Anatomy of a Scan

Scan minus 11 weeks:  Skipdy-do, happy happy, I have this cancer thing totally nailed.

Scan -6 weeks:   Holidays. Yum. Guinness. Yum.

Scan -3 weeks:   Hey. Where's my scan appointment?

Scan -2 weeks:   Em. Excuse me? Could I possibly get that appointment please? Just, you see, children, school, work, you know. But totally in your own time, no rush, I'm cool.

Scan -1 week:    Where the feckety-feckpots is that appointment???

Scan -6 days:     Ok. Fine. We can do this. Now what is that strange pain in my right side. You know, just over my liver.

Scan -5 days:      I wish I could sleep.

Scan -4 days:      I wish that pain would stop moving towards my throat.

Scan -3 days:      Sob. So mean. Why is the world so cruel? Sob. Sniffle. So unfair. 

Scan -2 days:      What do you mean, narky? YOU WANT NARKY??

Scan -1 day:        Eerily calm.

Scan Day:            Oooh. Busy. I like busy.

Scan +1 day:       No phonecall. I mustn't be imminently dying so.

Scan +2 days:      Oh my god. I'm dying. Right now.

Scan +3 days:      Not dead yet. But I'm fairly sure it won't be long.

Scan +4 days:      Sod it.  Panic call. I'm dying here, Oncologist. What's that? It's all perfect? Stable? No new lesions? Hunky dory? Why thank you. No, thank YOU. I do apologise for being so pushy. You are very kind. No YOU. Yes we are all marvellous. Thank you. 

Thank you. 

Thank you.