Kicked out

Today I showed up at Wellington Hospital to have a young male surgeon half my age prod and poke at the lump in my left breast. Along for the ride was a female medical student who looked about 12.

As usual, I pushed the fear back down inside its box and tried to remain as calm and rational as possible, given that a couple of strangers could conceivably have delivered me a prognosis with the 'C' word in it.

But, hallelujah, the baby surgeon announced that the lump hadn't, in fact, grown. It hadn't shrunk either, but apparently an increase in girth/size is the bit they worry about. So I am clear. And, having not reported any increase in my last two visits means that I am now officially kicked out of their system! I have never been so glad to have been kicked out of anything in my life.

The cherry atop this day was the lovely woman who stopped me on my way out of the hospital to comment on the coat I was wearing, which I bought at a hospice shop in London last November (the buying of which was overshadowed by a slight incident with a water bottle and my handbag which still makes my iPhone cry).

"I love your blue coat. It's really special," she said to me, as I walked by. Which was very sweet of her.

Later there was lunch with my friend Sarah, her baby Theo and Bristol (Sarah refers to them both as "our expensive pets") and lots of fun and interesting copy-writing work.

All in all, a great day.

Today's visual is the coat - you can't tell from my terribly lit photo but the sleeves have the cutest ever pleaty things at the edges (I did just type the words 'pleaty things' and yes, I was once paid to write for a fashion magazine).

  

Good news

This morning I lay on hospital sheets and had my left breast fondled by a ridiculously young and gorgeous female surgeon. As she grappled with a misbehaving ultrasound machine, we talked of hand-bags and travel and where I got my top which she so admired (10 Euro in Amsterdam, if you want to know).

And then she fiddled a bit more and gave me the good news - the pesky lump has shrunk and, at this stage, there is no need to slice me open and whip it out. Thank goodness.    

There is, it appears, more good news to come. But that shall have to wait for tomorrow. In the meantime, how bleeding sweet is this advert for Airbnb? Note that it was a clever NZ company that did the painstaking work of putting it together (a company that the Animator did some work for in a previous life).

I should be writing a dreary story for an even drearier corporate client at the moment; instead I've been watching this on high rotation. It really is like cute crack....

Great news (x2)

The dreaded appointment at Welli Hospital to get my biopsy results rolled around today. There was another ultra-sound with a surgeon who looked about 12, and an appointment six months hence to check on the lump's size. It may be necessary, said the 12-year-old, to have it removed.

But he did come bearing good news - the lump is benign. It feels like I've been holding my breath for months and it was a relief to finally exhale today. In your eye, breast cancer.

Rating not so highly on the totem pole of desirable outcomes, but good nonetheless, was the arrival of three more books to be reviewed for North & South Magazine. My literature cup overfloweth.

Extremes

Some difficulty in waking today, mainly the result of two for one cocktails last night with the Mt Vix Vixens at this excellent neighbourhood bar (I can highly recommend the Breakfast at Tiffanys).

A race to a story deadline was interrupted by having to schlep out to Newtown to have my breasts squashed between two sheets of perspex. After finding a lump a few years ago, am vigilant about having the girls seen to. Crossing everything I'll get the all clear again.

Tonight there is the launch of the NZ Festival of the Arts programme at the Opera House; the invite says 'glam' so not sure what the hell to wear.

(Pic Credit: Google Images)