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.
