Wednesday, 9 December 2009
The call from the doctor
Yesterday, as I was about to leap from my seat and dash for the bus, there was a phonecall from the dermatologist. According to the pathology report, the tissue excised from my bottom a week ago was an early melanoma in situ. Which is what I thought it would be, despite the optimistic reassurances of the doctors not to worry, as it did not look as though anything was wrong. Next week I am to have a wider excision, in case cells had started spreading, but this is mostly a precautionary measure.
Nevertheless it made me feel somewhat buffetted by fate. It is my third melanoma and my fourth cancer, and I wonder how many more might be waiting for me. How did I manage to get a melanoma on my bottom, which as far as I know has never ever seen the sun?
So I regret to admit that yesterday I wept a few tears and indulged in a good dose of self-pity. Today I feel more cheerful, but wish I had family here to get me there and back, and to hold my hand. It is not a good time of the year to have a sore bottom for another couple of weeks.
Dr P's car has been repaired and has been handed over to his grandson, along with all the paperwork. So that's that. The grandson, B1, has done very well in his exams and is to do his honours year in development economics in 2010. On Sunday there is a Dr P family lunch at our place. I have flagged some time off to visit family once the P family is back from their overseas jaunts and summer holidays.
I am off to a group dinner with Wednesday's Italian. It should be fun. I can't get to the class next week because of my prior engagement.
I have had two very embarrassing to self senior moments this week. Firstly I mistook the starting time for the opera, and missed the first half hour. (So did my friend.) The next night I turned up two days early for tonight's dinner. When I arrived at the restaurant, it was crawling with official looking people and TV crews. You had to fill out a form so that if you were filmed the TV crew could identify you! It turned out that Master Chef was cooking there that evening, with the contestants doing the cooking, and the restaurant patrons invited to pay however much they thought the food was worth. At that stage a nasty suspicion crept inexorably into my mind.... and sure enough I had stuffed up. I did my best to melt surreptitiously into the night. I hope they do not recognise me tonight - I would die of embarrassment.
A good week, yes?