@vonny,
It's bloody horrible isn't it vonny? Such a drag.
I've had a couple of ops. One on my retina and one on a spot in the firmament to which I only ever allude to tangentially and even then only in confidence. fm has other ideas as we all know.
I didn't mind the ops themselves. The second one was a breeze. I had a local for the first. I was going to have one for the other but I changed my mind when I found out what position I would be in while it was underway. I didn't think I would be able to stop laughing.
Recovery is a drag too. It was especially difficult for the one not on my eye.
But the rigmarole is incredible. There's people getting their little piece of you coming from all directions. Right from the first visit to the quack all the way to when they sign you off as being of no further use to them as instruments to exercise their compassion on whilst the cash tills ring so far away as to go unheard. That's if they ever do sign you off.
That's the pits. The rigmarole.
I had a woman call at my door once, while the racing was on too, doing a survey on the kids who were born in the same month as me in the same ward. Imagine the nice little office block which had the responsibility for tracing us all.
To see how we turned out I suppose. I told her to bugger off. She fair "hhrummphed!!!". They're digging graves up all over the place to collect DNA to see if it matches all the birth certificates. It'll give the genealogists something to think about.
One has to grin and bear it. They are keeping us going. As might be expected for a milch-cow.
Tell your husband to play "What Can I Do For You?" from an '81 gig a few times.
