, and they are entirely entitled to that view, but just the memory of it makes me laugh to this day – and laughter is good, right? So overall it was a positive thing to have done, I feel.
Bring on cat lover hate mail – that’s fine, please send. I’ve done far worse things than that in my life ( no, not involving animal cruelty ) so it doesn’t really come highly in my league table of acts that maybe I regret.
The old lady has just ( innocently ) asked a black man when he is going back to Africa. That’s possibly worse than Catdrenchinggate in South Wales in 1977, but I bet won’t stir up as much emotion in my ( small ) readership.
Right, seen dermatologist. Yet another biopsy in about 2 weeks for something on my back. I had a squamous cell carcinoma removed recently which puts me in the At Risk category for something nasty.
Not that I’m at all bothered by whatever does me in, as and when it comes along. As I’ve oft written, my relationship with death is a friendly one.