I'm now a fully paid-up Monoboob

Well, I got back from hospital this weekend and am still carrying my "grenade" (as Barb Greng called her drains, see below) with its gradually increasing content of "Hawaiian Punch."

Actually I take issue with Barb here. The UK version of her "grenade" is more like a Molotov Cocktail; bottle shaped with a handy large grip at the top for easy throwing. Fortunately its contents are not nearly so explosive as the Molotov variety but are equally unsavoury. In fact if someone were to throw it at me, I'm not sure which I'd prefer - the lymphatic gunk or flaming gasolene. Hmmm.

Because I have already started driving to fetch my son from the school bus and do a little light grocery shopping, I now carry the Molotov Cocktail around in a natty little Louis Vuitton (fake, of course, purchased in Spain for all of 10 Euros) shoulder bag. Who says a mastectomy can't be stylish?

In a few days the histology reports should be back and I will then know if am to be marinated (chemo,) barbecued (radio) or both. Already I am taking a nice new hormone drug called Arimidex which promises to give me hot flashes, aching joints and in all probability a beard, chest hair and a deep voice too. Ah well, at least if I get marinated that should take care of the chest hair. Life has its compensations.

In the meantime I am doing a little work, taking frequent breaks to browse through a stack of mastectomy bra / prostheses catalogues. Now, shall I pick a symmetrical, an asymmetrical, a contour oval, a tresia personally, a classic standard, a two-layer, a lightweight, a self-supporting ... and that's just the bra straps...

And did you know you can buy separate nipples? That's for girls who've had a reconstruction without a nipple being part of the deal, perhaps because the surgeon couldn't find appropriate bunions or moles on their bodies out of which to make DIY ones. At £15 a pair (U$D 26) the falsies are not cheap - and they don't even offer a facility to retract or stand out according to the exterior temperature. Bah, humbug!

Anyway, I haven't heard any good breast-related jokes lately but here is one about different body parts that always breaks me up...

A cardiac specialist died and at his funeral the coffin was placed in front of a huge mock up of a heart made up of flowers.

When the pastor finished with the sermon and eulogy, and after everyone said their good-byes, the heart opened, the coffin rolled inside and the heart closed. Just then one of the mourners burst into laughter.

The guy next to him asked: "Why are you laughing?"

"I was thinking about my own funeral" the man replied.

"What's so funny about that?"

"I'm a gynaecologist."