Hammering a bit on the table, plus a special welcome

Awrite, guess I got some catching up to do, so let's go.

I just loved them ...
... though they didn't play music actually
© Anger 2006

As hinted, as long as I had the blood-ipods, everything was swell. Means, not too much pain, no swollen face and especially no bloody megaton headaches anymore. Unfortunately, after 2 days he said something like 'Oh, only 10 millitres since yesterday, that's nothing, so that's it; at least you'll feel lighter now when you don't have to carry them anymore.'

Bit afraid of what to come, asked him to put at least some small passive drainages in everywhere. Which only got me a mumbled reply that could have meant 'Yes', or at least hoped so. So went home and, still being a bit tired, laid down to sleep some more.

But as it had to come, about an hour later woke up from the pain. Pressure behind my left eye, starting to feel swollen again, lovely headache building up and taking over. Eventually called him and asked bout the drainages. After another not too specific reply finally dropped the bomb: No, the left one had looked real good, so didn't put one there anymore. Plus other niceties like, if there'd be too much problems like that it'd be getting too much for him and he'll just have to transfer me to a hospital.

Well, just the sort of good news I'd been anticipating anyway. Actually felt tempted having him do just that immediately to at least show the whole problem to somebody else, too.

Though odds were quite more than 50% to end up in the same hospital where I'd been abused as a human guinea pig already, so that I'd trust people there even less than him (which actually would've been the case, as I found out later). And my trusty GP also wasn't available cause today being kind of a holiday (had tried to get an appointment before calling him up).

So in the end decided that I'd just go back to standard hospital procedure, i.e. the next day not having him treating me except when my mate'd be present, so that I'd at least know what he'd done and what not, and that he also could take some more photos so I'd have a chance to see myself what ws going on at the back of my head anyway.

So when I was in the chair and he came in, told him so. To which (surprise, surprise) he replied, no problem, that they'd just remove the bandages and treat the wounds, and that my mate could come in thereafter.

So I said again friendly that I'd like my mate to come in right now. But by then (surprise, surprise no 2) he was already pointedly turning away talking to the assistant as usual.

So I decided to opt for what in retrospect already should've done a week ago at least. I.e. slightly hammering on the armrest with my fist, while raising my voice just so much that it'd be heard also outside the room (but not outside the house - yet). 'But I said I'd want Mr Mate to come in NOW!' Plus keeping repeating it even a wee bit louder (but still fairly moderate) when they tried to just BS me some more.

Ah, sometimes it's just invaluable having some years of practice being the bawler in a band.

Since -- you probably guessed it -- suddenly was no problem my mate coming in rightaway. Even were happy getting him immediately! Also no problem him taking some pics!

Even the better, afterwards -- though tempers still running just a little bit high inbetween, and to be honest once I also had to accept being told letting him finish his statement too -- was possible talking some things out I'd been trying to for quite a while. And he started considering more that generally and also specifically almost everything seems to be bit different with my body and skin than what he's used to. Plus we also talked some partly more personal stuff, explaining why we'd acted as we did.

Even more better, at least up to now therafter continued listening when I say something. (And me on the other hand, of course always tell it completely politely like before.)

Concerning my head, the present state of things is that I still have to go each and every bloody day having 2 of the 3 wounds rinsed out, cleaned and desinfected. But at least it looks better now, and also the last smeartest was completely negative, so no more infection, phew. (And yeah, was considerate of him to sacrifice his own weekendtrip for doing so, and I appreciate that.) Concerning the hurting and oozing skin, which is the real bummer, probably will need another surgery plus skingraft to be just back again where I was before returning to Zurich, if I'm lucky (with the exception of some unpleasant memories and some additional scars 'n' gray hair, I'm afraid).

Funny part is, while earlier remarking that I was 'indolent' (i.e. unable to perceive pain) concerning the actually quite painful cleaning process, from monday on always asked several times inbetween if it was still bearable, also explaining why it was necessary, though think I'd never complained to him or even mentioned that I'd not actually consider myself indolent at all, but that it's just that I can bear it cause I know it must be and will be over soon (contrary to the ongoing pain if it's not done), and last but not least cause endorphine is my trusty and reliable friend in such a case.

Of course just kept telling him as it is, i.e. yeah, no problem, actually being peanuts compared to last week, and that I'm grateful he's doing a thorough job and not taking any risks, cause, knowing my body's tendency to attract complications, that's just the way I prefer it anyway.

But back home, suddenly realised, guess maybe it's about time to specially welcome a new reader to this blog (though probably better not by name).

So welcome, Dr Surgeon!

'So, are you a fascist or yes?' (Bodyfascist Pt. 3)

Ok, guess there might be some PC-people out there already screaming bloody murder for me using the F-word so lighty without some huge piles of dead bodies with a yellow star sewn to their striped shirts being involved first.

Well, I'm aware (like I mentioned before) that this blog's title's somewhat provocative by intention. And I'd also agree that (too) excessive use of the F-word doesn't actually benefit the cause.

The reason why I'm still deliberately using it here, is that I'm convinced that the underlying theme of these postings, i.e. the experience of not being thoroughly accepted or even openly rejected just for not fitting the average visual norm, rsp. the incentive of people (as said to a certain extent also including myself) for doing so, indeed DOES have a common root with what came historically to be known as fascism and it's multiple predecessors and heirs.

Now, I'm nevertheless afraid probably there might still remain more than enough hardcore PC-people feeling the urge to put me straight into the oven for such blasphemies (or at least sentencing me to Schreibverbot for life).

If so, and by chance this might apply to you -- frankly, no one is forcing you to read on, and even more frankly, I'll not be too sad if you just sod off right now.

Cause having said all this, what I'm rather gonna do concerning this topic, is getting more specific about what above I called this blog's underlying theme and the common roots, than arguing any more about Personal Computers, ok?

(to be continued ...)

... gone (Pt. 2)

As reported in Pt. 1, my mate was so nice as to drive me over. The surgeon was still rather pissed. Guess partly cause the implants hadn't worked out like we all would have wanted, but probably also cause I kept insisting he should've considered more and sooner that the whole thing hadn't been like his other zillon cases from the very beginning, and that I'd expect him to REALLY listen when I'd e.g. say it'd still hurt or that'd be blood and no desinfectant dripping from under my bandages.

So when he was taking them out and I asked him to take some more photos, he just refused, and when I asked again he started getting agitated, raving on like 'Now you're really making me angry', while on the display I could see my own pulserate climbing up to 126. Which was when the anaestesist intervened that maybe we'd better discuss that after.

Actually didn't feel like at all, cause after the show obviously'd be too late for some shots. Not to mention that if I wanna have some bloody photos taken, it's just my f**king right to have them as soon as the surgeon or somebody else can spare a hand. But seeing his point, just shut up, closed my eyes for a while and concentrated on breathing steadily, while the surgeon continued literally ripping the implants out and then stitching me up all over again.

Now I know I'm probably still traumatised after once being abused as a freebie human guinea pig by another guy in white rsp. green while being strapped to a surgery table, getting just conveniently knocked out by a healthy intravenal dose of Rohypnol when protesting against it. (Ok, that's another story. Though if I ever was to really punch somebody, this guy'd still be my first choice, hoping to break his f**king nose or worse, giving him a taste of his own medicine for a change. Also don't think it's a coincidence this just repeatedly started coming back to my mind lately while before hadn't thought about it too much for quite a while.)

Also know I can be quite a stubborn bastard. Not to mention having quite a temper (which is why I'm dead serious about being determined to NEVER really lose grip on it's leash EVER). Both going down as many generations as I can oversee family history. Stubborn of stubborn and irascible as beep. Which is why I feel I'll better stay conscious of both as well as I can ALWAYS.

And I even have to admit that I'm not always right, sometimes misunderstanding things and even making plain mistakes. Like e.g. taking aspirine against my headaches without explicitly consulting him first but just assuming this would be ok after surgery since it was always mentioned in one breath with vitamin E which I had inquired about and also wasn't explicitely listened as a don't for after, and that this probably didn't actually help with the post-surgery bleedings.

But having said this, still stand by the rest and will not back down from it, no way.

Remarkably this time never lost consciousness, maybe cause as explained was quite steaming a bit myself which might've prevented my bloodpressure from dropping. Still the whole thing once again had lasted rather like a full hour (as I'd guessed and told my mate) instead of the 20 minutes he first predicted.

Also had asked me to lay off the Tee before start. Though they were giving me some coagulation agent by the drip, again had donated about another pint of the red stuff to surgery table, towels and floor. So this time he also fixed me two vacuum style drainages with transparent hoses and hipflasks for the juice (though only one of them actually working on underpressure), kinda resembling stylish blood-ipods, even more cause the hoses were coming out from under the bandages just below my ears. Though they looked pretty weird, just loved them, cause as long as I got them, never had one of these bloody headaches again.

Cause of the blood-loss and my generally critical condition, kept me on the surgery table after for almost 2 more hours, which is always pretty boring, not to mention that lying on my back at the moment isn't really a treat. So was glad that the table actually is more like an adjustable chair, so when the assistant came looking after me, could ask her to move me more into a sitting position and to hand me my rucksack. Called my mate and my relatives quickly, drank a pint of water the assistant brought me and read some in the comic tradepaperback I had in the ruck just for this purpose.

When the surgeon came checking, was pleased the now empty cavities weren't swollen anymore in the meantime, so said I needn't go to hospital, but could go home. Told me to lay low, though.

Actually felt fine, contrary to before the surgery, also almost pain-free, even despite I got only little local anaestetic which in the meantime as he said should've worn off completely. So after me and my mate explaining him once again that I'd expect he'd consider more that unfortunately my body doesn't exactly react like probably alla the other patients he was used to, and that he should better listen when I'd say it'd still bleed or hurt etc., was joking I'd rather feel like going out instead of staying home.

'Am afraid for once I was lying a bit ...
... when saying I'd stay at home.'
PigBrother Live Show, KuZeB 24.5.06
© Anger 2006

Ok, didn't really feel like headbanging and throwing myself around for 8 hours plus the other assorted more or less healthy things I'm usually up to at parties. Nonetheless, when saying 'No, of course not' in reply to his question if I really intended going out and about, still am afraid I was lying a bit for once. Cause going out was exactly what I did. Not to party tough, but doing another show in a town some klicks outside of Zurich.

Went really cool and sure beat boring myself to death at home once again. Just love this venue called KuZeB in Bremgarten. Audience was lively and really nice'n'lovely, too. Even didn't smoke at all during the whole 90+ minutes as I'd stipulated because I definitely couldn't afford to cough just once while talking.

Was the first show I ever did sitting on a chair, zombie-style all the time except for two or three introductionary sentences, and also not talking REALLY LOUD even once inbetween (thanx to the mixer for turning up the mic gain promptly, by the way). Not to mention that I was probably about the only completely sober person around.

Though I anyway was moving like an ultra slow-motion zombie the whole evening, letting my mate and the others do literally alla the dragging and setting up stuff etc. (ok, 'cept like plugging in the mouse, starting up the 'puter and the like), felt pretty ok. Even ate a whole plate of the food they served upstairs before the show, though I'd just finished my own food on the way out and first figured I'd only eat half of it.

'Plastic surgery is lots of fun ...
... you better believe!'
PigBrother Live Show, KuZeB 24.5.06
© Anger 2006

Really hard part came after the show. Headliner of the evening was this impressive french band called ETHNOPAIRE, doing their very own brew of teknopunk with 2 guitars and keybords, but no vocals, plus another guy doing visuals. Really kicked ass like no band I've seen in more that two months. Just perfect to dance and go wild, literally running amok as long as it'd've lasted.

But all we did was hanging out upstairs a bit longer, talking to some people (not forgetting to take my antibiotics inbetween of course), feeling the floor vibrating from the music below, and then heading for the rear exit, without even going down to just have a glance (some things you better just don't start at all ...). By the way just another sacrifice by my mate as well while going through all of this. Thx, I O U, and bigtime.

Back home, took a painkiller (first one today) just to make sure, bedded the blood-ipods beside me under the blanket, and for the first time after being back from Berlin and the UK and despite a temperature of 38.3°, slept like a log.

'Now, are you really a bodyfascist?' (Pt. 2)

Nah, course not, only the others, what'd ya think?!

(And even if I was, really thought I'd admit it, stoopid?)

Ok, seriously now. For me, think it's bit the same like with the other erm-don't-be-offended-but-can-I-ask-you-something-question I'm sometimes confronted by (though not as often as by the obvious one).

Like, did you ever sleep with men?

Actually the same ex-girlfriend who later asked me the bodyfascist-question also had asked me this too (after having asked me the obvious one first, of course).

My reply was, if she knew the song by Allen Ginsberg that starts with the following two lines:

Everybody's just a little bit homosexual,
whether they like it or not.

Cause well, no denying that, but then, that's about as far as it goes for me -- and also concerning being a body fascist. (For the record, I'm aware that in virtually all other aspects these two things aren't comparable.)

So, if I had to answer by a simple Yes or No, I'd still opt for the No without having a bad conscience.

But if there's the possibility to give a little bit more discriminating answer, I'm stoopid enough to admit that there's a little body fascist inside me -- like probably in everybody else, too.

(to be continued ...)

... gone (Pt. 1)

Of course the pain just kept getting worse and worse as did the dripping from below the bandages. First just had to soak the trickle down to my chin only every once in a while, but later noticed that I started soiling my bed and the floor and whatever below me when not doing so constantly, so just fixed a lot of folded toilet paper below the bandage.

While in the beginning the liquid was much thinner than blood, soon became thicker and thicker and also started coagulating.

And my temperature started rising again up to 37.7°.

Halleluia!

Cause of the pain going back to sleep was no option anyway. Considering the situation being more painful and ugly than immediately dangerous, in the end just sent the surgeon a txt asking if it was possible that I could come earlier that at 9 am like appointed (also figured neither me nor the other patients would benefit of him having a hangover from lack of sleep).

About 7:30 called me back and tried to comfort me, that he'd had a good feeling since the wounds had looked nice yesterday, that the trickle could only be the reddish desinfectant and not blood since it'd be impossible to bleed for so long etc.

Well, so much for my newly restored faith.

At least he agreed I could come 15 min earlier, which I'd planned anyway since I knew they'd be there quarter to 9.

Braced myself being sent to hospital immediately. So before going off to another painful 50 min bus and train journey, had laid out the papers my mate would need for the scheduled meeting early afternoon with the Prof for Popular Cultures of the local university concerning the course we'll be doing next winter semester (fortunately the meeting could be postponed for another week in the end), and prepped the powerbook to be shut down and packed.

To put it short, as soon as he'd removed the drainages and started rinsing the wounds another time (rrrah! lovely!), made a face and went on like (surprise, surprise!), 'But it's full of blood again!'

Hey, thanks for acknowledging, better late than never. Though he wasn't exactly delighted when I politely reminded him that this was just what I'd said on the phone.

Didn't put up a fight when he insisted the implants to be removed as soon as possible, which would be at 12:30. Left me just enough time to get back home taking a shower (only below my throat of course). Also still preferred another painful journey to hanging around in the surgery, though the assistant offered me doing so.

(On the last leg of the trip home had sort of a revelation in the bus about which I hopefully will be writing soon in a thread yet to be opened.)

Just before going over to the beauty farm again
© Anger 2006

My mate was so nice as to drive me over. The surgeon was still rather pissed ...

(to be concluded)

... taking the count ...

Well, guess who's been calling me just after 8 in the morning today? Wouldn't believe it: The surgeons assistant. If I'd mind coming over quickly, so he could change bandages and check and rinse out the wounds. Cause he'd been worrying and come to the conclusion, doing so could probably help so that I could still keep the implants. Plus taking a blood sample just to make sure.

Thought I was dreaming. Almost saw my faith in humanity restored etc.

Well, the cleaning out of the wounds rsp. filling them up with desinfectant, draining them again, refilling etc. was something of a treat by itself, uh-oh. Frankly the best about was when he finally stopped and the pain started ebbing, eventually giving way to the endorphine silence post-orgasmic bliss flushing through all of my body.

Sitting on the bench outside afterwards waiting for the bus with my eyes rolled heavenwards, saw the passing cars mysteriously splitting themselves in two like waterdrops before finally disappearing behind the curve, followed by a nicely reverberating characteristic woooo-o-o-o-o-o-o-ooooshhhhh.

So during the process, just to let him know (and ok, cause I've been kinda the melodramatic one in the family always), breathed and hissed some when he was going at it rougher inbetween. Showed me some of the granulated coagulated blood he was taking out. Looked like bloody edgy grains of sand or ground splinters of glass to me.

At least he was pleased that the cavities didn't looked infected (well, me too), and also when home later the pain miraculously still didn't come back. Even slept two more hours in the afternoon without trouble. And even better, after 10 pm my temperature stayed down!

© Anger 2006

In short, everything felt so nice and would've been sooo great. Only when going to sleep again after midnite, one hour later woke up cause of this really ugly pain, and just thereafter felt it dripping warm down my head behind the bandages -- again ...

Going down ...

Look like I'd been in a fight. Feel like I'd better start one now.

© Anger 2006

Don't get me wrong: One of the few things I'm proud of is that up to now I always could avoid getting involved in a physical confrontation, and don't intend to change that. (Still have been in plenty situations where afterwards even strangers told me that they were surprised I didn't start punching the stupid git cause sure they'd've done so bigtime longtime.)

But here I am, face deformed, eyes swollen and slightly blackened, my whole forehead one endless giant yellow-brownish bruise that just stretches on and on over my right temple including my ear and from there down the neck and throat to the collarbone. Not to mention rest of the oozing and dying skin all over.

Also feels like it. The cuts themselves thank God stopped hurting too bad in the meantime (and also finally are healing nicely), but the rest just pumped the pain levels back through the f**king ceiling. Not to mention the real ugly pounding megaton headache that just won't quit.

The 'feline eyes days'
© Anger 2006

But what really brings me down, is that I don't feel comfortable at all with how the surgeon is handling all of this. Somehow seems just going through the motions on autopilot, like having done this kinda operation so and so many hundred or thousand times already, so obviously knows it all anyway and therefore no need to bother to actually LOOK just once inbetween to check if my bloody case at hand actually fits his rules and regulations of what to do next today. Since obviously does NOT, and by the way just starts going tits up BAD again again again.

But all he's coming up with is more of the same plus the occasional oh, and should it really hit the fan we'll have to pull the emergency break drastically. Plus niceties like, probably you must've lacerated the skin by lying on it too hard. Yep, of course, especially like the part in question on which I'm lying all day long alla the time and also sleep on, cause since the beginning doesn't stop oozing and by the way also just bloody hurts like hell. Oh, but by now it shouldn't hurt anymore, so why are you still taking painkillers, you'd better stop that now.

Aw, f**k you very much!

(Ok, might've been a wee bit exaggerated, but just a wee bit and frankly most of his quotes not at all, while mine of course rather being what I thought than how I actually spoke it out.)

Though no, am not gonna punch him. Cause that's not what I do. Cause I'll be damned if I'll not find another way to get through with a wake up call rsp. my needs taken care of.

'Matty, are you a bodyfascist?' (Pt. 1)

Never had heard the term until my then-girlfriend asked me the above question.

The reason was that once again I'd been complaining about having put on some fat (ok, only a little bit actually) cause of some medicine I had to swallow for some years plus mentioning that I'll be glad getting rid of it again as soon as I'd be able to eventually come off it completely.

Guess actually she'd rather been self-conscious about her own love handles, though frankly that never had been an issue with me. (Though even I'd agree that most things do have limits, actually in contrary never had a preference for anorexic women, but that -- amongst less material aspects -- is a topic I'll probably come back to later.) So just told her so and also no, didn't think I was a body fascist either, and that was it.

But somehow the term and it's implications stuck to my mind and kept me thinking, eventually leading to this blog's admittedly somewhat provocative title.

Besides continously confronting myself with the question if rsp. to which extent this cathegory might fit to my own self, soon also started considering other people's behaviour and reactions towards physical anomalies, since well, obviously that's something I have to deal with on a regular basis.

(to be continued ...)

Why does my head feel so bad?

Again couldn't sleep much more the night after. Even worse, when finally getting up had severe problems opening my right eye. Went checking in the bathroom mirror and instantly found out why: All of the right half of my face was pretty swollen, and below the eyebrow even some more.

© Anger 2006

Aw, lovely! So next to my usual vaguely elephant man style silhouette and my newly shaped forehead like a mixture of Frankenstein vs. Klingon, why not add a bit of Quasimodo to the collection?

Also had partly profuse sweatings every once in a while. Probably also from the morphine style painkiller drops I'm swallowing in addition to the regular pills, but even with the full dose was still hurting real bad so I could hardly lay down. But unfortunately sweating is just another of the dont's cause of danger of infection, and generally all of my head still being pretty warm.

Fortunately the surgeon then said the swollen face was only lymph and no internal bleeding, i.e. harmless and to be well again in a few days.

Though the sweating and the tempeature he didn't like at all. Already was talking about putting me into hospital and probably having to remove the implants at once, especially in case my overall temperature should rise despite the antibiotics I'm swallowing twice a day anyway. Also he said that the pain should have eased off dramatically a while ago.

So of course wasn't happy when during the evening my overall temperature started rising from 36.5° to 37.3°, while the pain just stayed the same.

Also felt quite dizzy most of the time and generally not well at all.

At least could sleep some 60-90 minutes every once in a while and in the morning even 4 1/2 hours at once. And though my right eye was swollen again, at least the pain started easing some, my temperature was down again, and generally I felt a lot better.

Also when I went for another change of the bandages before the weekend he was eventually quite pleased about the healing process too, so everything should go on as planned. Halleluia!

Still he advised me to take the antibiotics a while longer, and I'm afraid I'll just have to stay strictly in the flat for the whole bloody weekend.

Even more blood ...

Well, at least some impressive bandages ...
... though I had to get them replaced immediately.
Just after surgery, 16. May 2006
© Soulless 2006

Maybe at first I was being a wee bit overconfident about the outcome of yesterday's surgery. Not to mention the 'other mishaps' etc.

Actually felt like hitting myself (again) for being so stupid. Cause that's just what I did, when getting out of the car after being driven home from the beauty farm by my mate.

Now there's a few dont's after head-surgery, the two most important being 'don't bend down' and 'don't lift weights'. When having the first lump removed in May, only once I forgot about the first when accidentally letting something drop on the floor and instinctively bent down to pick it up quickly. Outch!! Never did so again.

So this time all the way I was very conscious always holding my torso and head upright. Though probably wasn't too much of a smart idea when getting out of the car. Promptly hit my head at the doorframe, just below the front end of the right implant. F**k!!!!! Stupid, STUPID me!

Didn't feel much, cause of the local anaestetic still being in full effect, but gave me quite a fright. Also still didn't like the feel and even less the gurgling sound after a while.

Of course soon afterwards felt like something warm dripping down my head filling up my right ear, though was hard to be sure cause most of my head still being numb. But when I carefully lifted the lower end of the bandage to feel my ear, not really surprisingly was all red afterwards and also started dripping down my throat.

So straight back to the beauty farm. Fortunately after removing the bandage he said it didn't look too bad, disinfecting everything again and then putting up a new one.

Still, when finally at home and getting a visit from the old lady upstairs cause she'll be going away and asked if we could empty her letterbox, suddenly felt it dripping warm down the back of my head again, just in time to grab a towel to soak it up. Still a bit embarassing, though she as generally was really cool.

Wasn't the end yet by far, but I'll spare you the gory details about my pillow, just mentioning that I'm glad it's completely washable.

And of course the real party was only about to start as soon as the local anaestetic eventually wore off. They'd given me some strong painkillers to take with me, but still there was no way to lay my head down and sleep more than maybe half an hour at once.

Though when changing the bandages again yesterday it was still looking quite o.k. ...

'But you look like you're from mars!'

That's what my doctor said when I told him I'd rather not having them cut away after he'd suggested so when seeing me the first time with short hair.

Always thought that was a good one.

'So maybe I am from mars', I replied.

Would at least explain a thing or two, now wouldn't it?

'So you're a freak, and you don't even know it'

First line of the chorus of a song by local band Hylsen. Next one goes:

'If you're a freak, don't be afraid to show it'

Heard it first just about before I cut my hair.

Always seemed to make 'immediate sense'.

(Though that's another band).

Don't know, but up to now hardly anything someone ever did or said about the lumps gave me any real trouble.

Never had a problem accepting them myself in the first place.

Probably would've been more irritated by not having them.

Back to the beautyfarm (Pt. 2)

Once again getting up a bit too early for my taste. Though for a change not to catch some transport, but mainly to get myself prepped for the next round of surgery.

This time not to have another lump cut off, not yet. But in contrary to create 3 new artificial ones by inserting implants under my skin, which then will be inflated slowly in order to grow some surplus skin that hopefully will be sufficient to eventually get rid of the other ones without (too much) skin graft.

And they'll be HUGE, even bigger than my 'natural' ones (though not in height): two rectangular ones of 3.6x1.8" plus a round one with 2.8" diameter. Welcome Mr Hydrocephalus, how are we today?

Where the top left 3.6x1.8" expander ...
... will be shoved under the scalp.
© Soulless 2006

So actually before I'll look a bit more like everybody even without a cap, first I'm gonna look even much worse during the coming weeks and months. Not to mention that I'll have to come up with new camo.

So back to this nice'n'posh beautyfarm in this really posh village just outside Zurich. Hope my health assurance will cough up the money pretty soon, cause he insisted that I would pay up for the other lump first, which already was slightly more than the remains on my bank account, and there's other people and stuff I will have to pay as well before the end of the month.

Concerning today's surgery, I'm confident about the outcome, but getting there was literally quite a bloody mess.

Where the rear 2.8" diameter expander ...
... will be shoved under the scalp.
© Soulless 2006

Human scalp is supposed to be rather soft and removable from the skull with no more force than needed to peel an orange. But alas, obviously not mine.

Already when he was anaesthetizing my forehead for the first operation in March, he had quite a bit of trouble just getting the needle through, and I still remember the surprisingly loud ripping sound it made each time he finally managed.

Same as today. But then the rest was something else. While I was dizzily floating on the additional stuff they kept pouring into me via the intravenous drip, heard him saying to the others that he'd never encountered anything like this, and I'm sure he (partly) scalped quite a lot of people yet.

Next he starts complaining that his surgical scissors worth a 170 quid will have to be replaced after this job (though he was polite enough to add this wasn't really my fault). But the skin still wouldn't come off so he could shove the implants in, though he already had made longer cuts than planned.

Then while he's going at it harder, I gather that obviously I'm also bleeding much, much more than they would like me to, though they're also infusing me adrenaline to prevent just that. Then they must've increased the floating stuff for good, cause next thing I'm realizing is that I'm mixing up languages when asked something, and then can't remember much till the last pieces of stitching up (still with that lovely sound).

Even despite my quite stuffed nose could smell my own blood. There was a lot of tissue and stuff under my neck, now all soaked well, and still my T-shirt's also wet from the neck down to the shoulderblades. There's even pools on the floor which the assistant will have to clean up before the next patient.

There are more gory details and mishaps before I finally was back here and able to eat something, but I'd say that's enough for one day.

PS: No, you didn't miss Pt. 1, I've just not posted it yet.

Testicles! On my head!

The first person to say the lumps would 'look like testicles' was artist HR Giger (in case somebody shouldn't know: amongst other things terrific painter and creator of the "Alien" monster) when me and my mate were talking to him about pikeying some of his pictures for our (still) forthcoming collected works edition of Paul Leppin.

Hadn't noticed that kind of resemblance myself yet, but HR insisted and was quite amused. More people made the same comparison since then. And in the meantime even I can understand why they keep coming up with that.

Gee! On my head! Anyway didn't take too long and I found it funny too.

Though when I was talking to HRG the next time, he came back to the lumps and said he was sorry, that he had thought they were artificial and that else he wouldn't have made the joke.

As usual I said no offence taken and that it'd been my choice to keep them and that he shouldn't have a bad conscience.

Still nice of him. By the way, also was one of those who didn't gawp.

continued ...

Anything strange?

Was reading a book on the bench at the bus stop in front of Cowley Club in Brighton, when suddenly somebody passing by grabs my cap and takes it away.

I look up, turn around fast, slightly snapping. 'Hey!'

Stands there this girl with a pram, my cap still in hand, eyes and mouth gaping wide. 'I ... I only saw the cap!'

I reach out my open hand and in a normal voice: 'Gimme back the cap.'

She hands it out still gawping. Then kinda apologises and asks to shake my hand and afterwards leaves.

Frankly didn't really dig it, but no harm done, so cool.

Later reminded me of the one other time some years ago in Zurich when somebody actually apologised afterwards for gaping at me going 'Yuck! Disgusting!'

Wrote me an email later she'd also regret it cause she had a disabled brother and so was familiar with feeling uncomfortable on the street because of strangers staring. And that by the way she was also not being sympathetic towards violent coppers.


Terrorizing innocent MPs, Zurich 2003
Still from Video Safari Clip
© PigBrother.info

As admitted I know fairly well I'm kinda a provocation on legs when not putting on camo. Especially while e.g. handing out leaflets to local MPs with graphic images of people suffering severe acid burns after being douched with so called 'tear gas'. Which was why I did so after all.

Anyway didn't take the 'disgusting' part personal but related it to the flyer from the start, as she'd just been looking up from it.

So wrote her that back as well as no offence taken and so no need to have a bad conscience on my behalf, and that I just put her on the PigBrother.info mailinglist.

And yep, that's it. While there are many who apologise for their curiosity in order to land the question, that's actually all of them odd'n'strange exceptions of people who said sorry for treating me like a human zoo.

Strange world, isn't it?

continued ...

Recently on a dancefloor (Pt. 1)

Ok, I'm a bit p**sed, but I'd say not p**sed enough to really blow it up, so let's just go.

Specially on a crowded floor, actually having these things on my head sometimes can be helpful getting enough space to move. Perhaps not as helpful as having long hair soaked with sweat and swinging them around, but as the advertisement goes: 'Every little helps.'

Though ever since I was eventually determined to have them cut off, generally started keeping the cap on when in public, i.e. also when going at parties. Just to see if I still can go wild and get enough space to do so without these little helpers. Well, up to now never a real problem.

So in the last six or seven months only at two occasions didn't opt for the entirely totally conservative victorian style dress-up incl. at least long trousers, T-shirt and of course a trusty camo cap. And even during the two exceptions only got rid of the latter.

First time was the first time after the surgery I was going out being allowed to sweat again, some metal bands playing at Kalkbreite in Zurich. Eventually put the cap off cause I started losing it every once in a while cause I didn't dare to put it on real firmly cause the scars were still fresh, so in the end just bagged it.

And you know what? Nobody was even looking hard (or at least I wouldn't have noticed). Not to mention really nobody popped the line, howgh. Incredible, isn't it?

Second time was tonight at this gig in a squat at Brixton Rd. Actually just removed it to put on the hoodie before going home, but then still stayed shaking a bit longer. Didn't take long and this girl came over, started groping them and said 'horrible'.

Aw, well, am used to that by now.

And by the way glad not seeing green martians in black helmets anymore, lurking from the corner of my eyes while dancing. Like at Mayday afterparty in Berlin.

As usual had the cap on all the time. But at some point this girl just lifted it off a bit, went 'Oh my god', looked quite annoyed and turned away.

Next time I met her upfront, handed her a bodyfascist.com sticker. According to her face sunk in immediately. Next thing she shows me the finger and then gropes my ass for a change, before putting the sticker on the DJ's back. Put another on hers later and was glad hadn't to go to school after the party.

Another guy seemed quite irritated because of the F-word part in the URL, but after I explained him dug it.

And believe it or not, in both places there were also people encouraging me to just go without the cap and not to care about people's reactions, or even not having them cut off at all.

continued ...

Moving to blogspot ...

Am setting up now.

As soon as I'm done, will redirect http://bodyfascist.com to here.

'Medic! Get a medic now!' ('Fun' with coppers Pt. 2)

Till yesterday I was in Berlin for some shows. Mayday I had a day off, so in the evening checked out a few bands at the open air party around Oranienstrasse. After a while it got dark and I decided to go over to the place where I stay to have some food and generally gear up for the afterparty.

Which was when it happened.

Just had eventually been able to borrow a bike the night before and was still really delighted about that. So I was pushing it over the street which wasn't too easy cause the place was mostly packed.

When suddenly somebody ran into me, pushed me over and went down on the bike himself.

Shieet!

So as soon as I got back on my knees, turned around yelling 'Hey, my bike!'

But in the meantime a not so little but rather bulky green alien from outer space had jumped on the guy and my bike below him -- and already I was up to a really close encounter of the unfriendly kind with another green martian in riot gear myself.

(For those of you who don't know: German coppers wear green.)

Cause right behind the first one came the next and of course jumped right on me, as eventually the rest of the troops arrived.

Right, wasn't exactly delighted about all of that. Actually rather majorly pissed, but still wise enough to know that probably wouldn't really be a good idea to try any funny stuff now. So as the green guy started yelling at me to stay down, told him I would not resist or make any trouble and did so.

Though of course every now and then with an occasional 'But I was only pushing my bike over the street!' inbetween.

Then some couragious folks obviously in favour of us arrestees started throwing bottles.

Well, thank you very much!

Face down on the ground, splinters raining down from everywhere, cutting my fingers while the martian starts cuffing me. Followed by more bottles, even a whole one bumping on my head, though luckily not with real force.

Guessed I was pretty f**ked anyway, cause Berlin cops have a bit of a rep and because of some writing and talking stuff I do about unsavoury coppers I'm generally aware of way too many examples of at least some of them never making "wrongful" arrests at all (bad career move), especially in riot situations. So whoever is taken into custody by mistake will just be framed and buggered thoroughly.

Aw, great!

Though besides that already considered myself just lucky. Cause the copper didn't hit, beat or kick me at all. Actually didn't even kneel on me hard. Also didn't close the cuffs too tight, and when they lifted me up later, did so at my upper arms and not by the cuffs.

Of course still wasn't nice having to jog along between them, my head being pressed down lower than my hips and so not exeactly getting enough air at all. Also my cap started slipping off, so I asked them to remove it before it'd also get lost.

Which led to the minor 'fun' part of this glorious evening. Cause as we arrived at their parking lot and I was told to squat down and stay on my knees, the rest of the troops gathered to have a look at their prey. Which was when one of the female martians blurted out the lines about getting a medic which I used as this entry's title.

Only thereafter one of her male collegues asked me if something was wrong with my head. Ok, no jokes here about 'coppers having taken me with them'. Just told them no, that on me it was kinda normal and no problem, and that I'd had them already before they booked me.

But the woman just went on for another while like 'But this can't be, have a look, he's got potato-sized lumps on his head!'

Actually I think she's just quite a considerable and responsible person, and she's got my respects for that, and may she not be mobbed out too soon.

Don't know what she experienced on earlier missions, but I for my part do know that people being hit on the head with e.g. police batons can develop lumps that look just too similar. (And also that considerably many of them die of brain hemorrage a few days or also years later, but that's another story.)

Now I think you might doubt that, cause I found it hard to believe first myself, so I'll just add two pics at that speak for themselves:


Lumps by police batons (Genoa 2001)

To cut it short, guess (and also was told so by other people) I was just one really lucky guy in the end. Cause contrary to my fears of getting framed there was one policeman who had clearly seen that I really was just pushing my bike across the street, and he even told his collegues. So little later I was uncuffed and sent to the guy that had jumped me for getting debriefed (and having my ID checked and noted).

He didn't actually apologize (guess expecting that'd be taking the boat out a bit too far). But at least he stated that, after first assuming I was with the guy that ran into me rsp. that I was coming for his aide, later it was established by his collegue that I was really just pushing the bike across the street. So that after initially having me deprived of my personal freedom, now I was allowed to leave, and that he wished me a good evening.

Actually first almost couldn't believe it, because as said I know other places and cases where I'd bet my last penny that the collegue rather'd be having a thorough look at my face and then saying something like: 'Yes, that one with the BLUTGEIL-shirt, I recognise him, that's the one throwing the stones!' Then another would come and also swear the same. And in the end doesn't take too much of a prophet to tell whom the judge will believe.

So being really relieved, I wished him a good evening too once his duty'd be finished, and went back looking for the bike despite his warnings. ('Remember, a life is more worth than a bike.') Fortunately it was still around, though in the process amongst other minor damages somebody (probably in green) had stomped on the back wheel real bad. But that again is another story.

continued ...

Flaunting it

Just before they started growing real fast
Publicity shot, London 2003
© Guy Smallman

Waiting for the tube at Monument, saw this black guy walking along the platform. Walking fast and looking straight forward, maybe just a wee bit hard.

He had lots of burn scars in his face and on his arms and shoulders (and probably on the torso as well), and he was wearing a muscle shirt.

Woa, respect!

I always was (and still am) well aware that I'm in the lucky position that all my lumps still just fit under a cap (though I had to start buying bigger ones during the years to be able to go to work) and that -- unlike others -- I always had the choice to do what I'm eventually doing these months, i.e. having them removed.

Still, in the fraction of a second I just perfectly understood the way he was looking. And also why he didn't opt for a long sleeve.

The former cause it's not too pleasant when people stare, frown or even turn away in disgust just because of the way God, nature, fate or whatever had chosen to make you look like.

The latter cause it's no real use to try to conceal it at least as much as possible. People will always notice sooner or later anyway. And, bitter as it is, usually later is even more painful.

Respect, man! May you know people who take you for what you do and are and not for what happened to you once.

continued ...

Feeling Brundle-Fly

My favourite scene of David Cronenberg's remake of 'The Fly' always had been the one when Seth Brundle is in his bathroom in front of the mirror, looking at himself in horror and slowly realizing something must be wrong. (In his case that he's transforming into something half human, half fly because accidentally his DNA had been mixed earlier.)

I guess everybody has experienced something like this sooner or later. I mean that you're being sick or anything else but sober and looking into your bathroom mirror and go like, gulp, aw, no, do I look sh*t, oh my God, that's no good, what happenend, this is not me anymore, or at least not how I want to be, please, make it go away and give me back my life, or something similar.

Of course this scene in the film plays with that, though later Seth starts discovering really strange things on his skin, so that you'd probably at least would need to have dropped plenty acid to see something like that on yourself in real-life.

And yes, in the end he notices something sticking a bit out of his neck, and then pulls out a massive and looong fly hair from below his skin.

Which eventually brings me to what friggin' happened to me today.

When undergoing plastic surgery to remove the first lump on my foerhead in order to cover the hole the surgeon grafted some skin from my throat. (I'll get back to the actual surgery later, incl. some tasty pix, promised.) So now I have this fresh scar on my throat as well that I have to attend with silicone-cream twice daily.

After a while one part of the scar began to grow a little lump, that also usually looked a little red, so my guess was that I'd develop a sh*tty keloid there. Though it didn't fit this theory that at some point I noticed a little bleeding below the skin. Also the lump started feeling harder and edgier in time.

But today, when I started treating the scar, the lump was a bit reduced, and I noticed something hanging from it. A piece of skin that had peeled off I gathered, so I tried if I could remove it softly before it would get stuck e.g. in my hoodie's collar and being ripped off less gently.

But as soon as I started pulling, my heart just staggered! Because yes, it did start coming off, but instead of plucking the bit off, I found myslef tearing something hard in the shape of a cork screw out from below my skin, growing long and loong and even longer!

Aaargh! I'm in the wrong movie!

(And I'm totally sober by the way!)

Ok, in the end wasn't really as long as Seth's fly hair, actually stretched out only about two third of an inch, still rolling itself up into a neat cork screw shape. Obviously the surgeon must've sewed the deeper parts of the tissue with some string that's supposed to dissolve by itself after a while, but since one part must've been stuck inside the scar, it didn't disolve but rather was getting shoved out by the skin. Or at least that'd be my guess.

PS: Turned out I'd guessed right:

The marked area where the skin will be removed for grafting.
© Soulless 2006

The stitched wound after the marked part having been removed.
Note the transparent string sticking out at both ends. Stitching is done below the skin, string is to dissolve within 4 months -- though sometimes, like described above, rather gets pushed out through the skin before doing so.

© Soulless 2006

Fun with coppers (Pt. 1)

Sometimes it can be a nice one being stopped and searched and then in the process being told to take off the cap. If I have to go to a doctor or dentist and being asked to take it off, before doing so usually I say something like 'Please don't be frightened, I have these things on my head, they're harmless.' But under less voluntary circumstances I'd rather not.

Of course many officers are used to a lot of not so average customers and hardly show irritation, but others actually do gape and go 'Uh-oh' or 'Oh my god'. Which is kind of a slight compensation for being intimidated though I'm just going someplace minding my own business, and in contrary to them not being paid for wasting my time.

continued ...