Okay. That sucked...

I'm sitting here going extremely slowly on my computer.  Why am I going this ever frustratingly snails pace when I haven't been on since October..?

Well you may remember that the premise around leaving you last year was my brain.  It was packing up... Throwing the towel in... Giving up the ghost.

The short of it is that they; on their first visit out; stuffed my brain.  A simple 'basic' operation - that turned into four and left me sitting in a waiting room for four hours between operations; getting brain damage.

I haven't been to work since then.  This is the first time I could gather my wits enough to try and sit at the computer.

The good new is that each week sees me relearning things and I'm almost a person again; aside from a few typos....  And the delete key!

How many Neurosurgeons does it take to screw…

Hey, that wasn't going to be 'in a light bulb..?'  It was going to be screw with your sanity!

I have put up with my whacky brain giving me grief time and time again and mentioned a thousand times that ‘they’ll kill me’ at some stage.   Now the time has come to start taking action for the sake of my health/life!

If you happen to be a neurosurgeon reading this; please note.  You are not God.  You are not even close.  If you don’t lift your game and admit that maybe the patient knows more about her body than you do – you will kill someone.

For me; I need to go through my record and understand exactly what they’ve done to me; and what mistakes they’ve made before I do anything.  I suspect that won’t be pretty!

My Dad always used to say that doctors are the ones that get to bury their mistakes.  He wasn’t wrong on that score!

God 'slash' fuckknuckle complex

Before I begin, excuse my errors. I'm forced to blog via iPhone since I'm I hospital and there is no wireless! Worse, my fingers are like chipalattas; and then spellcheck intervenes and creates hell...

So weird statements that may turnup through here aside, I decided to blog on the startlingly horrific, comedy of freaking errors that is 'the patient journey!'

Obviously, unlike my normal rants, this will be kept short but ill ensure to expand when I get home. 

Just one question. Who the Hell is teaching these fools how to be doctors...?

Walk a crooked mile…

To see another God damned crooked smile!

 

The smile on the right is mine!

The smile on the left may be exaggerated; but not by much!

WTF is that about..?  Seriously?  How do you get to be in your fifties walking around with teeth jutting out at weird angles?  I’m almost certain there is a mirror in every house; which therefore leaves me with the theory that there is a whole slew of idiots out there that cease to see their real self.

I actually work with a guy who I suspect has a magic mirror.  He gets older and wider (and more anal); yet the “perfect woman” he is looking for is young, rich and positively svelte.  It’s as though he can’t see what he looks like anymore, preferring to see the younger version of himself when he looks in the mirror.

I’m pretty certain I don’t do that.  I’m not by any stretch of the imagination perfect.  I’ve got extra kilos – but I like them.  I’ve got laughter lines!  My skin isn’t as taut as it once was (I’m not sure it ever was lol).  Gravity is pulling me down!  But I make an effort with what I’ve got.  I’ve got a gap between my teeth (which I like and choose to keep – arguing with my dentist every, single, time!) but at least they are straight and white!

I mean I’m picking guys that are either my age, or in some cases 6+ years older.  Hell, they’re no Mel Gibson but then, Mel Gibson is no Mel Gibson these days; and truth tell, I want to see some lines.  Craggy is my thing.  I’m not looking for a washboard stomach; I want to hold onto something at night.  Who wants to spoon with someone that is sharp edges..?

So what is with parade of dates with a mouth full of teeth?  It doesn’t matter how funny they are; or how nice they are.  I can’t be sticking my tongue in there – so that isn’t ever going to work.

Evil, Busy, Full On World!

I am literally working my ass off.  I've got work coming out of my gazoo.  Tomorrow, I have a meeting with HISA, chaired by a rep from the Department of Health finishing at 8.30 pm - followed by supper!  

Yeah...I finish at 4.30!!!!!

So I haven't had time to check email, let alone blog... but I do have time to shake my head in utter frustration with the world of men and dating.

Okay, I'm 52 - it was never going to be easy to get a guy with some sort of music ability, a loyalty gene and someone capable of actually being in love - I mean, let's face it, one hasn't dropped out of the sky at me with those few qualities in all my years!!!!  They are always lacking in something!

So I hunkered in for the long haul... Understanding that on my own may be my best shot at happiness. 

But the daughter!  She's 27.  Blonde.  Tall.  Gorgeous.  Smart.  Funny.

She was lamenting the fact that one of her 'kisses' was from a midget.  No.. that is not a scathing term for some guy who is 5'8" (in the ex squeeze scale of height which means about 5'5" - and perhaps 5' wide which basically means a circle...)

No... We are talking full blown, 4 foot, short legged 'game of thrones' type midget!

Not sure what she is whining about.
I want a midget! 

All I got was another big boobed lesbian!