Farewell to the beauty farm

Last appointment. Mop up shots. Surgeon was pleased with the scar development. Me too. Meant it, when I thanked him and the assistant.

Though it's still pretty funny touching the scars and especially grafts myself, somebody else touching them does feel nice. Also with regards to the synaestesia thingie with the one on top, feels like being thouched at other parts, too.

Anyways, am glad having them tumors off. Especially cause they just would've kept growing, I reckon.

As to the looks, yeah, well ...

Guess if I really strictly want going unnoticed, would be even more difficult covereing everything with a cap now. But what the f**k.

Funny, how actually it's still a bit like with the lumpies, though fairly more moderate. Especially from my point of view, i.e mankinds immediate reactions mostly beyond my ken. Filtered out automatically, no effort needed. Sweet denial.

Sweet irony as well, since I always got the impressions everybody more troubled about them than yours truly, actually mostly giving in to social pressure.

Peace-offering to all humankind, blablabla. Sorry didn't work out as nicely as it should've.

However, ahem, not exactly my fault really. Neither if you're still offended. Official license, now. Not guilty. Sorry.

Hehehe.

And yeah, though I could go for more surgery to make the freaky parts smaller, will just leave 'em as they are, thanks.

Surgeon was nice, also asked about the scar on the hand. The b*stard one, still handing out electric jolts, that is.

Himself he'd fared even less lucky. Fallen from from a horse, back broken. Though definitly lucky enough so the spinal chord remained unharmed. Still has to go wear a corset for half a year, since he's got no assurance for sickness daily allowance, as he said.

Copied me the whole folder with all my pix, also some I hadn't had before, so brace for an update at some point.

So, after 11 months in 'n' out, looks like I just left the beauty farm for good. Walking towards the bus stop, hit the air with both fists and turned the phones a bit louder than usual.

Nice one for a change

Still a bit dizzy from the painkillers, though hope being off soon. Actually gave it a try this morning, but after a while decided sticking with them for another day and then try again.

On my way back to the beauty farm, Oct 17th.

Changing the dressings, surgeon said he's still happy so far. And with me still on antibiotics there'd be no need of changing the drains daily, so I can just keep them in as long as seems fit before removing the stitches next week. Plus despite the original dressing almost dripped, over night the bleeding had almost stopped. So as long as it keeps developping nicely, my mate'll be able changing the dressings and taking care of the wounds no prob, so I won't have to travel almost 2 hours every day just for that. Knock on wood some more.

Have to admit, after having a look at the results in the hand mirror before putting the new bandage on, I'm quite pleased with the outcome too, especially with the lines of the wounds. Though am happy we took the time to rediscuss this in detail right before the surgery. Still think I wouldn't have liked the way he'd proposed doing it originally. I.e. like he'd done the lateral lump, leaving a cut around one half of the base, flapping the remaining skin of the other half round, tailoring it to fit.

8th August. Lateral lump removed, ones on top punctured.

© Anger 2006

Now I can see why he preferred doing so there, mainly because now the scar's more to the back and can't be seen from front. But on the downside this implied using more of the skin on top of the lump, which's even more stretched and strange looking than the parts at the base. Which means now there's another more or less bald spot that won't recover.

Ok, on the top of my head probly won't have no more hair soon enough anyway. However, cause of the general condition of the skin on the lumpies, still think makes more sense leaving the cut in the middle, using the base skin from both sides while removing the one on top.

Fortunately wasn't a big discussion. And though I had visualised having it done more symmetrically, still won't complain for a change. In contrary, definitely like how the new cut kinda connects the already existing scars, with just 2 smaller vertical cuts on top to tailor the rest. Which I've to admit looks even better than what I imagined myself. Also think he did a good job by deflating and tailoring the tricky bastard a.k.a. the smaller dexterior lumpie.

Just after surgery, Oct 16th.
© Seelenlos 2006

Well, maybe I'd also just lowered my expectations after some of the previous sh*it, but this is the very first time it actually looks better than what I had hoped for in the first place.

Skin beats scissors

Whoa, I did it! Actually had thought might been a bit an exageration the surgeon telling me earlier my strange skin would ruin his precious surgical scissors, but well, here's the proof:

© Seelenlos 2006

Besides, surgery went smooth again, despite this time removing two lumpies at once, plus me bleeding too much as per usual. Also the anaesthesist did a nice job too, keeping me conscious all the time. As for the carousel when she started pouring in the good mix via the drip, guess I'm getting used to it by now, since I perceived it as less intense every time. Pulserate as low as it gets during the whole show. And since they reckoned as during all the previous sessions local anaestesia plus the drowsy mixture would do no sweat, even was allowed eating some before turning up for a change. Which came in even handier since this time had the appointment at 4 pm.

Like always my scalp offered plenty resistance right from the start when he began injecting the local anaesthetic, producing this kinda ripping sound each time the needle eventually went through. Not to mention the even more explicit sound effects as he went gnawing through the skin with the other tools, wrenching, tearing, shredding, snapping. Pity can't have a go actually seeing what he's doing.

So was just enjoying the soundtrack, when suddenly there was a most unusual cracking sound, followed by metal pieces clanging on the floor. Next thing he's causually informing me I finally really wrecked his scissors on the spot, then going on with a replacement, scraping all the nasty stuff out, tailoring the remaining skin and sewing the different layers up.

Still can't wait having all them photos on my screen. Also am curious how the resulting scars and stuff will look like. Though reckon will be able having a first peek tomorrow when going for a check plus to change the bandages.

Again put in two small drains made of surgical gloves, so hopefully no more headaches. Seem to work swell, cause despite the huge load of gauze he put on top before fixing it with surgical tape, blood and juices already seeping out. Am glad still having some of the plastic coated paper sheet left for my pillow, same stuff they use for covering the surgical table and of which the assistant cut me some off the roll earlier. Still, new dressings tomorrow won't harm, and washing wy wool cap either.

Till then, guess I'll just be glad not having to endure the daily disinfection routine anymore. Plus of course hoping there won't be no more friggin complications, knock on wood. Don't want to miss another flight, and am scheduled to attend the annual UFFC rally to Downing St. No. 10 end of next week, plus doing another show @ LARC, both I'm quite looking forward to.

Again the surgeon stressed he was very pleased with how the lumpies had been taken care of, reassuring me there shouldn't be any more trouble with the infection that kept bugging me for about 1 1/2 months now, though I'm to stay on antibiotics for about one more week.

Knock on wood some more ...

A view to 'a walk in the park'

About time to put up some more tasty pics, I guess. Namely the ones of the last session at the beautyfarm. So here we go.

Since this one, unlike others, had been less painful and also without complications in the aftermath (well, at least concerning the lump that'd been cut off), had dubbed it 'a walk in the park' just after.

Though that's not exactly what it looks like, I'm afraid.

Opening shot of course still harmless enough. After the earlier surgeries the lump in question for mysterious reasons had shrunk to some extent, so can't actually say on the pic below it was bigger than ever. But still, at least bigger than for the rest of my life, you bet!

© Soulless 2006

As you can see below, at first the surgeon only made a small cut of about an inch, then started squeezing out what would come. When first looking at these pics after the operation, little did I know that the look of all the lovely stuff oozing out with all its even lovelier bits'n'pieces pretty soon would be something I'd be more than familiar with, not to mention on a day-to-day basis.

Like two and a half weeks later having to squeeze all that tasty stuff out of the rest of the (partly even bigger) infected lumps myself or with the help of my mate, that is. (Ok, minus almost all of the blood of course, but with that REALLY lovely rencid smell in addition due to the infection.)

Still remember these afternoons in Dresden, bent over a waste bag, seeing all this stuff pouring into it without end ... Lovely indeed.

And as always, just because it was so nice and very much fun, just go on and squeeze some more ... a bit harder now, yes ... incoming, incoming ...

Whoa, did you see the size of that mother?! (Guess else nobody would believe me that ever, or would you?)

Albeit, just to increase the fun part, on the infected ones the (puncture-)holes where a lot smaller. Though not the size of the chunks whitin, definitey not I'm afraid. So now you can perhaps imagine, how very much fun (not to mention labour) it was, getting the bigger (not to mention the bloody huge) ones through an opening of only a few millimeters. And also why it took so long, till they were at least hafway more or less empty.

Cause, you can squeeze as much as you want, sure, but still you can't get it all out, no way. (Actually, even now after some WEEKS of daily squeeze, there's still more chunks every once in a while, not to mention blocking the opening again etc.)

Now, which amounts were talking here exactly can be further explored quite well below ... (Yuck!)

Ok, though I'm used to such and other tasty stuff for long enough now to be able to eat and enjoy my meal while reformatting such nicely coloured pictures no sweat (by the way, seen these yet? WARNING!), admittedly can understand if others say finding them, erm, a wee bit grossish.

But back to the task at hand (drip, drip, spurt). As shown above, after the surgeon had squeezed all out which could possibly be, at least he was lucky enough to just cut the whole thing open to get the rest out by more brutish methods, instead of just cooming back for another squeeze for the next six and a half weeks.

And yup, there you can see which hideous amounts are still hidden within the bastard. Looks like there'd been nothing coming out yet, doesn't it?

Also on the above pic it's clearly recognisable how the thing inside actually is built like loads a different bubbles within a bubble. Which is also why by squeezing alone there's no chance getting the thing empty, cause at least some of the bubbles attached to the sides and at the bottom over the skull you just can't get like that. Also note the layer of cyst-skin of the big bubble encapsulating the smaller ones below the actual (normal) skin.

And that's how it looks after he'd scraped out the rest as well, plus already cut away some of the excess skin. As you may notice, blood donation still going on, drip,drip, splosh, despite the anaesthesist hardly been too tight on mixing adrenaline to the venal drip, plus the bigger vessels already been closed by zapping them with special electric tweezers for good.

Here's the part he'd eventually removed from the bottom, seen upside down, i.e. the part above the skull now on top.

© Soulless 2006

And finally, the perfectly tailored skin skillfully stitched to the rest. Note the drainage made of some piece of sterile surgical glove on bottom. Though these ones give ugly scars when needed to be left there for more than just a very few days, always cherished them. Cause if the wound is still bleeding inside under the closed skin and then the blood is stuck below, this can give the expression 'bloody f**king headache' a whole new meaning, at least in my case.

Fortunately this time could do without drainage pretty soon. Which I consider nice also cause else the drainage usually has to be changed daily. Like the old one pulled out, then a new one cut out of the thumb of a glove and this then shoved inside by tweezers, all better done a 100% sterile of course -- a procedure about which my mate could tell you a story or two as well, cause he'd been the victim having to do this more than once.

Trepanation might be fun ...

... but still think puncturing the lumps being already fun enough for my tastes, thanks.

Already had been to the surgeon 3 days earlier on Monday. Just for having the remains of the formerly dripping lump examined. Him quite pleased how small it had become (though actually in the meantime already started inflating again). Since in the meantime the wound had closed nicely, to my amazement said looked pretty ok and that there'd be nothing more to be done at the moment.

© Anger 2006

So only returned for the scheduled 2nd puncture Thursday. Big lump feeling quite stuffed and tense again. After having cut a small hole into it with his precious scissors, immediately yelled for the bowl he at first had figured could do without, remarking, 'A veritable fountain.'

Ok, at least didn't reek like the other one last Sunday. Again he said the smaller'd look just fine (though again having inflated some more). Really had to insist till he eventually reopened it. And surprise, surprise ... immediately wrinkled their noses, him going 'uh-oh', while the assistant quickly to open the window.

Not that I would've objected. Heck, stank even worse than Sunday morning. Suddenly surgeon also saying nothing more about 'looking well'. But rather stated 'infection', plus having another sample taken and sent to the lab for analysis. Plus no 2, going back to the beloved daily rinsing routine, again. Well, halleluia anyway.

At least reassured me the stitches on the side my hand looking fine, so hopefully no sh**ty scar like the one on my arm.

'Too female' (Beyond Pain Pt. 4)

Recently in Beyond Pain: 'the secret nature of pain' in (Pt. 1 & Pt. 2) However, concerning my recent surgery, what really hurt, was when it didn't hurt anymore, but just went numb forever - luckily only at the back of my head ... (Pt. 3).

I mean, ok, I know and do consider, what happened to the back of my head was a mishap, not really being typical for the average process. But also every other surgical scars I have, whether botched up royally like these on my arm, ok like e.g. the one down at the side of my belly, or even state of the art like the ones down on my throat where he'd harvested the skin for grafting, fact is, they're all not as sensitive as they were and the whole parts also don't feel like they used to anymore.

Especially concerning the more, erm, delicate aspects of perception.

Now, besides the aforementioned lips, just one more example of another relatively innocent body part often submitted to plastic surgery. I mean, at least in my humble opinion, what the feck's the use of a small, sleek, elegant nose, when it's no more fun doing the good ole Innuit game anymore? (I.e. nose-kissing, in case you didn't know.)

Anybody can fill me in?

(Ok, at least partly only a rhetorical question of course, hinting at 'our' culture's predominance of the visual sense, while at the same time denying touch as a mere 'mild collisions of flesh', as Jim Morrison once put it in 'Eyes'. Not to mention the many people, mostly women I'm afraid, though not only, for whom sex is just a necessary evil to marry a guy or girl with lotsa cash, so probably they're better off numb anyway.)

Cause, as you all might've guessed or, despite this being a topic usually not too much talked about in public, even do positively know from one source or another, there's also loads and loads of less 'innocent' parts and cases suffering from 'side effects' of plastic surgery (and just by the way, cesarians as well).

A rather drastic example probably being this one recently reported in in brief by a local Sunday tabloid about 'Switzerlands most well-known trans-sexual', having undergone 14 surgeries to become a woman:

'For eight years, I didn't have an orgasm anymore', Nadia Broennimann complains, 'when still being a man, at least I could help myself ...' The many surgeries had destroyed the genital nerves. 'It's enough to make you weep, cause no doctor can help me.'

Now, even though there may be plenty other, way less castration related (but still perhaps even worse) cases where you could say the same:

If that's not buggered but good, then what is?

(No further comment by the way concerning the short article's original title: 'Too female' ...)

Victims of Plastic Surgery unite! (Beyond Pain Pt. 3)

Previously in Beyond Pain: After discussing 'the secret nature of pain' in Pt. 1 and giving some examples, stated that, however bad the post-surgery physical pain I experienced so far might've felt, contrary to some other effects it's nothing I wouldn't get over soon enough (Pt. 2).

To me, what was really frightening, was e.g. the part about the surgeon asking 'Can you feel this?' and then clipping the dead wound lips off without me noticing anything! Not to mention the handsome necrotic part at the back of my head. Or, after finally having it cut off too, but without replacing it yet by another skin graft, me walking round for a week with this huge hole under the bandage and still feeling nothing really at all.

(As already linked here, and below again.)

Now, that's what I call creepy.

Well, guess them nerves just having transmitted about all of the pain they were capable of before eventually quitting, so at least on this front not really too much to complain about. Plus, parts dying on an else alive and aware body having had a specially terrifying meaning in my life for decades (but into which, of course, I won't go further here and now). Still, what really keeps buggerin' me is this:

Though my grafted parts seem to regain some minimal sense of touch, they're by worlds not as sensitive as before. And while this probably still being perfectly ok to warn me from incoming damage, they're just nearly incapable of transporting anything nice, if you know what I mean.

So far, so bad (though actually not to be expected much differently, I guess).

And even the parts that recovered rsp. didn't die on me too in the end, though mostly even growing some hair back again, still feel kinda numb almost like the grafted parts and didn't improve again really.

Which is what I do call a bummer.

Am sure you e.g. know this special way of kissing, holding each other only softly at the back of the head with the fingertips. (Of course there's other nice things, too, but still nothing quite like it.)

Always really enjoyed this way of being touched. Well, not so much anymore, actually. At least not behind my right ear.

Though, guess all in all still have to consider myself lucky. Like always, could be much worse, now couldn't it?

Well, definitely. Like e.g. having no more feeling in my lips, I'd say. (The ones of my mouth, I mean.)

(to be continued)

Spare body parts out of the garbage can

Now, that was more like a walk in the park. Or maybe I'm just getting used to it. Even my pulse rate remained quite average, and just after the surgery was down as low as it ever gets.

Ok, been a good boy, doing my exercises n stuff every second day till Sunday, not to mention getting decent sleep and almost plenty of it nearly every day, including some extra hours the night before the night before (on the eve itself probably will always be less cause of my wicked rhythm, usually working all night and therefore sleeping way into the day or even afternoon).

5 days to go:
The obligatory pre-surgery shot
© Anger 2006

Amongst other things, also managed delivering all of the layouted pages I had promised, erm, about 5 o'clock a.m. today. The Prof in NY with whom we're doing this project even mailed back they'd look 'very appealing' (without blowing my trumpet too much, like of most of the others too also think they're actually not so bad myself, not to mention they better be, considering all the hours, days, weeks, months etc. I poured into them), so I hope at least he'll forgive me a tiny little bit for how bloody long it took and still takes till the whole thing will be in print. Though far from being all my fault nor responsability, still feel so embarrrassed about.

Surgery itself went rather smooth, too. Mysteriously, after shoving in the implants, the lump on my right side (which is, or in the meantime more accurately was, the one on the list for today) started shrivelling considerably, though the surgeon said it hadn't been affected directly by the surgery. Which actually was cool, cause once the pressure being off, some of the skin at it's base even recovered some and started growing hair again. So he also punctured the remaining ones on top (which on the other hand had kept growing bloody fast during the last few months), hoping for a similar effect.

Instead of Quasimodo -- Frankenstein
© Anger 2006

Concerning the one to be removed, he went for another technique, i.e. peeling it out and then using the still good parts of the skin to pull over the wound. Which worked particularly well so far, despite the peeling out part for him actually not really being a picnic. But in the end got alla the stuff out and could close the hole without another skin graft. Even the better, as he had hoped, had some ok spare skin left to put into the fridge and hopefully use later on the remaining ones.

Showed me a photo of the stitched wound, looks quite allright, actually a lot nicer than the back of my head, howgh. Also put in a small passive drainage just in case. Cool.

As usual had donated quite a bit of the red juice, so in the end there was a huge pile of soaked towels, not to mention the floor needing the obligatory additional cleaning, again. Guess he's getting used to that, too, at least didn't even mention it, only his assistant stated me having thin blood while cleaning up the mess afterwards.

'The filth took me with 'em!'
Won't even need to to change
my favourite taking the mickey
© Anger 2006

One funny thing was, especially after just having written about the minor mishap while removing the drip during my stay in hospital some 35 years ago, today's anaestesist, contrary to the nurse from then being quite on the ball, removing the needle very carefully, explicitly remarking, 'You've got big veins, so we'll put on a big bandage, too.'

The other rather odd incident being the assistant in the heat of the moment throwing away the spare skin with the rest of the mess, and then having to get it back from out of the garbage can (yuck!) in order to get it soaked in saline solution and put into the fridge.

My complication had a little complication ...

Mate told me, when going to the photolab picking up a developped film plus prints, as usual casually asking, 'And, did they turn out well?', all the woman behind the counter replied being, 'Uh, erm, uh.'

First just shrugging it off, at home soon decyphered the deeper meaning. Cause a special service of the shop is turning the print on top upside down, so when you grab the pile out of the envelope there wouldn't be any prints on it. And yup, as it happens, the one on top being just one like this:

So guess it's about time for another huge photo update, also cause up to now always was too lazy including the surgeon's last batch as well. (Sorry it took so bloody long to finally get it online!) So, for general viewing you might recheck here / here / here. Plus for the less squeamish, graphic additions here / here/ here.

Woa, still wish all the dumbfu**ked people giving me stoopid looks on the train when going to see the surgeon having the wounds rinsed out with desinfectant, squeezed out the coagulated blood etc. and the progess of the necrosis checked, could've seen what it looked like below the bandages. Not to mention me their faces.

And especially what it loked like the week between the last 2 jobs (i.e. cutting the the dead part off and a week later patching the open wound with another graft):

And while we're at it, here's the whole thing in closeup from necrosis to the fresh graft:

Allright, as you all can see below, in the meantime indeed looks quite a bit better (the shots from a week or so after the graft at the moment still don't have yet). Though as predicted nothing that'd actually make a difference compared to what it looked like before, if you ask me.

Which reminds me, when seeing the surgeon for the last time after the last surgery, how he said, 'Looking well, finally everything healing best possible.'

But still not objecting when I replied, 'Yeah, but nonetheless just looks like s**t.'

Well, hope next one will work out better. Not to mention less painful. Two days to go.

PS: In case you were wondering ... Yup, the title about the complication's complication of course is another immortal line I just couldn't resist nicking -- shame on you if you didn't recognised it immediately. If so, consider yourself being urged getting yourself a copy of Terry Gilliam's hilarious and brilliant film Brazil and (re)watch it at once.

Even less innocent today (Beyond Pain Pt. 2)

Previously in Beyond Pain: While discussing 'the secret nature of pain', i.e. pain of the soul hurting the most, but nevertheless being able to be drowned in physical pain anytime no sweat, Pt. 1 ended with me at the age of 18, tired of living and going at a specially designated vein layer by layer with a scissor probably a bit blunt for this special task ...

Being really down and out, didn't even perceive the actual pain of the cuts themselves till quite a while later, but nevertheless its other effects promptly kicking in just fine. Meaning, all this desperation and despair resting with my soul, crunching it into oblivion, suddenly temporarily vanished, me just like coming to myself again like, 'What am I doing here with this scissors in my right and the blood dripping from my left, and all of this just because of this stoopid girl lying to me, cheating on me, (ab)using me?'

Teached me more than one lesson at once. Even cured me from wanting to kill myself again ever since. Not to mention when witnessing people going at themselves with knives, burning cigarets or whatever, seeing them in a different light since, while before never getting beyond 'How can they do that at all?!'

Ooops, even less innocent today, am afraid. And perhaps just in for a treat. A.k.a. having the fear of physical pain put right back into me.

Well, nice try. However, like mentioned earlier, what really frightens me is not when it hurts, but when it doesn't anymore. Like recently these parts on my head literally just dying on me.

I mean, yeah, sure, nerves were giving me quite a hell of a show before eventually giving up the ghost, affirmative, positive, roger that and all. Not to forget the daily cleaning of the wounds, halleluia. Still can feel my toenails rolling upwards. Ok, to be more precise, actually just been me, bending my toes in this direction inside my boots. Still nothing I'll forget quickly. Though eventually getting over it soon enough, no question about that, sir, madam.

Contrary to what still keeps me really driving up the wall ...

(to be continued)

And the winner of the Frankenstein Lookalike Contest is ...

Finally could remove the bandage.

Aw, f**k, that doesn't look nice! Not at all!

Not the back of my head! No, sir! Neither the sides! Nor on top either!

How it looked like 4 weeks later ...
© Anger 2006

Guess all in all it's at least about 12 inches of scars, plus the grafted area. And all in vain ...

The scar on top, necrotic wound lips finally healing 'best possible'.
Pic from about 2 weks ealier, just before the grafting surgery.
© Soulless 2006

Ok, was warned from the photos I got on disk for some days now (yeah, yeah, told you was a bit lazy recently ...). So I already knew it was quite a wee bit more than a 2 £ piece of not so long ago perfectly healthy scalp with then still all of the hair on it that he had to cut off in the end. And that mostly even where the skin recovered, the hair didn't.

Ok no. 2, also know it will look, erm, well, at least less worse in a few months or so, but still ...

Not to mention how it FEELS ... but that once again will be another story.

The 'good stuff'

Yaaiy!

F********k!

Almost had forgotten, how much it can hurt. Only a much smaller area this time. Also the headache's gone now. But still.

Grafting went no problem, though the fresh cut in my throat is a bit longer than the other one.

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, rather gets pushed out through the skin before doing so. By the way, this time the surgeon didn't clip the ends, so I did it after the bandage could be removed. Up to now, else no parts of the string coming out yet

© Soulless 2006

Even the graft seems to be more at the top of the head than I'd feared, while below there's only a cut. (Or at that's least how it feels.)

Partly even hurts in the same place like before, just when the 'miracle' started. First night after surgery even considerably; and after changing the dressing plus removing of the excess crust of coagulated blood two days later again some.

Just relied on the good stuff. Had still plenty drops left from before, almost the whole 2nd bottle. Fades most of the pain out and gives some peace of mind, too.

The rest of the nights only on the 'normal' painkiller, though. Got a rather stubborn policy on opiates, though not that stubborn as not to opt for the odd EXCEPTION. Only when it REALLY HURTS, of course.

JUST THIS ONCE! TONITE ONLY! ONE LAST TIME! And even more favourite excuses and lies (hey, everybody's just a little bit a junkie, too).

Learned about it when I was 13. After having read William Burroughs' NAKED LUNCH, that is. Especially the Appendices. Not to forget Uncle Bill's advice to have a close look at Junkie Road BEFORE travelling it down yourself.

Probably saved my life. Literally.

Like when couple of years later, despite most of the people I hung out with being junkies, never felt really tempted doing so myself.

Still appreciated them more than most 'normal' people. Like e.g. they never cared too much about how you look like. Don't expect you to hide the pain and smile. Much unlike the rest of the world I was confronted with.

Such a waste, seeing them wrecking their bodies and die. Losing teeth and limbs. Desperately trying to hit a burst vein, black and dead inside a dying arm. And other stuff making my recent medical problems look like peanuts.

Going down fast. Just like I felt inside already anyway.

'War on Drugs' a.k.a. The only good junkie is a dead one a.k.a. Who needs ovens, when you can just flood the neighbourhood and the problem solves itself, even generating profits?

Fortunately never worked with me.

Thanks, Uncle Bill!

(Guess people that have to tap me for blood or drips are grateful, too. Never a problem with my veins.)

Keeping girls awake at night ... plus even more bodyparts (also by mail)

Awrite, the good news is, no more necrosis at the lips of the wounds, just some part of the dried stuff oozing from one cut had to be clipped Tuesday (also had stitched it together again Sat). Even better, most of the other affected skin recovering well.

However, some part the size between a 2 p and a 2 £ coin definitely didn't make it. Had to be cut off yesterday. (Plus another tissue sample, getting delivered by courier for analysis.) Plus he stiched the remaining hole a bit smaller, so there'll be as little skin as possible to be grafted next week.
Gee, that means I was two entire weeks without surgery -- how did I just survive for so long? When last Friday the GP's assitand tapped my vein for some more blood tests, actually felt like something being kinda wrong: Prick, the needle going in, but nothing feeling cold creeping up the vein, no merry-go-round starting slowly.

On my way over to the beauty farm having it done, sitting in the bus, this guy I know talking to me while going along the lake. Also was this drunk young girl he knew, going one or two stops further than him. Me having just the hood on my head, cause it's too warm for a wool cap; and, though I got myself an XXL one, camo is no fun at the moment with the dressing and what's under.

So, she's kinda peeping under the hood, asking what it was and to take it off. So I lifted it a little, and she goes like, 'Eeeeek, now I can't sleep tonight'. Complaining on, that she just had lunch and could have puked, too.

Tcha, guess I'm just one lucky guy.

(Mean ok, blokes're gawping, too. But the rest -- definitely must be kinda a woman's thing.)

Surgery went smooth. Again don't remember everything, though, 'cept never having seen my pulse more that 10 to 13 above my average rate for a change. But he assured me having taken all the photos this time. Sarted stinging a bit when the local anaestetic wore off, so so the anaestesist's assistant gave me a small shot by the drip. Plus the rest of the ampoule, since it still stinged.

Was like merry-go-round again. But then, after coming home, was ok. Even after the good stuff having worn off. Perfectly bearable, also today. Still took one of the other painkillers before going to bed, just to make sure, cause usually, though I sleep with the upper part of the bed pulled up, it's getting worse when laying down. But almost went too well, even managed reading no problem, cause wasn't really sleepy. In the end finished the whole book (and am afraid did't go to sleep exactly early).

When changing the dressing this morning, surgeon said it looked good, also the other wounds, finally closing. And hey, won't need the bandages changed and the wounds cleaned etc. daily anymore. Nice one.

continued ...

A word about graphic images

In case you didn't guess yet: Yes, I do feel very strongly about freedom of expression.

Though I know, words are cheap, and for many people telling the same (at least as long as they think it'll benefit their public image), actually it's just lip service.

Well, not for me. And in contrary to some other bigmouth cowards, I did time in an increased security jail to prove it.

"Bloodbath"-Performance ...
... in front of Urdorf privatised jail, as a protest
against unconstitutional prison regime, 2000
© Klaus Rozsa / photoscene.ch / Metro (Switzerland)

Just for having played a copper in a small self-produced video-film that the local cops did't find as funny as others, plus after being arrested still refusing to back down and play lickspittle.

(Ok, about 45% of the jokes in it were on them, and obviously no way to expect authorities to show any sense of humour. By the way, of the local squatters (like myself at the time), on which were another 45%, many didn't really prove to be more open minded either.)

Still was a bit surprised to hear the judge ordering all existing copies "to be burned" etc. etc. -- though yes, actually that's another story already told somewhere else. And just by the way, by far not the only case I rather suffered the consequences than obliging to some wannabe-nazis trying to tell me what to say or write.)

On the other hand, in general I also want everybody to have his or her own choice concerning whether to watch gross 'n' gory details or not.

(Notably with the exception of e.g. police violence and the likes, imo -- again with a few exceptions -- everybody should have to witness that with their own eyes in order to get a proper perspective on that matter.)

In the case of bodyfascist.com, I'd like people who don't feel having the stomach to look at surgery pix to be still able to read the blog without e.g. losing their breakfast.

Though I also feel those wanting to see it all should have their choice, too.

So what I'm gonna do here is this:

Every time I feel I should show consideration for readers with a more sensible stomach, I'll just put in a link saying "Graphic Image(s) -- click to view", or give you a fair "WARNING!" bevor you click an otherwise possibly sensible link. So everybody feeling like it can do so at their discretion, while the others might just move on.

And with photo-udates in already published entries (like the one I just completed now, hint / hint / hint / hint / hint / hint / hint / hint / hint), of course will do the same.

(And yeah, just by the way No 2: Though this blog might be a bit more low profile concerning the risk of people in power getting a wee bit overexcited than some other stuff -- well, you never know. E.g. google.com, that recently bought blogger.com, isn't precisely known for being too tough when it comes to refusing to titillate censors anywhere. So just in case, if you'd like to bookmark this blog, do bookmark bodyfascist.com and NOT the blogspot-URL, since if necessary or else convenient I'll just redirect the former.)

'auto immune aggression'

Surgeon told me at some point, how sometimes it's not easy for him seeing people suffering. And though he's seen worse mishaps and accidents, which he had to cut and stitch back together again as well as still possible, than my small 'miracles', am afraid I'm giving him a bit a rough time. Sorry.

At least, despite the missing / dying / decaying parts of my scalp that not only don't look, but also don't FEEL too nice either, manage without pain killers for more than 48 ours now.

In the meantime am even getting used to the lovely look of them. Yes, he finally burned me all the pics, even took some new ones before doing so. Still have them open behind while typing this, and when looking through them before seeing my GP earlier, was in a hurry and had to do so while eating. So friggin' what.

(Yeah, I know, some might be curious too. So yup, those of you not afraid to klick 'graphic images' links can brace for gory updates.)

By the way, they are saying the whole thing probably being acts (though guess medically more correct: cases) of 'auto immune aggression'. I.e. the immune system considering parts of the own body as an enemy, killing them off.

Ok, I'll admit, ever since hearing the expression the first time some years ago, always'd thought, now, THAT'S a poetic name for a disease, why do the ones I have always sound so boring?

But believe it or not, THAT'S not how I'd meant it.

Getting me handed some more body parts

Oops, seems I just successfully performed another miracle unparallelled in the history of medicine. At least that's how the poor surgeon went like: 'Can't be, never seen before.' Starting to feel like some kinda medical prodigy -- only predominantly in the wrong way, of course.

Good news is, the oozing & hurting part at the back of my head seems to recover to a certain extent, though plenty of it still being 'critical', so probably next Weds it's gonna be surgery-time, just once again. (Hopefully without further 'miracles' following, erm.)

Bummer is, how the other wound's behaving that was still left open in order to clean the cavity where the top right implant had been. When he was at it two or three days ago, pulling out the gluey stuff with a forceps, suddenly had this strange sensation, like the tissue ripping or beeing squeezed, even after he'd removed the tool, as he assured me when I asked. Well, that was probably the last thing I ever felt there.

Yesterday he suddenly started looking a bit troubled after having removed the dressing, expressing his disbelief as noted above, followed by the buzzword 'necrosis' (i.e. dead tissue). And at some point the question 'Do you feel anything now?' No, didn't.

So he just went on with the scissors, therafter showing me the small strips of brownish-greyish dead scalp he'd just cut off.

Oops no 2, felt a bit like being in the wrong movie just once again.

To make it clear, despite my moaning definitely much preferred having seen what and how much he cut off compared to just having strange painful sensations up there (since around the numb part didn't feel to well lately), asking myself desperately just HOW BAD it actually might be -- now at least I know.

Still, some part of me just kept asking myself, what was that film where this guy get's handed part of his brain, but not feeling anything? Yeah, Hannibal, right. That's what it reminded me a bit of, watching this glorious scene and not exacty feeling like 'let's have some more lunch right now'. Though no cooking and eating involved in my case, of course, just threw it away afterwards. Still, just don't remind me about what not only the german press called 'The cannibal of Rotenburg', ok? (And bloody well yeah, I know, didn't eat the brain together, but his pr**k, and contrary to Hannibal seems actually having been mutual consent. Still not precisely my cup of tea, though ...)

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!

... 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.

... 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 ...