DAILY DIARY - World Vision matters

It is entirely inconceivable that at this particular time I should make myself available to be sponsored for the 40 hour famine. In more recent efforts I have done a technology famine. That's too easy now after being off FB for 40 days at Lent. And me in my enthusiasm decided 40 hours of having my feet up after my surgery would do the trick. That won't work. Our beloved North Shore Hospital has postponed the surgery by a week, meaning I will be in a very comfortable pre-op phase over the famine weekend.
So about the PORTAL. My beloved medical team, yes where my best doctor works who probably thought I self-diagnosed my skin cancer using Dr Google or Mr Bing, keep inviting us to sign up for the PORTAL. Initially resisting for a few years on account of fears of being beamed up to some permanent zone of automated intravenous living, I succumbed the other day. Like surrendering to a persistent salesperson I scribbled my signature and exited the building. By the time i was in the car, my Japanese chariot you recall who was mercilessly attacked by a security gate at home group, the email confirmation beeped into life on my smartie phone. I was about to leap into the PORTAL.
As an aside, on my first visit to a locum to try to figure out why I was walking on one foot and one balloon, I also did the unthinkable. I stepped on the man's weighing device. With my eyes closed I said to my favourite locum, "don't tell me. Write it down. I know it's bad." Being a decent man, who of course used the result to motivate the "green prescription" we have already disblogged (discussed in bloggese), he remained tight lipped. I walked free from the consultation rooms in that sense.
So I leap into the portal. It proved useful to confirm that the trainee who had used me as a pincushion (remember me passing out in the blood chambers) had in fact discombobulated the blood (or some other similar word) and that half the tests had failed.
I leap into the PORTAL and behold - a revelation too ghastly to contemplate...
There, staring me in the face, are the terrible and frightful results of that stepping onto the human weighing device (I can't even mention its name, although the scale of shock should rather be imagined than actually measured), my WEIGHT - which screams out at me louder than that diabolical microphone on Sunday.
So about the 40 hour famine. What more can I say. If you haven't yet donated something, look on my FB page for the link. Just do it. No tech famine, and no 40 hours of post-op bedrest.
Real famine. Anything to mitigate the trauma, the abject horror, of entering the PORTAL.... I have to be beamed back to October 2016, like a computer being taken back to a restore point. At least then I could read the scales...