Friday 29 February 2008


Had my pre-op appointment with the anaesthetist this morning. He was a very pleasant chap. He has scared the living daylights out of me. I've already started having odd wisdom-tooth-extraction-related dreams. Like the one where I got lost in the clinic and they had to send out a search party for me. With sniffer dogs and a helicopter (yes, really). And I had earplugs in. And if I removed them, my mouth bled. And other strange happenings I'll keep to myself.

I'm sure that all the detailed explanations of what will happen and when are supposed to reassure me. Probably some tiny, logical part of my mind is reassured. But right now the vastly bigger and hugely less logical part of me is terrified.

Is it too late to change my mind and have them out under local, 2 at a time? But that'll hurt too. And I'll be able to hear it. No, all 4 at once is better. Apart from the anaesthetic bit. And the bleeding bit. And the tube in my nose bit. Why do I need I tube in my nose?

I know, I am the most pathetic example of a thirty year old ever to walk the earth.

Tuesday 19 February 2008

Anxious fatty cyst woman

Yesterday I went to the Doc. Actually I saw the replacement Dockette, as Doc was on holiday. Is on holiday. Anyway. I went because I have a little lump at the top of my thigh. I already asked a doctor about it in December and he said "oh that's nothing, it'll go away all by itself". I duly forgot about it. Until the other day, when I noticed it was still there. So, being a slightly anxious type, I decided to see if it was still "nothing".

And it is still, "nothing" that is. A fatty cyst (ha ha, that could be me all over!). It will go away by itself. So while I was there I stocked up on the pills to make the thing in my head that's not right work properly. (I am doing very well, only take 1 or 2 a week.) Dockette not knowing my file, she asked a few background questions before handing out the prescription. What sets it off, how do I sleep, etc. Apparently I present textbook anxiety symptoms. Good to see I can get something right, I'm a textbook example!

She asked where I worked. "[Employer]," I replied. "Oh, right," said she. In a "that explains a lot" way. This isn't the first instance of a GP tsking like that when my employers are mentioned...

Ach, I dunno. I love what I do but I don't know why I'm doing it where I do any more. Is it time to move on? At the moment I'm seriously lacking in motivation. I feel like I've been in the same "place" in relation to my work/job content for the last year and a half at least. Sometimes I'd like to freewheel for a couple of days (you all know what I'm talking about), but that's not an option because if I don't do the stuff, no one else will (oh poor me!!). What I mean is, look at Hubby. If he's feeling demotivated, he might ease up the tempo a bit. So his work doesn't get done. At the end of the day, what are the consequences? His work doesn't get done. I feel like easing off and my work doesn't get done. It doesn't get done and maybe a product catalogue isn't printed in time and maybe the company misses out on customers and sales because of it. And maybe my employers will decide they can find someone else to do my job.

I'm feeling a bit all over the place. I don't know where to go from here. I'm fed up (can you tell?), tired, and feeling seriously under-valued (both financially and skills-wise) in my job.

Sunday 17 February 2008

Lazy blog reader

I finally got myself organised and configured Thunderbird to read the RSS feeds from all you lots' blogs. This means one-stop shop blog-reading, which is ideal for time-challenged and generally lazy bods such as myself.

Now I just have to find some software that will read my thoughts and post comments for me automatically... ;)


Will it hurt?

So I finally gathered up all my courage into a tiny bundle and made an appointment with the "jaw and facial surgeon". This is a profession which seems only to exist in France. In the UK I think the moniker would be dental surgeon...

So anyway. He looked at my x-ray and said "oh yes, they need to come out!". (That pic could actually be my x-ray, except all four of them are like that sideways one, and they are a thousand times bigger.) He looked on his schedule and said "March 5 at 2pm?" and then he charged me 40 euros (I think I made a career-choice error) and left me to sort out the paperwork with his secretary.

All of which means I'm having all four of my squinty and wrong-way-round wisdom teeth removed in a marathon (ah-hem) 30-minute operation on March 5 (which also happens to be Super nephew's birthday, he'll be 2). I have a ten-thousand page medical questionnaire to fill out before seeing the anaesthetist. It has questions like "Do you drink alcohol frequently?" (well, define frequently) and "Do you do any sport?" (yerrrsssss. Sort of). I'm a little bit scaredy to tell the truth.

Still, a diet of yoghurt and er, yoghurt for a few days after the op won't do my hips any harm!

Monday 4 February 2008

I want to be alone

I am sick fed up to the back teeth with everyone and everything. I'm going to take Doggy and hide in a hole under a tree and I'm not coming out again until everyone has GONE AWAY.

Blog friends are excluded, of course, but everyone else must leave the planet immediately because you are all pissing me off and making me upset. Go on, get out of it.

See you all later when the horrible people have gone xx

Friday 1 February 2008

Arthritic athlete

We played calcetto at lunchtime today. This is a truly fantastic way to spend 45 minutes getting a bit hot and sweaty, let me tell you. Calcetto is like 5-a-side football, played outdoors on an enclosed pitch that's roughly the size of a tennis court. There are no touchlines so the ball is always in play, and there are five metre high fences all round the pitch, so you never have to trek halfway across the playing fields to go and fetch the ball when someone misses a pass. Most excellent fun. And we won. ;)

So why an arthritic athlete? Well I did spend the afternoon hobbling about the office wincing when I moved my right leg. I think my body is rebelling against my fatness because whenever I've done any running lately my right hip appears to seize up. It is a subtle message from my skeleton to say "lose some weight you big heifer!". As soon as work calms down a bit I'm off to the gym, I promise!

Ah yes, work. It's like a battlefield in my Inbox. There are many casualties. It's not pretty. I work for a sports company and I don't have time to do sport. It's a disgrace. I added up all the things I have to do, and the time I spend doing them. The total comes to 156 hours a month. I'm supposed to work 140 hours a month. Hey ho.