Hello, comrades,
Here I am again. Not that I hadn’t thought about posting before, but… here I am once more, completely freaking out. My hands are freezing and sweating at the same time, and my brain is busily imagining every possible worst-case scenario: me disappearing from the world without achieving my lifelong dream of attaining immortality on Earth.
I went for a follow-up appointment with my oncologist a few weeks ago and mentioned that I had experienced some pain in my ribs, on the same side as my original cancer and the recurrence. However, lately, I hadn’t been feeling anything at all.
She examined me and said that she couldn’t feel anything apart from the bone. However, because I was clearly extremely anxious, sitting petrified in the chair, she told me she would refer me for a bone scan.
Usually, I am the one pushing for tests, but at that moment, I immediately regretted having said anything and began pondering the metaphysical question of whether ignorance really is bliss.
I had the scan recently, but not before giving one of the finest performances of my career as a patient. It began with the most embarrassing and humiliating experience of my life: being weighed in public.
Admittedly, I have put on weight, although my figure, double mastectomy and all, remains as spectacular as ever.
I vehemently disputed the figure on the scales with the radiographer, who presumably thought I was completely mad. To be fair, he was right.
Then came the cannulation, another performance deserving of a BAFTA:
“No, that bit is very painful.”
“Be careful.”
“Please don’t hurt me.”
“This vein is terrible.”
“That one won’t work.”
The poor man, with the patience of a saint, proceeded to cannulate me and, I must admit, I didn’t feel a thing. I apologised profusely and, most importantly, sincerely, while feeling like an absolute clown, which I am, not by profession but by vocation.
I had the bone scan last Friday, and today I received a letter confirming a telephone appointment with my oncologist on the 27th to discuss the results.
Naturally, I have started to panic. I have conducted numerous Google searches, interrogated several artificial intelligences and generally worked myself into a state of complete desperation.
When I was dealing with the recurrence, it was usually a nurse who called me with test results, not the oncologist. Therefore, naturally, I am now expecting the worst possible news.
And all of this happened while I was dyeing my beautiful hair!
Priorities first!
Knock, knock anyone out there?
x
