Blood and hair

So, the vein that had hardened up has now gone thready and the one that was still working has hardened up now......there's one left on the inside of my elbow and then we're into the deeper ones in my forearm. Ick, is all I have to say. Ick, ick, ick. I don't think I'm going to be real happy about digging for the deeper ones. I don't want to be a wimp, but I hate them looking for veins anyway.

I had the stitches from where they removed the mole taken out today - and I survived that, but then it started weeping and I have a nasty feeling that part of it has reopened.....I had wondered if I'd be healing slower because of the chemo and I think I may have been right. It's nothing major, but I suspect this'll be another awesome scar, because I always seem to scar like billy-o (fascinating word, how is it spelt?)

Clinic day tomorrow and I'm foreseeing a real drag of a day. I have cut it down a bit by going to have the bloods taken this afternoon; but they've shoehorned me into a clinic that was already over-booked and I'm not due until after 11am - lots of time for getting behindhand. Yak. The waiting really does just eat away at me - very bad for the nerves.

I had a fascinating conversation with a shiatsu practitioner the other day. I was talking to her about the whole range of things I've felt over the last 3 years (shit, nearly 3 years! I only just realised - no wonder I'm feeling antsy.) Anywho, one of the things I mentioned was the feeling of being broken - linking in with the feeling that my body is me; plus how trapped and difficult I found it trying to fit in with people in the rest of the world. She said to me that perhaps I had been broken *open* - no more hiding away from the world, more communication. It's an interesting take on it all. I'm thinking about it.

I was asked about my hair in a comment the other day. It has grown back, in abundance - it's down to my shoulders now and would be longer if it wasn't so madly curly. I'm still quite ambivalent about it. I think I should have kept to what I'd said about shaving it all off every year to teach myself not to get so attached to it. I'd probably be a darn sight cooler if I had it cut at least but I'm oddly proprietary of the curls and I'd be sad if I had it cut off and they all went away. So terribly contrary. My hair grew back quite quickly I think - my hair has always grown quite fast and has been quite thick and it still is, well, hmmm, it's sort of fine but there's a lot of it. It's also really babyishly soft still. I don't think my friend's grew back so quickly. So, there you go. I'm hairy. I quite wish all the other hair hadn't grown back though!

Tell me who I am

Summer is definitely here - despite almost constant rain for the past 4 days.
But the adverts on the TV that tell me I need silky smooth legs - shaved, or epilated or waxed or depilitated (hmm, most of those may not be real words.....) If I do this then the man will kiss me - or better. And then those legs need to be tanned but I also need to use sunblock (or suntan lotion as we Brits still seem to call it - which is essentially missing the point). So I have to use fake tan as well as my sunblock (why haven't they come up with one that does both? It's probably in the offing). Then I can wear my little skirts and strappy heels.
But for that, I need to lose some weight - so I can wear my swimsuit. But, alternatively if I use a particular brand of bodywash then I'll be so smooth that I can not bother with the weight loss because I can be a 'real woman' or whatever.
Are you confused yet? Well you should be. This is the permanent state of womankind. Unsure of what she is and what she should be. Because all these things tell me that being a woman is not a good thing. I cannot be accepted (not really) unless I rectify these faults - this hair, this weight, my appearance - I haven't mentioned how apparently my eyelashes aren't good enough either. My teeth aren't white enough. My gray hairs and less taut skin are shameful and must be rectified. Are we never good enough as we are? Must we fight a constant losing battle against the expectations of society? Why can we not all agree to give it all up. Why can't we acknowledge that our bodies have hair - they evolved this way deliberately. Why can't we accept that our appearences change as we age. Why is the way we looked at 18, at 20, the ideal when we all know that we are far superior now we are older. Why do we let ourselves be manipulated in this way - why do we assist? If somehow we all could realise then we could act - there are more women than men in this world if we acted together then we could sway these things.
But we're all so different too.

The Devil Wears Prada

Leading on from my lack of the right kind of shoes I went see "The Devil Wears Prada" yesterday.
I would not know Prada if it came and bit me on the ankles and I certainly couldn't walk into a shop selling it because I would be far too intimidated by all the smart people and certainly couldn't walk out again if I bought shoes without going arse over tit.
This film annoyed me a great deal.
Mostly because this film was trying to pretend that it was telling some great moral tale about how being fixated on fashion and how you look resulted in unhappiness; sadly, for me, it failed. Because despite the fact that, yes, she did give it all up because she recocognised it had changed her into someone she didn't like - the fact remains that there were lots of undercurrents.
For example: dressing prettily and being fashion-concious gets you a man with lots of money and influence
Fancy shoes and clothes mean people respect you
So on and so forth. And these things were there in abundence in the film and I don't think that last 20 min turnaround was enough to negate those messages.

Grrrr.

Luce Irigaray and Feminism - who are we?

Today's epistle is on Luce Irigaray and feminism and the role and identity of women.
Or, it would be if I knew anything other than what I read on Wikipedia about her; but I think I may need to know a bit more about what she thought.

Today I have been thinking about my identity as a woman or my lack of identity as a woman. I abhor all 'girlie'-ness and somehow feel it is a sign of weakness. Being female is to be weak and vulnerable; it does not comand respect. And so I am not allowed to plan a fantasy wedding or pick out my children's names or look at engagement rings. I am not allowed to wear dresses or make an effort to look pretty. If I wear makeup or dress smartly I feel like I have to put myself down. I hate to cry and be emotional or irrational.

Imagine how this confusion over my female identity has been affected by the loss of my breast.

You must understand that this is in some strange instinctual part of me that I feel this. It is not what I logically believe to be the case and it is not the way I think women ought to feel or what we or I should believe.
I believe in equality. But somewhere underneath I am undermined by myself. And I have no idea where I have learnt this from. Not really. In a roundabout way - I think I've always tried to behave in a non-'girlie' way and somehow that has had the effect of teaching me that to be female therefore must be 'bad'.

Apparently, Luce Irigaray started to say that that women could/should be equal for what they were, which is different to men. But that society did and does not recognise that. I believe that the 'third wave' feminists are the women out there who are saying that feminism is actually about choice - it is about choosing which elements of femininity to embrace. Which, I think, is what some 'mommybloggers' out there are saying - especially SAHMs who counter the arguments that they are undermining the work of feminists gone-by who fought to get women out of the home and into the workplace. That actually, being a feminist is about having the choice - of choosing or being as female as you wish.

But I can't be a woman - I haven't got the right shoes.