Am in a hotel alone, reading my book, and my mind wanders. I start to think about what my consultant said when he told me I had cancer and needed a hysterectomy.
Now, although I may have thought I was with it and asked all the questions I needed to know, the nearer I get to operation date, the more I actually have and realise I didn't ask! All of which isn't helped by the hospital rebooking an x-ray I was told before I didn't need. My racing mind is asking why do I need it?
So I turn to the trusty Internet and scare myself silly and have a good cry!
Why, oh why did I do it?
Normally, the Internet is my friend and reassures me. Tonight it has shown me another side of itself, one I have no wish to indulge in again!
In a panic I started to write this post, and as the words have taken shape on the page (all be it with lots of help from autocorrect and liberal use of the backspace key) I can feel calm descending. I am not a doctor. Of course what I read is going to scare me. I don't have all the facts to hand and only a human with the test results so far and an MD (plus having had the distinct advantage of see parts of me only my children have the honour of inspecting) will able to answer those questions.
So, a clean sheet of paper, a good black biro, and a list of questions for Mr S on Tuesday, before the operation, is the way forward
calm (ish) is restored
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