why yes. i do anthropomorphise everything.

 journal  4 Responses »
Apr 212010
 

Yesterday, I jaunted along to the GP, who stabbed a few viscous, neon pink mL of rabies into my arm, told me I may possibly be the only person in the known world to have laughter-induced asthma,1 and then told me to hold still, this burning a section of my face malarky would only sting a little bit.

Yup, it's happened again. Sometime in the past two years I went and left the house and gambolled about outside, and now I've only gone and caught cancer. Again.

Luckily, this time, I actually am exaggerating. A bit. Last time was a melanotic freckle, and it involved plastic surgery (on account of said freckle being very close to my eye — otherwise it would have just been normal surgery) which, because said plastic surgeon knew his stuff, did not scar particularly.

This time2 it's only pre-cancerous, so no need, apparently, to bother a surgeon. No, by far the best option is to whip out the liquid nitrogen3 and burn, burn, burn the witch nasty lesion. Which is lucky because it was located on the bridge of my nose — the skin there is very thin and not very stretchy, so any excision there would be unpleasant and probably would scar. So yay for asking the doctor about it before it turned cancerous.4

  1. I am so not kidding. How is that even possible? I know not. [↩]
  2. The GP did tell me a name for it — but it was long and convoluted and designed to exclude laypeople, so at the time I was concentrating rather more on the outcome such a name dictated [↩]
  3. So named because nitrogen, my friends, is not meant to be liquid on any average day. Even on any average ice-age day, nitrogen is meant to be a happy-go-lucky gas molecule, floating and drifting around the ionosphere. And you know what happens when you catch and corral a herd of nitrogen molecules and chill them until they must band together and form a liquid? They turn ANGRY, that's what happens. [↩]
  4. I would say asking the doctor early, but it took me about 6-12 months to notice something was awry with this one. Still, that's an improvement. Last time took about 3-4 years before anyone caught on to the freckle's nefarious plans. [↩]

the writing on the wall, that nobody was there at all

 journal  4 Responses »
Jun 162009
 

I am growing less and less, by the day.

Last weekend, in between a quest to find the world's best jam (victorious, despite wily misdirection from the internet and two-faced cafes) and wandering about cemeteries, I had to go, of all the most horrendous things, shopping. For bras, no less, that most heinous of all heinous shopping chores. Because a year ago I stopped taking the pill, and consequently my anatomy has leaped at the chance to, er, jettison some weight.1

Last year, I visited a plastic surgeon who took my face, cut two triangles out of it, and left me looking like Zorro had dealt with me and my infamies for good.

Today, I visited a dermatologist who, for the bargain-basement price of $350, ogled me all over for scarification possibilities, jabbed me with a needle containing (admittedly boring) drugs, and stole a piece of my thigh.2

Day by day, in chunks and slices the size of pygmy shark bites, I am being whittled away.3

  1. I am not unhappy. It's ever so much easier to do simple things like, oh, run. Bend over. Jump. That sort of thing. [↩]
  2. The curse of pale skin: I leave the house, and catch cancer. Dammit. [↩]
  3. Luckily, I have discovered that eating with abandon can accumulate weight faster than life can carve it away from my frame, so I have no anxiety on that front. [↩]

i want to reward you with 5 minutes of uninterrupted eye contact

 journal  8 Responses »
Sep 062008
 

It's been raining without end for days, and the weather forecast is taunting me. Every day, no matter how many rainy and windy days I survive, the sunny days are always still two days away. The cat is whining and yowling to be let outside, but of course every time I open the door for him he shoots back inside with a horrified expression and spends the next hour or so sulking.

It occurs to me that I haven't showed you all the horrible, disfiguring scar which resulted from my excision in June, so here you go:

It's not the best angle, but if you look closely at my left cheek, you can see the corner of the scar below my eye.

Better angle:

And, yes, I am wearing pigtails.

call me back when the war is over, call me back when your boyfriend's gone

 journal, shadow queen, writing life  Comments Off
Jun 252008
 

State of the push-ups:

Week one, day two, and I can now hold the form properly. Can't actually move far while holding the form and thus, for now and until I build up my arm strength, my push-ups are quite shallow. I suspect I shall have to repeat week one. But! progress.

Although sneezing now hurts my abs.

State of the scar:

Today a woman at the beauticians was complaining to me about the basal cell carcinoma she needed to have cut off her face. Guessing (from her constant repetitious complaining) she was feeling a touch worried about the surgery's outcome, I volunteered the information that I'd just had surgery on my face, and pointed out my scar, which she hadn't noticed.

Sadly, it turns out she hadn't noticed because she was a self-centred moron who only wanted to win at the strange game MY CANCEROUS SKIN LESION IS SCARIER THAN YOURS. I kid you not. She told me, in all seriousness, that doctors wouldn't bother to cut off freckles, there was no such thing as a Hutchinson's melanotic freckle, and all but accused me of lying about the scar. Heaven knows why she thinks I'd have a Z cut into my face. For shits and giggles, perhaps? To lift ONE cheekbone slightly higher than the other? Because I'm some kind of obsessive melanoma fangirl?

State of the copyedits:

I am just over halfway through, according to my count, although that doesn't include today's efforts yet.

What with the renumbering of chapters, conversations between my editor and I are getting tricky, and leads to emails like: I've just sent you old chapter three, which is now new chapters nine through thirteen. Also, I had to change old chapter two — I added some material from old chapter four, which is now in new chapter seven (old chapter two).

It's doing my head in.

Onward and upward!

it's your oldest trick and your cheapest one

 journal  6 Responses »
Jun 192008
 

I present to you: Deb, the badass version, complete with scar:

Actually, as it turns out, not so badass. Just my luck, eh? Along comes a chance to acquire more of a "don't mess with me" look, and I can't even manage that.

This is two weeks (to the day) since the surgery, so I imagine the scar will only get paler and finer and more invisible as time goes on, which is a pretty amazing thought given it's actually nigh impossible to spot now. (The scar looks more noticeable in the photo than it does in real life, thanks to the flash.)

and the money i save won't buy my youth again

 journal, shadow queen, writing life  Comments Off
Jun 182008
 

It's times like this when I realise, yet once more, I am not a fast writer.

The copyedits continue, and this is about the time I start to wish I didn't have a dayjob because all I want is to finish this edit, and having to get up and go do other things is getting in the way of that. Even if said other things involve earning the money to pay for my food and internet connection and can therefore be said to be, you know, essential.

Tomorrow or the next day, if I can find the time to dig out my camera, I will treat you all to a snapshot of the new scar. (I know, I know, can't wait, can you?) Regardless, I promise I'll stop neglecting you all soon.

today i am homesick for travelling

 journal, shadow queen, writing life  2 Responses »
Jun 112008
 

A trip to Sydney yesterday (six hours round travel time for, I kid you not, about five minutes with the surgeon) saw the dressing removed and the stitches removed.

I am now the proud bearer of a pink backward-Z-shaped scar across my left cheek and temple. It's a good three inches long and frames my eye rather nicely, and I am definitely going to be telling people it's the result of a knife fight, or a duel with Zorro, or some other such fancy. (I reserve the right to change the story as and when it suits me. I don't wear make-up, so this little sucker is going to be drawing comments for quite some time, and there is no crime more heinous than boringness, right? Right.)

Photos later, when the steri-strips come off.

While visiting said surgeon, I also received the bill for his services. Yowser. Some of it will be covered by medicare and by my health fund, but more of it will not. This is separate to the bill from the hospital and the anaesthetist and the assistant, so I am currently wondering precisely what I can sell to cover the shortfall. It would be ironic, not to mention bad practice, to have to sell a body organ to pay for my face, wouldn't it? :|

In the meantime, the copyedits continue, and the deadline loometh. In fact, the deadline do much more than loometh. So I shall be scarce round these parts for the next little while.

poor (zombie) mudpuddle

 journal  2 Responses »
Jun 062008
 

Publicity photos taken (and because I didn't get a chance to clean the make-up off pre-surgery, I found mascara in my ear this morning), and home from the surgery, which thankfully I slept through (the upside to being sensitive to drugs is that a dose which should make you drowsy in fact puts you straight to sleep), with half my face bandaged like some kind of new-made zombie.

I am miles and days and weeks behind on the copyedits, so in the meantime, have one of my favourite poems:

I am too alone in the world, and yet not alone enough
to make every hour holy.
I am too small in the world, and yet not tiny enough
just to stand before you like a thing,
dark and shrewd.
I want my will, and I want to be with my will
as it moves towards deed;
and in those quiet, somehow hesitating times,
when something is approaching,
I want to be with those who are wise
or else alone.
I want always to be a mirror that reflects your whole being,
and never to be too blind or too old
to hold your heavy, swaying image.
I want to unfold.
Nowhere do I want to remain folded,
because where I am bent and folded, there I am lie.
And I want my meaning
true for you. I want to describe myself
like a painting that I studied
closely for a long, long time,
like a word I finally understood,
like the pitcher of water I use every day ,
like the face of my mother,
like a ship
that carried me
through the deadliest storm of all.
— Rainer Maria Rilke, The Book of Hours

digging a hole and the walls are caving in

 journal, shadow queen, writing life  2 Responses »
May 272008
 

My hairdresser has a Facebook page. I don't know why this amuses me, since I'm in the minority in considering it an evil website, but nevertheless amuse me it does.

After my visit to said hairdresser, I now have trimmed locks and therefore stand an improved chance of not looking entirely shabby for my publicity photos next week — which, as I predicted, will be taken scarce hours before I go under the knife for the great face stitching. Better than scarce hours after, when I will no doubt present a more than passing resemblance to a stoned Phantom of the Opera ;)

In other book-related news, I am reliably informed that my edit letter will arrive later this week, upon receipt of which I will have "a little while" to make all the necessary fixes. Eep!

Since I had the opportunity to sit down and chat with my editor last week, for values of chat equal to she grilled me about all the holes and flaws and broken bits in the story1, I'm not expecting too much in the way of surprises. I am, however, utterly unversed in edit letters and estimating how much time making requested fixes will take. Although estimates are perhaps a moot point, given the publishing schedule will impose a deadline.

Perhaps it's lucky I'm going to be on sick leave from the dayjob. I shall be able to spend the days tucked in bed or on the couch with the laptop, moving commas and resurrecting and slaying characters as the whim and direction takes me. The pain meds should make it interesting, if risky for the quality of my work!

  1. An entertaining process whereby she asks, I explain the background, she looks puzzled and says "Where do we learn that?" and I reply "Um, in the second book…?" [↩]

from here on out it gets tricky

 journal, shadow queen, writing life  2 Responses »
May 232008
 

This week saw me in Sydney for my consult with the surgeon who will be removing the freckle. He will be doing a flap repair procedure which will, when the bandages are removed and the skin has knitted, result in a Z-shaped scar. Yes, that's right: I am going to look like I tangled with Zorro and lost, and am therefore some detestable oppressor of the people.

The surgeon does not share my sense of humour.

I suppose I can forgive him this, if his hands prove steady.

After the consult, it was off to the headquarters of Allen & Unwin to meet a slew of lovely people and to chat about the edits of Bound, which will be landing on my desk soon and need to be sent back only a little bit after soon. Here's hoping there's not too many tricky fixes, eh?

Here's also to hoping a proper title for the manuscript surfaces during the edits!

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