I had all my tests over the last fortnight, a nasty business involving cannulas and needles as well as a serious bout of anxiety which goes straight to my stomach. I will have these anual tests till I die as my cancer is a special type of liquid cancer that 'looms' in the recesses of my abdomen and affects every organ in my torso.
I had had several missed calls from the hospital yesterday as my signal here at the marina is usually zero, unless I hang out the window like a ho, usually in pyjamas and rollers, very niche ho styling.
Consequently, I was unable to sleep and tossed and turned with bellyache all night, hello IBS, my old friend. I meticulously replanned my life, decided to retire, worked out what was really important, vowed to drink more and to fuck more virile hot men before the end, which would be around six months, just long enough to do two twenty-somethings at the same time.
I finally got through to the hospital today and the nurse went off to get my notes as I looked at the view and prepared to meet my maker. Surprisingly, I wasn't as scared as the last time. I think I was actually pleased that there would be no more work and money stress.
Anyway, the nurse returned with my sack of notes and took a long pause before informing me that my tumour markers are stable and the cat scan is clear.
As you were.......