Jaye Marie and Anita Dawes

At this time of year, I am usually beginning to think about next year and all the things I plan to do. But it can be a bit depressing, reminding you of all the things you meant to do this year.

So I resolved not to do it again.

I am at the ripe old age now when all forward thinking starts to slow down, and mine seems to be at a standstill.

Since my encounter with cancer this time last year, dread has been having a running battle with my optimism. Some days are more positive and dread retreats into a corner, where it sits and glowers at me. It feels a bit like waiting for a train, only to hear the message “We apologise for the delay, but the next train has been cancelled…”

Waiting has never been something I have excelled at, but I have learned to be patient over the years, but this year has  really stretched it to the limit. You see, no one has actually said that the cancer has gone. The lump has been removed, so I should be fine, but until I hear those magic words, I will remain  ‘worried, from Hampshire…’

Gradually all through the summer months, I thought I had learned to ignore the lurking shadow of doubt. The fact that I had a book to finish writing helped a lot. But other parts of my life were suffering instead and most of the time I lived like a hermit, hardly ever leaving my office. Gardening was done out of desperation, when the grass and the weeds threatened to advance on the house. I stopped caring about how I looked or what I ate.

Consequently, I ended up looking like a well-fed tramp. My hair was too long and I looked like a witch. Luckily, the day I noticed all of this was one of the good days, and I resolved to pull up my socks.

I was surprised when the letter arrived, as it wasn’t quite the Christmas present I liked getting and I wasn’t expecting anything until the new year when my check-up was due. It was an appointment to be “imaged” again by the radiography team at my local hospital.

On Monday, they will do extensive imaging to check the site of the surgery and the results of the radiotherapy, and assess the healing process. The letter also warned me that I would not be told anything at this time; presumably, I will have to wait until February and the check-up appointment.

Have they any idea what my brain will do to me in the coming weeks?