Tuesday, 10 July 2018

four years after the four years..

have been congratulating myself this six month scan visit, having no scanxiety. I put it down to a good friend telling me I was wasting four months a year with this type of worry when everything might be ok.... and it has been, but I've been busy, with visiting the west coast, old haunts in Tooting Bec Lido, heatwave BBQing with family, sweet parties, Santana in the sun, photographing the most amazingly phenomenal people in London and Europe. I've started to prep for a podcast I agreed to do in the morning, its made me revisit the past. Charities I know are in trouble, and sadly some patients I have photographed have died- its not always a good outcome- its not always inspirational. I will try and Pod. This in between trying to calm an anxious son as he packs for a weeks festival in Europe and leaving at 5am. I'm mindful that he knows I've had a scan and will get the results when he is away...fluttering birds in an electric nest of paranoid parenting and avoiding the subject. The summer scan is always a day before or after a birthday and needs to be changed, should have been changed ages ago.

It's 2am the day after the scan ( a scan that made me want to puke because I sneakily ate a few MnM's before the dye) and anxiety has been spiking sharply through the roof at a rate of knots all day. Following a day after a meeting with a recently bereaved friend, at being floored by destructive creative angst, (it's all shit) a sudden realisation that a regular workman had designs on me ( because of the amount of times I've answered to the door half dressed ) swiftly manoeuvred out of.... flying ants mastered, moths mastered, a new exorbitant roof almost researched...

-and then the sudden realisation that if I clear this scan I will have got further than I did four years ago, having been diagnosed for the 2nd time, four years after the original sarcoma, in the summer of 2014.  Fuck

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