I also managed in the mad panic to leave my mobile phone at the security checkpoint, but also managed to retrieve it thanks to the excellent staff at Qantas and some passengers who were even later than I was.
The Internet connection I'm using now isn't letting me post photos - but I'll have some tomorrow. Wednesday is the big day, and now I'm here, I can finally let myself realise just how much this means to me. Well, almost. I'm waiting till Thursday for that, really. While there's the smallest chance something may delay or postpone surgery, I can't invest too much emotional capital in it.
Which rather says something about how much it means anyway, doesn't it? I'd thought I'd recovered all the repressed memories by now, but one just surfaced. Of when I was 14 years old, in 1972, and first heard of the possibility of SRS. And rejected it as impractical. But it was always in the back of my mind, it seems, quietly lurking. And now my sentence is nearly up, 3 days to go.
But a quote from Churchill is appropriate here:
"This is not the End. This is not even the Beginning of the End. But it is, perhaps, the End of the Beginning."Exactly so.