It seems this bullet didn’t have my name on it.
The new lump was scar tissue, no cancer cells found.
I am fine.
My life is still mine and I don’t have to give it back to the surgeon, the never-ending rotation of charming oncology registrars, the Dexamethasone mania and the Pink Helmet of Doom in the chemo ward.
Not this time, anyway.
MamaFo rang yesterday from her fortified redoubt in the Tramuntana Mountains of Mallorca to chastise me for not updating the blog immediately to let everyone know as soon as I got the good news last week – for which I do sincerely apologise, but things have been a bit fraught, one way and another – and also for writing such a horrible, panicky, frightening blog post in the first place, and scaring everyone half to death.
‘This blog was always about the day to day reality of having cancer, Mother.’ I replied. ‘People who’ve had cancer treatment get scares about it returning every now and then, and the blog post reflected exactly what it feels like to experience that.’
So I’m not going to apologise about that.
But my next post is going to be very cheerful –watch this space.