Maybe a message, maybe not…. ;)
And so dear listener, came the big challenge this week. I had prepared for it for a long time now and I was ready. No. It wasn’t some major fitness thing at the Fitness Club to where I still go on a Monday night. It was much more macro than that. I have no intention of paying 5p per carrier bag anywhere – not when for years I have been giving free publicity to the likes of ASDA and Morrisons so I had been collecting them for some time and I had prepared well.
Many of you will know the wee black and slightly pink rucksacky bag I use (which is bequeathed to the good Dr W for some reason). Well I packed a couple of plastic bags in there and set off for the ASDA. ‘Oh, yes,’ I said to Anne at the Self-scan, ‘I have come prepared’ and produced the bags….it was three days later that the foolishness of what I was doing hit me. On Day Four I put the messages into the rucksacky bag.
‘I have come prepared’….moving swiftly on. :)
Anyway e was the same. OMG! Sometimes I have this illusion that I’m really middle class and am really ‘resting’ until I return to take my Bearsden crown (altho’ I’d hate to live there now even tho’ it is where most of my small but very functional family stay). Tuesday was that kinda day. An on-off-on visit to Hamilton was called off on the Monday but was almost back on on the Tuesday…..e, RJ and I went to Nardini’s in Byres Road for coffee and ice cream which was awfully nice and then into Waitrose where e was looking for some English Cox. She found them and stuffed them into the bag she had brought with her. It promptly burst. Apples everywhere.
And then we went outside and my phone rang. Yes, my new phone. I answered it. It’s a swipe to the left. It was one of the folk from the Rehab project down Dunbartonshire way where I’d done some stuff and I had to say I couldn’t make out what he was saying cos I was at the top of Byres Road. The next thing you know I’ll be taking my grand-daughter for brunch. :)
And W and I are hoping to go and see the amazing James Ellroy soon….a brilliant author with an eye for the ladies. I was interested to read recently that he was currently eyeballing an out-of-town lady corresponding by telephone calls and letters…’decorous’ was the word he used. Don’t know why that caught my eye. ;)
See when I say every single mum, I mean every ‘single mum'; not every ‘single’ mum.
And another week, another camera up my penis but this was a different consultant. This was not Mr ‘Well-known-in-prostate-cancer-circles’ consultant but a different man who, having shown me my perfect bladder (when will this vid be leaked I wonder?) spoke to me about a possible solution that he said had been mentioned to me before but I’d ignored. Eh no….otherwise why was I where I was?
So I’m not going to get too excited – not the best of plans when a flexible cystoscopy is planned….getting excited that is…….[got to be careful with the hugging on top of the air raid shelter] but it does seem a simple solution. I will keep you posted, dear listener.
And finally I was a wee bit spoiled for choice for the serious bit below the line this week. (Can I explain to new listeners that much of the blog relates to a time when I had issues with alcohol and cancer but no longer?) I will return to Helen Suttie’s many reasons why she’s glad she gave up drink about three years ago. But the other day I found myself discussing theoretical frameworks with she-who-would-be-my-supervisor-if-I-get-to-do-the-PhD.
Ten years ago I couldn’t have written the words without my hands shaking and ten years on I’d be dead anyway. A flexible cystoscopy may not be everyone’s idea of fun but it certainly proves to me that I’m alive, I’m feeling things, and everything is truly in working order :D
Cya, keep(ing) it fun and still wearing that badge? That, and a large smile.
Johnt850, described the other day as looking like a student by someone who knows.
And so, before the news of Lynda Bellingham came through, I’d been thinking of my mum who died of cancer nine years ago this month. I’d bumped into George, a neighbour of my folks, who’d been the man who broke into mum’s house when it became obvious that she had passed out and was now groaning. Spare keys were useless because she had put her keys in from the other side.
He also brought her a daily newspaper at about 7.30 every morning. ‘Why?’ I was asked. ‘She doesn’t really read it.’ ‘No.’ I explained, ‘He’s checking to see if she’s survived the night.’
Lynda stopped her chemo’; my mum decided against taking it altogether. I was at her bedside when she told the Registrar. She wanted to preserve her dignity. She made that decision herself. I decided then that if I ever had that particular misfortune I’d be as matter of fact about it as she was. Not ‘brave’ or ‘stoic’ but just matter of fact……..and I was. The day I was told I’d got cancer, I’d a journalism class to get back to that afternoon and the college had only given me the morning off to get my results. :( No option but to be matter of fact…..I’ve seen some really ill people make it in to teach. Recently.
I met Alvin Stardust once. Lovely man.