Happy New Year!
It will be no surprise if you know me that it has been a chaotic start to the new year; but, I've officially upgraded from sounding like Darth Vader on a treadmill. Yes, you heard it right – my asthma has decided to chill, and I can breathe again! Well, kind of... let's call it "asthma under control-ish," which is a significant improvement from my previous role as the human distressed bagpipe. Let the wheeze-free adventures of 2024 begin!
I went to see the Hematologist at Furness General Hospital, waited for around half an hour (not too shabby, considering it's a really busy place), I was all geared up for the grand unveiling of my biopsy results. The suspense had been killing me through Christmas and New Year, and I was expecting some grand revelation about my imminent treatment plan.
But, hold your horses! The Hematologist, in what felt like a scene from a sitcom, drops the bombshell – no news. Zilch. Nada. Just a casual, "Hey, let's chat on the telephone next week, maybe I'll have something for you by then." Shain and I let out a sigh of disbelief. Seriously? Could they not have sent a carrier pigeon with a note saying, "No news, go have a brew" OMFG? So that was a big fat waste of time, money and effort for us and the already stretched NHS! Next week he may or may not have results and news to share? Limbo land is where I’ll stay for now but I have a plan…
Instead of twiddling my thumbs, and contemplating life's mysteries, I have this master plan… Brace yourselves: I'm diving headfirst into a pool of positive self-healing vibes. I've decided that if I convince myself I don't actually have this pesky cancer, it might just pack its bags and fuck off leaving no trace of its existence behind. Genius, right? Here’s to the power of mind over matter and I am now manifesting away and results might just show I was just knackered and needed a rest!
Now, on to a lighter note – the next day, I waltzed into the Furness General Hospital, again, but tis time for breast clinic. A place I hadn't visited since 2009 (back in the Lancaster one stop shop days), and let me tell you, it was a clinic party like no other! The staff were a delightful bunch – lovely, kind, polite, caring and efficient.
First up, the consultant played Picasso on my bosom, drawing diagrams like it was an art class. Then came the pièce de résistance – the mammogram. If you've never experienced this exquisite feat, imagine someone carefully scooping your boobs onto a plate, spreading them out like butter, and then applying a gentle yet firm "crush from above." Not once, but twice on each boob, just for the sheer fun of it, or possibly to get a good look from all angles? My boobs were a little big for the machine, so there was a possibility that I may have had to do that all again if there were any problems showing up in ultrasound!
After the boob squishing extravaganza, I had my date with the ultrasound machine – a thorough examination, a peek behind the curtain, and drumroll, please... the results right then and there! Cue the confetti cannons and disco lights – my boobies are A-OK! Party time, people! If the boobs are in the clear, maybe the rest of me is just having a laugh. False alarm, crisis averted, let the good times roll!
So here's to more positive vibes, hilarious hospital escapades, and the hope that Limbo Land is just a temporary vacation spot.
That’s all for now folks, update you guys again soon!