I have been rather reluctant to write this, as it smacks of tempting fate, but there is an unexpected void in my life at the moment.
I arrived in Bangkok this afternoon and the Scary Big Annual Check is only a matter of 60 hours away until it kicks off. The Scary one with scans, mammo, bloods, bells, whistles, oncologist, surgeon and endocrinologist lined up to make it a memorable day.
But there is something missing.
I am hunting for the “whisper” function as I key this in gingerly, stealing a glance to my left and to my right. Deep breath. He really is not here. Captain Paranoia is not sitting on my pillow feeding suspicions into my mind through my ears as I sleep. Nor is he on my shoulder as I go about my daily activities. And furthermore, I haven’t consulted Dr Google, nor even felt tempted to consult him, since the appearance of the wirple just before my last round of checks.
I do have to admit to a rather sorrowful frame of mind, as I noted in the lead up to my cancerversary. I am not sleeping well at all. I am anxious of course, but I am not lying awake wittering about the tests, I am just not able to sleep well.
I have been wondering if Capt P is perhaps rather busy just now. After all, there is a whole month of awareness raising to work on and his speciality is exploiting anxieties which often appear as a result. So perhaps he is not troubling me because he is spreading himself too thinly around that his presence can’t be felt. While I find his company highly distasteful, I hope that he is not around in my life does not mean that he is wreaking havoc in someone else’s life.
When I think about it more, I realise that it probably helps that there is not a specific worry that he can latch onto right now. Sure I have a couple of vague niggles which I will ask Dr W2 about, but these do not merit the status of a “wirple”, that skin mark which terrified me before the July checks. Capt P had effectively convinced me I had skin mets. Dr Google backed him up. They had executed well coordinated pincer movement, trapping me in my own fear.
I reckon that the Captain thrives when there is a specific sign – a dizzy spell, a lumpy bit of skin, a mark, a pain. He leaps into action causing our minds to fire manically in all directions, alerting Dr Google to be on standby. I imagine they have a special Twitter arrangement, following each other round and round.
But for now, whether it is because my unease is general rather thank linked to any particular concerns, or whether he is just far too busy to give me grief, I am heartily glad to have this unexpected and very welcome respite.
Tuesday will tell us whether this is another nasty trick, or whether he is weakening.