Hello old friend…

And the result is…

Breast cancer. Quite a surprise. Ghost dr called around 5 as I was getting on a train and although I was offered the option of waiting for a face to face appointment I could wait no more and asked him to share all the news as I sat on the quietest train carriage and discussed my incurable cancer with a silent audience. I must have sounded weirdly elated. Even a familiar fear is better than an unfamiliar one. Known unknowns vs unknown unknowns and all that

In spite of having the appearance of lung cancer to the respiratory team there it was not. And the waiting was to be absolutely sure because last time this happened, the doctor admitted they started someone off on the wrong chemo and that doesn’t help anyone. But my polite threats and right to reply rhetoric seemed to shoot a rocket up their arse so…good. Me and Dr B shared a smug little nod of self congratulation at the success of our plan. This is the first time I have seen a member of the medical establishment teach me how to work the system. If it were a cunning psychological strategy for patient empowerment I fell for it. But I think he is just a Good Bloke. I will be sad to say goodbye (but not that sad haha see ya).

My old friend has returned and has moved into new rooms while I wasn’t looking. To know it is breast cancer is strangely comforting as I feel I know breast cancer. I now get to head back to the larger, brighter waiting room tragically full of younger women. Respiratory was a sad end of life sort of corridor. I’ll meet my old consulting team who I’ve only met for annual inconsequential mammograms.

The marginally cheery news is that the prognosis is slightly better for breast than lung. And mine is one of the more treatable types. Still non curable but more manageable. Even if it’s quite far gone.

It’s a stealthy occupation which has probably been going on a year. The tiny tyrannical Queen taking up residency in my left lung on a little 3cm throne, soldiers making incursions on the thoracic spine and the right shoulder blade, a regional dictator installing itself deep inside my left hip and making life and mobility difficult. This is the one I have to watch. And now the submariners are going on an exploratory reconnaissance mission around my lymphatic system with the voyage starting in my subcarinal nodes to see what new lands they can conquer. I have been colonised. My allies will drop targeted bombs on them soon but they are a bit slow coming forward with the armaments and back up support.

And yet I never have the heart to get out my full battle gear. I don’t like the whole language of battle around the Big C. She is mine and I am she and it’s all me. I hope we can be like good house mates who respect each others’ space and don’t impose on each other too much. I imagine her as a rather unruly and inconvenient version of me. Prone to disrupting nice civilised events and the correct order of things. So we need to make some ground rules if she is moving in permanently. She should be quiet when I have friends over and behave when I have work to do. Hopefully she won’t whinge too much when I want to go for a walk or do something active. She can come on holiday as long as she doesn’t stop us doing the fun stuff. And she can get to know my friends and familyas long she doesn’t try to steal me away from them.

And I need her to be patient. She can’t have my attention until I’ve finished writing. And that could go on a while. Damn. Damn.