Friday, an early morning hospital appointment so I am up and ready to go by 8:45. My eldest daughter accompanies me on the drive into town. I drop her off to return a university library book and I walk down to the hospital. I’ve showered and dressed up, of course I have. A real shirt and trousers with a smart coat. I’m looking good apart from the cerbacious cyst, (that’s the hope), that glows mountainous on my cheek, the reason for my hospital visit. I’ve been referred by my GP into the cancer pathway just in case the facial volcano is cancerous and an off shoot of my metastatic prostate cancer. The up side is that the nhs gets it collective arse moving to get you into a process in two weeks. So I get to the hospital and don my mask as I wander down the familiar corridors and make my way to the maxillofacial department and present the receptionist with my letter and questionnaires. I sit down and get my book out of my backpack. I’ve played these hospital games before so I have come equipped. So I open my book and settle down.
So I’m just reading an interesting meeting between a secret masseuses and a drug dealer at a dire party when I get called to the consultant. I am put in a chair that seems designed to make waterboarding easy, but I am only asked questions to start with. The usual stuff, how long, how big, is it sore, as I say the usual. The consultant puts on gloves and then gets to measuring and fondling the lump like a gardener rolling a bulb between their fingers to test the solidness of it. So we chat some more about my mouth and jaw and I am taken for a walk to the specialist x-ray department up stairs. I stand with plastic in my mouth, my ear stud out as two boxes rotate around my head and making whirring noises and finish actually whistling a tune. I return to the maxillofacial waiting area and pull out my book again, but before I can get back to the interesting masseuse and her new found drug dealer crush, I am called back into the consultant to view my jaw x-rays. The consultant is happy that there is nothing going on in my jaw so her view that my lump is cheek based is confirmed. She decides to make an appointment for me to have the lump scanned and biopsied. They make an appointment for me there and then with the ultrasound department for next Wednesday. I am now free to go, they will make an appointment for me in two weeks time to get the results of the ultrasound. In the words of the consultant, “It looks like a horse but could be a zebra, but I reckon its a horse”. Apparently if it turns out to be a “horse” they can exorcise it. Oh good I think and wonder exactly what they means but I am patient and can wait to find that out. I could google it but a bit of me likes a surprise. I walk back to the car and get home to find that my daughter has just arrived home having caught a bus which broke down. I get the joy of an Amazon delivery, my new red training boots, actually they are my posing footwear to go with my new shorts.
I’ve just had enough time to play with my new boots when the the guy we use to look after our trees arrives. We go into the back garden and I point out what I think needs doing, he listens attentively and then expertly and gently explains what actually needs doing and what makes good sense for the trees long term welfare. We chat for a while knowing that almost any quote he gives us we are likely to accept, his arguments about the work are so good. He leaves promising to send a quote soon. Time for me to get my washing in and to get ready to train. I go to the shed as this is a cycling day and clamber onto the bike with my training mask on. The heater is on full blast and I soon heat up to the point where I start to shed layers of upper wear. I notice that I have a degree of what I think is termed gynaecomastia or in lay persons terms I’m growing tits. The rest of the session seemed pointless after that. What is the point if all the effort I put in is useless against the chemical side effects of my treatment? Sexless and becoming a thing. That’s a major realignment of self image to be done.
Time 
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Post training I order the family Indian take away and wait for it to be delivered, which it is surprisingly quickly. My evening finds me folding my washing to put away, clearing the kitchen, watching Have I Got News For You and writing the blog. Tomorrow is a day I will spend in the garden laying stepping stones and training for the last time this week.
