Sunday evening.
The day before Monday.
It’s always been one of my least favourite days, primarily because with Monday comes work. Before that college. And before that school.
Not that I don’t like my job, that’s not it at all, but without fail I have a crap night’s sleep, wake up with the hump, trains are always screwed following some sort of “essential maintenance” and I spend the whole day reminiscent of bah humbug. Even if I am really, really tired, have a bath, go to bed early and snuggle down, I am still wide-awake hours later wondering why I bothered.
Not that keen on Sundays either...
Today is different. Yet worse.
I don’t have to go to work tomorrow as I have been signed off. So, no annoying train delays or smelly passengers.
I miss them already..
This Monday could bring The Telephone Call.
The one with the results of the 9 million biopsies I had on Wednesday.
The one that tells me exactly what type of breast cancer I have. When I find out more about my prognosis. Whether I may live or die)
The one that tells me whether or not I need to look for wigs…
I feel sick. Sick at the thought of the call let alone what it will say.
Unhappy Memories
The memory of having chemotherapy 15 years ago has been dragged to the surface pf my mind kicking and screaming. It is definitely something that I keep pushed down as much as possible. One of the worst experiences of my life.
I’m actually prayed.
Prayed and looked up spells on google.
I did find a black magic spell that promised to cure me, but it requires a sacrifice of a domestic animal and doing weird things with its blood for 7 days, and summoning a demon.
One of those I have issue with…
It’s probably also too late for me to cut out dairy, wheat, meat, fish, sugar, salt, and purple sprouting 3 headed vegetables, no point in ditching alcohol and anything salted caramel flavour.
Tonight, is Sunday and tonight I will make do with the magic that is a glass (bottle) of Sauvignon Blanc and some Victoria sponge.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll look for that demon.
