The Lady of the Lump

One vowel is all it takes to mark the change. Recovering Husband is going from strength to strength, Arthritic Son is unaware of anything other that Dr Who, he's so well, and Teenage Toddler has stopped screeching for Calpol like some old alcoholic in a nursing home. So inevitably, it would seem, it's my turn. I'm booked in to have the breast lump checked at the hospital next week.
'There may be a bit of a wait,' warned the appointments woman. 'Be prepared.'
Ordinarily, with no child in tow, the prospect of a waiting room, a comfy chair and a mag would have appealed in no small way. However, now, after the last few months, it's just about enough to make me reach for the veg knife and wonder if I'd be suited to self-harming.

The one good thing about being the sort of women who attracts problems like cow's backsides attract flies, is that they never come along on their own. Sometimes that is deeply distressing and sometimes -admittedly rarely - it has a positive side. Therefore, today, the virus Teenage Toddler has so kindly shared with me is actually helping. Yes, I feel like crap. Yes, I am Queen of Snot, and yes all I want to do is curl up in bed/cry/put off swallowing until 2010. But at least I'm not worrying about my lump. See? A healthy bit of PMA for you.

The other thing I wanted to mention, briefly, although I could go into so much detail if I had the energy, is how crap some friends are. Someone wrote in my autograph book when I was about 8 that 'A True Friend Doesn't Just Stay While the Sun Shines' and I remember thinking what a load of rubbish it was - I could have named at least three little chums who'd have happily played with me in the rain. Well, not for the first time, but still just as upsettingly, at the age of 39, I have realised the essential truth of this. My phone, when I was happy, smiley, witty, good company, rang all the time. So much so, I got into the habit of letting the answerphone get it it drove me so mad. My calendar fair bulged with people wanting to spend time with me. And now? Cue ghostly whistle, tumbleweed and silence.

It hurts.