The Fading of Pain

Yesterday was my first day without painkillers since my hysterectomy twelve days before. Whoop. Not my first day without pain, note, but my first day without pain that had to be killed.

Moreover, the previous day saw my wound dressings removed, with no replacement needed, and permission given by the practice nurse to have a bath! I have celebrated by having several baths every day since. (That might be an exaggeration.)

The flatulence has now returned to its, ahem, normal level. Rather like Ophelia, it has been recategorised from hurricane to mere storm. My partner - who had been bearing the brunt of the adverse weather conditions - sussed out that I may have been taking too much of the laxative syrup the hospital gave me (well, it did taste of honey), and lo and behold, when I stopped taking it, my guts stopped bubbling like a witches' cauldron.

Harvey is a Sex Addict

Harvey Weinstein is an addict
Harvey, he just has to have it
Harvey's checked into a clinic
Not convinced? You heartless cynic
Harvey can not help himself
Please pray for Harvey's failing health

Off Your Knees

Keep politics out of sport
Black lives may matter
but all that matters here
is the score

Keep politics out of football
because standing up for the national anthem 
is not political
but kneeling for it is

Keep politics off the pitch
Offence and defence 
are matters for the field of play
not for the field of struggle

Get a Grip

It's World Mental Health Day, so ...

SNAP OUT OF IT
Snap out of taking orders
Snap out of blame
Snap out of 'disorders'
Snap out of shame
Snap out of austerity
Snap out of stressors
Snap out of poverty
Snap out of pressures
Snap out of 'raising awareness'
and start raising hell
This system's sick
It isn't well

Speaking on Autism Equality in the Workplace, Otley Labour Party

09/11/2017 - 19:30

Pizza and Politics - Enjoy pizza, drink anda lively debate

Janine Booth introduces a discussion on Autism Equality in the Workplace: removing barriers and challenging discrimination

Janine is a writer, poet, trade unionist, socialist and feminist. She is autistic and is the author of the TUC Disabled Workers' Conference policy on autism in the workplace.

Lesions and Adhesions

This morning, I ventured out of the house for the first time since my hysterectomy last Thursday. It wasn't the most exciting outing, but it feels like something of an achievement.

I left hospital on Friday with instructions to go to my GP surgery on Monday to have my dressings changed. There are three of these, each a little square of bandage over a small laparoscopy wound. These are the three slots where the keyhole surgery kit was inserted. One is on my belly button and has two stitches; and one on either side of my tummy with a stitch each. Each also has a rather attractive mottled blue, red and purple bruise, the navel bruise being the most striking and aesthetic. Dressings removed, wounds wiped, new dressings applied, job done.

Waiting to see the nurse, I read my hospital discharge notes and Googled the various terms thereon. It revealed a picture of my insides reminiscent of a horror movie.

Hysterectomy, with a little Hysteria

The alarm sounded at five o'clock, I drank the two bottles of pre-op somethng-or-other the hospital had given me, reset the alarm for six fifteen and went back to sleep. I'd only been in bed since midnight, after a delayed train journey back from a couple of days working in Glasgow, so when I got up again and went to the hospital for my hysterectomy, I felt like I could have gone to sleep for the operation without any assistance from the anaesthetists.

The nurse gave me the usual gown to change into, a pair of tights with grips on the soles, and also a pair of hospital knickers. What an absurd item of underwear these are. I refuse to believe that anyone is actually that shape.

The good news was that I was number one on the surgical schedule, so I was soon wheeled off to the room where they send you away with the fairies. I've been through this routine six (or is it seven?) times before, so I am well used to it. Other than the prick in the left hand as they set up the cannula, it is quite a pleasant experience, drifting off to controlled unconsciousness looking forward to waking up with it all over, maybe a little uncomfortable but sufficiently drugged up to feel relieved, relaxed and happy.

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