In, out shake it all about
So, a couple of weeks ago something momentous happened. No, I’m not talking about the referendum. I found out, after a couple of weeks of quite acute worry, that I did not have breast cancer.
The story goes like this. There was once this woman, lying in bed who had a knackered back because deadlifting a 50k barbell 55 times followed by 55 wall balls (6K ball) followed by hitting a time-cap on a rowing machine row, isn’t always the brightest thing you can do.
So there I am, awake-ish with a case of the ‘owwies’. My hand flops over and, where I think my bra strap has rubbed, I find a small lump. I woke up instantly. Note to self: must invent the Terror Alarm Clock where you scare the shit out of the perp somehow because fear is a fabulous motivator. Anywho, after trying very hard to unfeel ‘lumpy’, I had to admit that it was there and probably shouldn’t be. I didn’t make an appointment to see my GP for about a week. You know, I was busy, it was nothing, I was…I was a big old chicken.
To paraphrase Mr. A Eldritch, “[It] don’t exist when you don’t see [it] (or acknowledge its presence”. Yes, yes I know. I’m a dick, but we all knew that anyway.
So moving on.
I finally got round to making the appointment to see the GP who I was sure would tell me it was nothing. Only she didn’t. She didn’t say that she thought dear old lumpy was cancer, she just said it needed checking out. It was a sobering moment. I’m so in awe of people who keep their shit together who DO have cancer or any other crappy life threatening illness/disease. Seriously, IN AWE.
I didn’t tell the sprogs, which was tough because every time I looked at them I was wondering if I was going to be leaving them sooner than I wanted. None of this was helped by the fact that I’m a writer and have, if not a finely-honed imagination, a pretty vivid one. Also someone quite close had just come through a gruelling course of chemo/ operations and all the related shit, whilst juggling work and the needs of a young family. She’s doing well now but it was pretty dark at times.
I also found myself at the funeral of one of our co-worker’s wives who I’ve known for a fair few years. She was a lovely, kind-hearted woman who was finally killed by breast cancer. Not a fun place to be at the best of times, even less of a joy-fest with lumpy snuggling up under my armpit, ticking softly…
My appointment to go to the breast cancer unit came quickly. Kids, boys, teens, old farts like me and even older farts were there. Some had brought their game face, other’s their brave face, some, quite rightly, looked like they could hear that damn scythe being sharpened in the next room.
It’s grim, but the staff were wonderful. WONDERFUL. Not so much the techy, doctor/surgeon types, I mean the nursing staff. Don’t get me wrong, the techy surgeon types (all men that day) were jolly efficient. Hurray for efficiency! We love efficiency when it comes to lump fondling and scanning and shizz. They just had Zero clues about how excruciating it is waiting to see if your lump baby is naughty or nice. But hey ho, the nursing staff make up for it a hundred fold. They should be worshipped like goddesses.
The whole world glowed when they told me lumpy wasn’t cancerous. It was sunset and ice-cream and kittens and my first kiss, all rolled into one.
Tomorrow I’m having a wee operationette, which is a bummer because I hate coming round from anaesthetic, not to mention those tights, yuck! But, hey, I know I’m a lucky daughter of a gun*. So yeah, there was a referendum, people lost their shit, some crowed, some cried. *shrugs* Currently life is good. It got me thinking though that if I did cark it there was so much that I hadn’t said to the kids, hadn’t talked about in general, hadn’t discussed. So, without getting too deep and meaningful, but with that thought in sight, I’m going to try to blog a bit more and give very many less shits about those things I used to give shits about (that really aren’t worth the bother).
In other news:
I think I’ve written a pretty good short story.
I’m working on a novel that I’m ghost writing, feedback thus far is good, so that’s nice.
We’re going on our jollies to Orkney soonish. I am ridiculously excited about it because I’ve wanted to go there for years. The other half is also super excited because Whiskey.
The veg garden is blooming, all the foods belongs to us. In the aquatic department, the tadpoles are still more tadpole than frog. I think they’re hanging on to their tails because we’ve built them a pretty nice gaff, in fact, I think we’re spoiling them, still when my froglet army rises up to take the midlands it will have been worth it.
Youngest is playing a mystery game that is hugely addictive and has thus far encouraged him to develop his web/internet fu and get much more exercise. I must avoid said game in all ways except as escort/walking buddy because I could see me playing it a lot.
Inkflingers writing group is still a hoot. We met last night, had a good old chinwag and shared some of our work with each other. T’was grand, very much looking forward to next month.
*obvs small chance of dying under anaesthetic, in which case I’m not quite the Mrs. Luckypants that I thought I was am I?