Hello, my Fine Fibrous Friends.
As so often happens on this page, the story told by the words will likely weave in and out of the story told by the pictures, because different bits of life are best told via different media.
At long last, it’s done. After several postponements I’ve had the surgery to even things up bosom-wise post-cancer. (I’ve always been left-leaning politically, but wasn’t keen to match that anatomically.) The surgeon who rocked up super-enthusiastically with his marker pen to draw dotted lines on the relevant chunk of my body wasn’t the surgeon that I’d been expecting and I’d never met this chap before. But as my mother explained when she was treated for the same cancer at the same age, you soon become blasé about whipping your bra off for any clinician who asks – and my mother is otherwise the most private, dignified, person you could imagine. She’s right, though. I removed my bra and let the boob-doodler get to work with his tape measure and his Sharpie. He did at least put a large X on the other breast, just to make sure that he didn’t accidentally chop the wrong mammary gland. We had a laugh about that.
And then the surgery was done and I was waking up extremely sore, which seemed like a personal failure because I could hear other people on the ward saying that they felt GREAT and had ALMOST NO PAIN AT ALL. A kind nurse indulged my nonsense and supplied both painkillers and green tea, which happened to be the two things that I craved most in the world right then. Thank you, kind nurse.
I’m home and recovering, now. It’s been a much slower, harder, recovery than last time. I’d been hoping to return to work next week but have just cancelled all my patients because that so ain’t happening. For the first week, I had to wear a wound-vacuuming machine thingy. It comes with a clip to attach to your belt… but I rarely wear a belt. On the day of surgery I was wearing a dress with precisely nothing to use for attaching said device. Just like the sling I crocheted for the squash in the picture above, I got the crochet hook out again and dealt with the problem in the same way:-
So I’m trying to heal. Mostly, I’ve been either walking (six miles per day) or sleeping. Here’s today’s walk. As you can see, my legs are four metres long. Must be another side-effect of the surgery…
It’s only in the past couple of days or so that I’ve felt like knitting. Yeah, it’s been THAT bad. The thing that I really can’t do is take care of my crops properly. After alarming record-breaking heat and a drought, we’re on a hosepipe ban which means that I really can’t water the garden, because a full watering can is way beyond what I’m allowed to lift, whilst a hosepipe is against the law. The poor climbing squash have had to fend for themselves as best they can, hence the withered sub-fruit visible at the top of this arch:-
But the grape harvest is looking promising. Nearly ready…
I’m trying to concentrate on crops that can be stored without using electricity, such as onions, winter squash, and these dried beans. On the top are delicious Greek Gigantes, and on the bottom are child-friendly tiny little Hungarian Rice Beans. Yum.
It’s difficult to accept that I’m not keeping up with the food-growing stuff, especially since I’m late in sowing seeds for over-wintering foody crops. But I’m not allowed to lift anything much weightier than a feather, and the problem with gardening is that it is pretty much relentlessly heavy. Home-grown dinner will have to wait. For now, I can focus on pondering future knitting designs, guilt-free. Every cloud…