When I got up this morning, I had had enough of being depressed. So I determined to find something new and pretty to wear, no matter what. And I did. I found a little black skirt, knee-length, and a snug blue v-neck shirt. And they look fantastic! (Well, the drain snaking out from under my skirt ruins the effect a little, but I guess you can't have everything.) I felt so much better after putting these on. I felt both happier and healthier. I knew I would feel better physically if I could find a way to cheer up. I didn't feel regret over the surgery anymore.



And then...I had my doctor's appointment. He took a look and started getting out the sharp pointy things again, and he seemed to have a grand old time pulling little chunks of me out again. When he was finished, I had a nice, inch-deep hole where that shallow surface wound once stood.



I have to pack it. I'm still supposed to wash it with soap and water in the shower. Then, twice a day, I take some cotton gauze, soak it in saline, and stuff the hole with it. Tape a bandaid on top and it's done. Very unpleasant task.

Very depressing. Again.