Is this really me?

Having been to the dentist this afternoon, there is now a new me. Only in appearances, though. The dentist is quite pleased with himself. It has been quite fascinating observing his ability to make tiny modifications with relative insouciance and enormous expertise. It is good to be with someone who seems to know what he is doing. It may take me somewhat longer to get accustomed to my newish look. Is it better, is it worse, or is there no discernible difference? I am actually hoping no one notices until I am accustomed to it.

It has been a curious sort of day, hanging around for the appointment, and doing other things. I have trimmed the dead bits on the kaffir lime - those I can reach, that is, and I chopped and de-pipped the cumquats I picked the other day from the trees that grow at the other end of the street. Mostly the fruit is too high for me to reach, but what with this week's harvest and the contents of the freezer, there is enough to make another batch of cumquat marmalade.

I made an appointment to see the doctor so as to get all my prescriptions. And I made another appointment with the dermatologist, who removed my latest melanoma more than a year ago. Time for another check up.

Yesterday I had my breast check up. It takes a fair chunk out of the day, and a lot of sitting around waiting. The specialist seems very flat out, and told me he has done more surgery this year than in any past year. I asked was this due to population increase rather than to any increase in the incidence of breast cancer, and he said yes, it was. He was so busy that he had not had time to eat his plastic wrapped sandwich, so what did my hanging around for two hours signify? I must say that the mammogram was one of the least pleasant of my experience. I felt both squashed and stretched, and a bit bashed about. Normally it does not worry me at all, worse things happening at sea, etcetera, but perhaps the shrinkage in tissue resulting from the radiation therapy makes the whole thing a bit trickier.

The disparity in breast size now makes buying a bra a rather daunting process. I have been accustomed to buy bras in department stores, but these days the staff numbers are so reduced it is difficult to get expert help. One has to resort to unfair emotional pressure, otherwise, it would be necessary to get dressed again, ransack the stock displays, and in all probability come away either with nothing, or an unsatisfactory mistake. The previous time I went to Melbourne, my sister, the mother of the bride, took me to a Simone Perele outlet, and I actually found a bra which was flattering and which did not make me look lopsided. What a boost!

This morning I went out and bought a new printer, and I am now sookily sitting gazing at its box. I am afraid to unpack it and to investigate the mysteries of its wireless setup, and plugging it all in, and activating its software. Actually I am hoping the friends I am lunching with tomorrow will stop by and do all the hard stuff for me. They are kind friends, so my hopes are high. Otherwise I may have to wait until my daughter visits, and we can exchange babysitting for technical support.

In other news, the lawyer went to court today, and I am awaiting formal notification of what happened, but I think the other side now has eight weeks in which to respond. So I have eight weeks of fearing that what will emerge is a radical departure from facts. At this stage it is all faffing around, I think. My body does not feel as though it is all faffing around, so I hate to think how I will be when the real action starts.