Awaiting the Ambush.

It’s now over three weeks since I was told that I almost certainly have cancer in one of my kidneys and will need an operation, and it’s eleven days since I had a CT scan to check whether the condition has spread to my lungs. So far I’ve heard nothing about that scan or had any call for further procedures.

This is a little odd because until eleven days ago the whole matter was being treated with a level of urgency which was becoming oppressive. I’d never gone more than a few days without some communication from the Derbyshire medical fraternity since I’d made my original visit to the GP on January 8^th. Suddenly, all is silence. And it’s having an interesting effect on my perception of it.

The whole round of tests, scans and other appointments is beginning to take on the air of a historical event. It’s beginning to feel almost like a bad dream and I’m becoming blasé. Did it really happen or didn’t it? Can I forget about it now and carry on as normal?

No, of course I can’t. Yes, it really happened. My rational mind keeps telling me that it isn’t over yet, not by a long way. One day soon another letter will turn up in my post box, or maybe I’ll get a phone call from somebody who knows more about the matter than I do. I keep being reminded that there’s a mischievous little imp of knowledge hiding behind a tree somewhere, just awaiting its opportunity to leap out and bite me again.

That’s what’s interesting, and it’s also a little uncomfortable.