Hello darkness my old friend,

 I've mislaid Me, the me with a capital M. The Me that was strong and capable and bloody minded and able to withstand and stare down most things. A counsellor tells me that Me is still here, hidden maybe, or maybe in actual temporary hiding and that the dreadful things that are happening to me are simply too much, that poor old Me is being overwhelmed. The Me that is looking down into what Michael Rosen (an English writer, poet and children's author) calls a Pool of Glum.

To recap:

diagnosis early June, bladder cancer,

cystoscopy, confirmation of diagnosis,

tests and scans and pre op,

operation and biopsy under full anaesthetic,

chemotherapy, one dose,

CT scan with dye,

confusion and head scratching by medical fraternity, (I'll get back to that in a minute),

second cystoscopy

more head scratching,

decision on dates of 6 weeks' chemotherapy settled on, to start last Thursday,

dates of 6 weeks' chemotherapy cancelled.

It's now August.

Second operation and biopsy planned to happen within 4 weeks and the whole bloody rigmarole to start all over again. That is, if I'm lucky and the head scratching leads to a light bulb moment of "aha, so that's what it is". You see it's all the fault of Radiology who should have carried out the CT scan with dye BEFORE the operation, not AFTER. A new operation, more detailed and going deeper, might put an end to the head scratching and clear up the puzzle of what is actually going on.

Luckily, with the exception of a couple of rather offhand and detached Indian nurses, who were more concerned with the procedure they were carrying out than the patient they were treating, everyone is/was very helpful, kind and willing to answer my questions, of which I have many. I may not like the answers but, at least, I am heard. "Yes, not ideal, is it?" said my designated specialist urology nurse. Several times, in one conversation. No, not ideal. 

I would like to get back to blogging, purely as therapy. I've always liked writing. I could, of course, write it as a private diary, not publish here, but most of you have been nice and understanding over the years and there is, after all, no need to comment. There are one or two silly little people locally who might feel obliged to gossip (people who actually know me personally). Okay, feel free to do so, or maybe get a life?

A day later:

I had a letter today with the new dates for pre op and op: the operation is to be on Sept 18th, which is also the day for which I have tickets to travel to the Royal Shakespeare Company theatre in Stratford-upon-Avon for a performance of 'Pericles'. Would you call that 'adding insult to injury'? I would.