From Jaffna to mastectomy. And beyond.

I was staying in a little guest house in Jaffna, the capital of the northerly province of Sri Lanka.  It was June 2008 and the atmosphere was somewhat tense at that time, in the final months of the conflict.  The little guest house was a real haven, and we were well looked after by M, a lively character who managed the place.  She made sure the rooms were clean, and produced beautifully fresh and flavoursome Jaffna cuisine.  Although the curfew did not apply to the early evening (if my memory serves me well), we tended to stay in and chat with fellow guests, usually also from the humanitarian sector.  There were only five rooms, so it really was a small and cosy setting.  One evening we were chatting as usual, and our host was in and out of the conversation as she worked away. Now, again if memory serves me right, the conversation took an unexpected turn, along these lines when our host asked:

“Have you heard of Angelina Jolie?”

The general response was one of confusion, and silence followed by tentative nods- and you could see the puzzlement in faces, wondering where on earth this conversation had come from and where it could possibly be heading.

“She’s my friend”, M told us proudly.  Our responses were probably not very serious but it seems M was used to this.  She pulled out photographs, and sure enough, there was M, pictured, beaming as she stood with Angelina Jolie.

The penny dropped as we realised and vaguely remembered that Angelina Jolie had visited Jaffna in 2003 in her role as UNHCR Goodwill Ambassador. Of course she had stayed at the same guest house as I had, being one of not many options. Her visit was warmly remembered, and it speaks volumes that she had apparently maintained contact with M.

UN Ambassador Angelina Jolie’s visit to Jaffna 2003

Of course, our chests swelled a little with pride, at having something in common with Angelina Jolie.

Now it is not hard to see where this discussion is going.  Oh yes indeed, I am finally joining the conversation on Angelina Jolie’s news this week.

Here is something else we have in common. I now also share the fact that we have both been faced with breast cancer and taken the decision to have a mastectomy in addition to sleeping in the same guest house and enjoying M’s food in Jaffna.

Unsurprisingly, the article in which Angelina Jolie shared her news has sparked off incredible interest and discussion. She has, in my view, selflessly decided to use her celebrity status to highlight the issue of the genetic mutation which gives her personally a high chance of breast cancer.  She has shared private and intimate details about mastectomy in order to raise awareness and understanding about the genetic mutation and options.  The article has prompted all manner of discussions both in support of and critical of her decision and how she has shared it. The Breast Cancer Blogosphere has been crammed with these discussions and my goodness have I learned a lot from these.  Angelina Jolie’s article has prompted debate around the issues of choice, genetic testing, access to options and the very complex issue of the patenting and ownership of genetic material which is taken for testing. Yep, patenting and ownership – read this excellent article and have your eyes opened!

For me though, the most valuable message to draw from her slant was the reassurance to women that they too can go through a procedure which strikes fear into our hearts. I have enormous respect for her decision to share very publicly, something which is so intimate and personal.  Thank you, Angelina.

One argument put forward has been that the issue of genetic testing is a bit of a red herring in that such a small number of breast cancers are due to the genetic mutation.  That is probably true.  But the simple question in my mind is – how on earth can we know that if so few can access testing? Guidelines vary according to health provider, insurer etc, but are generally based on criteria drawn from family history, ethnicity and age at diagnosis for example.  My own daughter can not currently be tested unless I am tested positive (according to current NHS guidelines, I understand, but that could perhaps change if the Jolie effect strengthens. Currently though, I would have to self fund to test and my surgeon does not believe that I hit enough of the triggers to warrant this.  That may change, let’s see.

What I do want to discuss, though is something which is raised in Angelina’s article and which comes up in many of the ensuing discussions.  And which I see as a gap in the discourse relating to an issue which I am passionately and deeply troubled by.

The article quotes

“Breast cancer alone kills some 458,000 people each year, according to the World Health Organization, mainly in low- and middle-income countries. It has got to be a priority to ensure that more women can access gene testing and lifesaving preventive treatment, whatever their means and background, wherever they live. The cost of testing for BRCA1 and BRCA2, at more than $3,000 in the United States, remains an obstacle for many women.”

The points which scream at me refer to the fact that deaths are “mainly in low and middle income countries” followed soon after by the information that the cost of testing for BRCA1 and BRCA2 is  “more than $3,000 in the United States”.  Here I go again.  This is my refrain about equity, or rather inequity, especially in so many developing countries.  Quite simply, there are more deaths in places where people have least means.  If genetic testing is accessible either through public Health Services, Insurance cover or private means then there is a choice.  It seems to me, that for a significant number, particularly in developing countries, these opportunities just do not exist or are way out of reach.

The same point was put beautifully by my friend (that is another wonderful story, which I would love to share another day) who is undergoing treatment right now for her breast cancer.  She was interviewed recently and discussed her treatment.

“’It’s a hideous process, but there’s not a day goes by I don’t count my lucky stars,” she says.

Were she a simple villager in East Timor, with no means to travel abroad for treatment, ”you’d basically just wait your day to die”.

That refers to treatment.  Survival. Not to screening, and certainly not to genetic profiling and possible options to reduce risk.

In my view, there critical point underneath this discussion was brought to the fore in this article. I do quote out of context slightly, in that the author is highlighting that the options are not only available to celebrities, and encouraging patients to be informed and ensure that they get the best surgical options available to them. But underlying assumption sweeps aside the fact that the fact that far too many are not so privileged.  The article states that

Angelina Jolie’s remarkable story should bring hope to breast cancer patients and those at risk of developing the illness.

Absolutely.

However, it continues:

Procedures like Jolie’s are available to all women.

I’m sorry?  Available to all women?

This.

Is.

Simply.

Not.

So.

Please, please remember that the world is a diverse place. Please do not forget that many women (and men) live in very differing contexts and situations.  What many of us can take for granted, is way out of reach for many, many others.  For example:

• Reliable information is not available to all women, especially where traditional beliefs are important but not necessarily medically based.

• Access to health screening is not available to all women.

• Mammograms are not available to all women.

• Diagnostic procedures are not available to all women.

• Expensive cancer surgery and treatments are not available to all women.

And I have not even mentioned genetic testing………………

I am not a celebrity nor personality in any way.  But I am privileged and I know it.  I have access to information, support, medical treatment and ongoing medical care. I value and cherish this and am inordinately thankful.

And while I can, I will shout out loudly, with the unheard voices of those who do not have these.

Lest we ever forget.

Brought by the rains

Apparently the cyclone (Mahasen) which is bearing down on the Bangladesh/Myanmar coast has weakened to Tropical Storm status.  Which has to be better news than cyclone status.  Marginally.  It does not mean however, that the highly vulnerable communities which are in its path, under the wide system spread across the region, and which be affected by the storm surge, winds and flooding, will not be impacted.  They almost certainly will be. The frantic preparations will for sure make a difference, but the vulnerability in these areas is enormous.

The fact that the storm kept changing its mind about exactly where it was headed, has kept us on tenterhooks refreshing the storm tracking maps and checking predictions constantly.  It seems to have changed tack again and is passing a good bit further north of us than originally predicted.  There are some pretty angry skies here though, whether the outer tendrils of Mahasen, or just coincidental monsoonal tantrums gathering.  Whatever it is, it is bringing dramatic bursts of rain, thunder, lightning and winds.

I was woken in the night by one such dramatic rainstorm.  The rains were pounding, the winds rushing and in the midst of it was the bullfrog.  He was seemingly confused, as he was giving out his loud “bring the rains” call, which is very different from his “wallowing in the rains” call.  Dawn saw a sky strewn with wispy clouds, and great clumps of chunky grey cloud against an incongruous bright blue sky.

The rains however, had brought an abundant flowering of the Padauk tree, even more  profuse than that of last week.  As soon as I left home, I saw women with Padauk in their hair, bikes and cars with a bloom and an influx of sellers among the traffic.  There must have been a huge overnight Padauk harvest.

Woman with Padauk flowers in her hair

Padauk seller at the traffic lights

As I reached the bottom of my lane, however, the most special moment of the day happened.  The woman in one of the tiny wooden shops called out to me, asking me to wait a moment.  She reached over, holding out a small branch of the Padauk for me.  It was still covered in raindrops and giving out its characteristic sweet scent.  I gave some of the blossoms to colleagues, who put it in their hair.  Many other of the women already had blossoms pinned onto their hair.  The remaining blossoms sat on my desk, their scent and colours reminding me of how little is needed to bring a smile.  Despite the nervousness of the approaching cyclone towards the northern shores, there was an unexpected and welcome lightness somehow brought to the day.

By the end of the working day, the flowers were already wilting and news of Mahasen making landfall filtering through.  It seems from early reports that the system is continuing to weaken but we know that it will be devastating for too many.

As the rains sweep in they bring transformation – some welcome and some most definitely not.

Re-entry. Accomplished? Kind of……….

Re-entry back into the spheres of life and work has been accomplished.  I guess. At least physically.

Re-entry into Asia, Myanmar and Yangon took place on Sunday.  I travelled on the overnight flight from Amsterdam to Bangkok and for once the flight was smooth with minimal turbulence. Towards the end of the flight, and as we were flying over Myanmar (ironically) the pilot advised us that we would be starting our descent into Bangkok shortly.  Almost as an aside he mentioned that there were thunderstorms in the vicinity of Suvarnibhumi Airport so there could be some turbulence. Now thunderstorms and flying as a combination freak me out a little, so I decided to instantly file the information in the large “denial” folder in my mind.

That worked initially as we started the descent, and I even managed to stay detached when we had a few pretty bumpy encounters with soupy clouds.  Then – BANG! There was a huge ”THWOOOOMP” kind of noise at the window and the cabin lit up as we air-kissed a bolt of lightning.  Inside the cabin there a lot of squeals and exclamations (although I didn’t understand the words as they were mostly in Dutch, I clearly understood what they meant), and great gripping of the arm rests.  The stewardess did not seem as alarmed as we were, and told us that we were safer in the sky than on the ground.  To say that this seemed counter-intuitive is an understatement, as we all know that lightning seeks out the highest point.  Plane.  Sky.  High…………  (I have since consulted Prof Google about this and it seems correct, would you believe?) The following fifteen minutes as we approached the runway lasted at least three hours, but finally we landed safely to an audible and collective exhale of breath. Re-entry into Asia?  Accomplished.

I had over three hours in the airport before my onward flight to Yangon, so collapsed into the secret comfy armchairs near the departure gates for a bit and concentrated on staying awake and not thinking about the stormy sky outside. Finally we departed, the skies had cleared and our short flight was uneventful and pleasant. In no time, I was through arrivals and heading homewards to a waiting cup of tea!  Sunday afternoon was heading into Sunday evening. Re-entry into Myanmar and Yangon?  Accomplished.

The time difference between Yangon and the UK is 5.5 hours at the moment, thanks to British Summer Time. Returning to Asia, I usually find more difficult to adjust to than the travel to Europe as you lose several hours and morning in my corner of the world is late night in the place I have just left.  Thanks to the overnight flight and the intensity of the overall visit, I was physically and emotionally exhausted, so managed to sleep fairly early on the Sunday evening.  Which was fortunate as most folks in the UK would just have gone to bed when it was time for me to get up for work on the Monday morning!  Which I did manage to do.  Although it did require a very deep breath to face my desk which had been abandoned so hurriedly when I left for Scotland a lifetime earlier. Re-entry into work?  Accomplished.  Pretty much.

Overnight on Sunday and Monday, my sleep was broken however, by a sound which I did not recognise.  It was certainly some kind of animal, emitting a noise a bit like a throaty bray of a donkey crossed with a deep quack of a duck.  It was so strange and I was so disoriented that I disturbed hubby to ask what it was!  He was naturally not so amused to be quizzed on wildlife in the small hours but was able to tell me that it was a kind of bullfrog.  This is not the usual “happy party” frog noises I hear during monsoon, and I learned the following day that this is the noise which the Big Frogs make to call for the rains because they have had enough of the oppressive heat and want their monsoon parties to begin.

This seemed to work.  I was not long home on Tuesday evening and had realised that the frogs were silent.  However, in the distance I could hear thunder rattling around and before long it was clear it was heading towards us.  I could feel the air cool and thicken and a wind picked up, agitating the trees as the thunder became louder and the flashes of lightning more persistent.  The rain started abruptly, pounding through the trees and beating against the windows as the storm passed overhead, thunder and lightning simultaneously crashing around.  And then, with no surprise at all, the lights all went out.  The power was gone and I was in the midst of a quadrophonic water symphony, orchestrated by a group of actors including the rain, wind, thunder and of course the lightning conductor.  (ouch!)

Now sometimes power comes back quickly, and other times it doesn’t.  It is just a case of get hold of the torches, blackout bits and pieces and wait and see.  After about an hour the lights flickered back on.  You could hear the collective sigh of relief and blowing out of candles across the neighbourhood, followed by another collective “oh no” as they flickered off again less than a minute later.  Usually that is a good sign.  It means that the power is almost fixed and should come on again soon. All the while, the mugginess and humidity seemed to intensify and the lights stayed off.  And, all the while, the power stayed stubbornly off.  In fact it stayed off all night.  Which meant very little sleep.  Hardly great when combined with jetlag.  Especially unhelpful for productivity or energy throughout a demanding working day.  The power was still off when I headed out to work and was still off late in the afternoon when I phoned home.

Wednesday evening saw writing group, so I was later home than usual that evening. And to be honest, the thought of another night in that discomfort was not pulling me home.  When I did arrive home the lights were on and I could hear music playing!  What a great welcome!  Short-lived unfortunately. Hubby gently broke the news to me that the lock mechanism in the bedroom door had broken and the bedroom (and small attached bathroom were inaccessible)!  My first thought was that my swimming stuff was in there and the morning swim now sabotaged.  Next thought was for my toothbrush!  Then for everything I needed for the next morning to be able to turn up at work.  Isn’t it just typical that the day you can’t access your everything, is the day you have an Important Meeting and need to be looking the part! There was no way that door could be opened though, at that time in the evening and the only choice was to sleep in the spare room, wearing random pieces of laundry and breaking into the spare toothbrush supply from our last visit to Bangkok.  Another sticky and uncomfortable night, though slightly more sleep than the eve. The lack of morning swim though, really did make an impact – it is always amazing just how much more energy it gives getting up an hour and a half earlier for the swim and cycle.

Happily the locksmith arrived early and had removed the whole mechanism and opened the door within minutes.  With a whoop of happiness, I was able to access my appropriate attire for the day and make a start not too much later than usual.  Re-entry into sleep patterns and acclimatisation?  In progress.

So now, thank goodness it is the weekend and the chance to regroup a little.  Saturday morning saw me draw up a very quick five sticky plan to guide the weekend, the first one in a while as this has not been relevant the past few weeks.

So re-entry has at least physically been accomplished, though it is remarkable how different the landscape looks following our bereavement.  I guess it just takes time for our senses and emotions to readjust.

On the move again

Packing, sorting, binning, reminiscing, unpacking, retrieving, remembering.  And re-packing with a view to eventually being able to close the lid on my suitcase but not the substance of the past weeks, the elements of which are strewn in all directions.

 

And preparing to leave Scotland, family and a whole Great Chapter and returning to pick up the pieces of everyday life again in Yangon.

 

A breath of fresh air

Words are still few, as I absorb the past days and weeks.  My break was just what the body and soul had craved.

I walked for miles in sleet, hail, sunshine and blustery wind, dined on freshly caught west of Scotland seafood in “Local Hero” style settings, found myself stranded “over the sea to Skye” when the ferry broke down, wandered along the silver sands of Morar, spotted seals bobbing around in the choppy waves in the bay and got lost on the highly straightforward circular walk around Mallaig.  And weirdly Twang Arm behaved, usually it squeals when I walk any distance, yet it seemed to understand that now was not the time to cause grief.  There was enough already.

Of course there are many photographs.  Many dreadful images as I failed to master the sophisticated functions of my fancy new camera.  Many images, ready for the delete button as I experimented with my new acquisition.  Being surrounded by such incredible natural beauty though, has ensured that there are some memorable images which I will organise and share these in the coming days.

Most significantly though, I was repeatedly made aware that I was surrounded by regrowth and renewal.  Tiny buds on the trees,  little shoots of grasses pushing through the ground, delighted white fluffy lambs appearing freshly laundered as they scampered around the hillsides, prolific spring daffodil bulbs and new wild flowers shivering in the winds.

Reminding me of the precarious balance that is life and death.

 

Shifting Focus

These are strange days, ones of some kind of unseen transition.  A transition in the emotional sense. I am caught off-guard by unexpected tears, prompted by something unknown yet powerful. I feel an abrupt shift in my foundations.  The psychological rock upon which I stand has been shaken and I find myself stumbling, a little uncertain and unclear of my path. Alone yet not alone, surrounded by love and support.

So I am shifting my focus a little.  I am heading away for a couple of days of solitude and reflection to stay at the north western coast of Scotland. I will breathe in the wild blustery air, listen to the sea,  watch the birds, gaze at the wild flowers as they peep up through the ground seeking out the springtime sun and absorb the healing atmosphere.

I will also take my new camera.  I will see if I can persuade it to share its secrets and I will try and work out how to use it to capture a fair impression of what I hope to see.

This is a fitting time to change my background image, and I am replacing the previous image of the woman in Yangon with an image of Scotland’s wild west coast, looking back to the island where my father rests.

Slowly looking ahead

I am attempting to reconnect slowly.  There are so many heartfelt messages to respond to, the practical tasks to take care of, the need to take time with each other and the understanding that we are moving through this grieving process.

My father has been laid to rest, and I believe he is at peace on the island which was home. The winds howled, cancelling ferries the day before, the rains hammered down, warm words of comfort were shared and tears were shed.  It was surely a day to remember, for a multitude of reasons.  Those memories evoke a complex mix of sadness, loss, love, peace and thankfulness.

I am sharing here some of the words which were spoken, and some of the images of the day.

He is Gone

You can shed tears that he is gone,
or you can smile because he has lived.
You can close your eyes and pray that he’ll come back,
or you can open your eyes and see all he’s left.
Your heart can be empty because you can’t see him,
or you can be full of the love you shared.
You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday,
or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.
You can remember him only that he is gone,
or you can cherish his memory and let it live on.
You can cry and close your mind,
be empty and turn your back.
Or you can do what he’d want:
smile, open your eyes, love and go on.”

(David Harkins)

***

 They are not dead,
Who leave us this great heritage of remembering joy.

They still live in our hearts,
In the happiness we knew, in the dreams we shared.

They still breathe,
In the lingering fragrance, windblown, from their favourite flowers.

They still smile in the moonlight’s silver,
And laugh in the sunlight’s sparking gold.

They still speak in the echoes of the words we’ve heard them say again and again.

They still move,
In the rhythm of waving grasses, in the dance of the tossing branches.

They are not dead;
Their memory is warm in our hearts, comfort in our sorrow.

They are not apart from us, but part of us,

For love is eternal,
And those we love shall be with us throughout all eternity.
Anon

***

Celtic Blessing
May the roads rise to meet you,
May the wind be always at your back,
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
The rain fall soft upon your fields
And, until we meet again,
May God hold you in the hollow of his hand.
Anon

Leaving Oban as the dawn breaks, over quieter waters than the eve

In this spirit, we are looking forward and preparing a fitting and meaningful plan in his memory.

The Malcolm Miller, of the former Sail Training Association (now Tall Ships Youth Trust)
Image from http://www.orpheusweb.co.uk/bob.williams/sailtrain/1998-2001.htm

Journey

Last August I wrote about celebrating the ordinary. This is particularly pertinent and poignant right now as I have returned to Scotland, for the reasons alluded to in that post.

In this intense and difficult time of grief and loss words are few for the moment, but to repeat what I said at that time:

“But times are changing, my future visits to the island unsure and my long breaks there unlikely in the same way. I will have to rely on memories and the many photographs……..

Celebrate the ordinary today, because tomorrow may be different.”

And indeed it is.

 

Day 3, Tuesday - and celebrating the ordinary with something a little different

Reblogged from Feisty Blue Gecko - a tail of the unexpected:

In the first two days of Marie's challenge on Journeying beyond Breast Cancer, I have been struck by the enormity and complexity of celebrating the ordinary.  Already, I have had insights both visual and descriptive, into the lives of friends on the blogosphere.  The images are striking and the words underneath them tell so much.

I know that I am fortunate in having no shortage of material (well, perhaps that is the understatement of a few millennia) and  I am surrounded by amazing sights, and experience so many "oh gosh" heart stopping moments in an ordinary day, living in a place very different to my original and home culture.

Read more… 506 more words

Last August I wrote about celebrating the ordinary. This post is particularly pertinent and poignant right now as I have returned to Scotland, for the reasons alluded to in this post. In this intense and difficult time of grief and loss words are few for the moment, but to repeat what I said at that time: "But times are changing, my future visits to the island unsure and my long breaks there unlikely in the same way. I will have to rely on memories and the many photographs........ Celebrate the ordinary today, because tomorrow may be different." And indeed it is.

And the Big Man said………..

This is a little late in posting, because I found myself, as always after the checks, totally spent, emotionally and physically.  I have been really nervous about this latest round of checks.  Probably a deal more nervous than I would care to confess, particularly to myself.   On top of the anxiety, the inability to plan beyond a few weeks has brought a strain that has been constant. That anxiety has been fed both by my own health, as well as the ongoing family situation.  All in all, exhausting and wearing.

As usual, and based on the experience of recent months, I have refused to book any travel or make any plans for immediately after the checks.  I have had to rearrange or cancel travel too often and it feels as if I am tempting fate if I do book travel.

As usual, I had to fast from midnight before heading into the hospital for the blood draws and the start of the whole check process, on Thursday.  Before I left, I had a few minutes online to make sure there was no untoward news from home.  I start and end every day in that way.  There was nothing from Scotland, but I was terribly saddened to learn that yet another woman, Donna Peach, whose blog I follow, has been taken by breast cancer. As her husband told us using her own words, she had danced into the light.  The fact that she is the third person I know personally within less than three weeks to be stolen by cancer, is a stark and unneeded reminder that this disease is aggressive and unpredictable.  Seeing the sad news of Donna’s death hit me additionally hard on the morning of my own checks, as I selfishly felt myself interpreting this as a “sign”, which did not bode well for the day.

So I am very happy to report that as far as my own checks are concerned, it is good news.  And for once no little provisos it seems.  I have been dancing around NED these past months and he has been almost there but not quite.  I did not quite get the clear “we see No Evidence of Disease”.  Rather, I have had these little snippets of “hmm, it is probably not anything sinister but…” There is a huge difference between NED and not quite NED and it is very hard to communicate how different they are.  In the same way there is a huge difference between No Evidence of Disease, and Evidence of NO Disease.  And that is what would make life look very different.  That is a discussion for another day.

These checks involved the usual bloods, prods and an unseasonal bonus ultrasound which pegged out a number of little shapes.  I almost prefer not being able to see a screen as I am always compelled to look and analyse.  I even seemed to get a discount, perhaps for good behaviour, or more likely for being a frequent flyer and clocking out so many hospital miles!

My surgeon examined me thoroughly, reviewing the ultrasound and saw nothing to be concerned about, noting a number of small cysts, and sent me packing.  Not before he admired my toenail colours though.  I told him that this was my auspicious colour and therefore I had a clear expectation that the checks would go well!

Then I saw the Big Man, Dr W2.  Again a lot of prodding, and questions about my fall.  I blamed Tamoxifen for my clumsy toes, to which he countered, “You’re not on Tamoxifen any more”.  I explained that I meant Taxotere and the neuropathy which has never entirely disappeared and left me with clumsy feet. As well as clear memory and confusion issues which I had just demonstrated unintentionally!

The upshot of the bloodwork is that, although my tumour markers are still a bit high, they are not rising.  One of the reasons I was especially anxious about these checks is because it would provide three tumour marker readings.  And three results will show the start of any trend rather than one result out of context, or an A to B result.  If you want details we are talking readings of 30.2 then 27.8 and now 30.  So this shows relative stability and not a rapid increase.  The fact that is above the reference range (or “normal”) is quite probably related to taking warfarin.

He also commented on the toenails!  Note to self – get the same colour next time, it seems to work!  The biggest indicator of the day came from the words of the Big Man (my oncologist) himself.  He told me that he wants to see me again in SIX months.  Not three months which I had been expecting to hear.  Which I had not even dared to hope that he might say. No he clearly said SIX months and calculated the meds I would need for that length of time. Six delicious long months.  This means that I can start to think about planning my life again.  This is a biggie, as I had already progressed onto six monthly checks nearly two years ago, and then the embolism followed by the raised tumour markers meant that I was called more often.  It felt like a huge step backwards at that time.  So this progression to six months is a Big Deal and hearing those magic words made me realise just how huge it has been in my head.

The checks were tough for another reason.  For almost as long as I can remember, my friend and I had planned our checks for the same time, so that we could support each other and be naughty cancer rebels in the waiting rooms. We have both been through unexpected extra scans, and scares and know how to be there without either dramatizing or trivialising what it is like.  She was not with me this time.  She has moved out of the region and we are both now going through these in our separate ways, still supporting each other online and equally outrageously.  I missed her far more than I had realised I would.  And when I got back to the comfort of my room later, I found myself weeping unexpectedly.

So the headline, in the words of the Big Man is “come back in six months”.  Not three months, not tomorrow, but six months. Six. Long. Months.

I now have to buy a new suitcase, to replace the one which was damaged in the return journey from Scotland.  I will make sure it is big enough to stowaway NED and keep him locked in captivity for as long as I can keep him there!

And in the meantime, I can focus on the important things, especially when they are images created by and bathed in the soft light of the late afternoon sun. And particularly when they are captured by my New Camera.  And that is another happy story for another day.