On the runaway train . . .

When I saw my homeopath last week, I likened my feelings about the Massive Inconvenience to being on an express train that was hurtling towards an unknown destination at incredible speed. On 7 July I had a mammogram, thought nothing of it and drove up to the Lake District and Scotland and back in blissful ignorance. On 13 August, I had further tests. On 20 August, I was diagnosed with grade 2 breast cancer. On 20 September, the Massive Inconvenience was excised. On 30 September, it was confirmed that the Massive Inconvenience had not spread.

So I am, to all intents and purposes and after several utterly surreal weeks, cancer free. That is not, however, the end of the story, so no chance of leaving the train yet. Tomorrow I will meet my oncologist for the first time to discuss "options for further treatment". Sounds a bit like deciding which GCSEs and A-levels to choose, albeit with a far smaller range from which to choose.

In the meantime, I'm feeling remarkably fit and well. The exercises are doing what they should and I have full mobility in my left arm and side and the slightly tweaked eating plan seems to be working well. Day-to-day life has been fully resumed for the past week and, much like the Windmill Theatre during WWII, we never closed, at least not as far as regular canine guests were concerned. The Dear Daughter took on the dog care duties while I was in post-op mode and I picked up the reins (or should that be leads?) again when she went home after her fortnight's stay. I do have a distinct urge to pinch myself and ask 'did that really happen or did I imagine it all?'

But back to the train as metaphor. It could simply be that I've been reading rather a lot of Rebecca West's novels, in which train journeys often play a significant role in the development of the plot - a pivotal role, in the case of The Birds Fall Down. Over the years, train journeys have featured in my dreams too (and yes, I do know what Jung had to say about trains and tunnels but I think we had better draw a veil over all that. I am a pensioner, after all . . .)

Let's turn to the innocence of childhood instead. If you are of a certain age and grew up in the UK, chances are you spent Saturday mornings listening to Uncle Mac and Children's Favourites on the radio, the theme tune of which was (warning: train reference) Puffin' Billy by the Melodi Light Orchestra. It wasn't Puffin' Billy that I had in mind when I was looking for a title this post, however; it was this number, which featured if not weekly in Children's Favourites then often enough to ensure that, 60 years later, I can still remember every word. Well, makes a change from listening to my relaxation CD . . .

Comments

[Vivian]

SO happy to see you are doing well!

[Nancy]

I love how you call the cancer stuff a massive inconvenience! It was hard for me to realize I needed an oncologist, still seems surreal, but.... Glad you had such good news and are feeling so well.

[colleen]

Hoping the consultation went well, D, and that the runaway train has the brakes on. (and, oh my goodness, the sound of that song took me back a few years!)

[Dancing Beastie]

My boys have a CD of old children's favourites, of which this is one. Three generations of our family enjoy listening, albeit for different reasons.

I have train dreams too, and always feel slightly miffed at the smutty insinuations of psycho-analysts. To me, it is perfectly obvious that they are anxiety dreams about life feeling a little out of control for one reason or another. I do hope that your runaway train slows down now and gives you plenty of time to choose which station to alight at. Less 'The Runaway Train', in fact, more 'Adlestrop'. There, that's better already, isn't it?!

[60 Going On 16]

Thank you everyone. The consultation went much as I'd expected a consultation with an oncologist to go. It's very much a one size fits all (even when it doesn't) approach -but will probably write more of that anon . . .

And, yes, Dancing Beastie, Adlestrop is just the thing.