2 for-the-price-of 1

Now, are you sitting comfortably?  I don't have cancer.  That was the good news.  Instead, I have DCIS (ductal carcinoma in situ), a pre-cancerous condition, in the very same breast that had cancer last year.  Supposedly, loads of people are walking around with this, oblivious.  But, now that it's been identified, I will need a mastectomy and reconstruction.  Yes, finally, I get to have one breast like Jordan (and then I can have even more surgery on the other one, so they match....)  No need for chemotherapy;  can't have radiotherapy, as you only get that once per breast, and I've already had it.  Once they've done all that, there's a 99% chance of being here in 5 years' time.  

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And a third doctor said, "Well, it's looking increasingly like gallstones.  You really must have an ultrasound".   Comfortingly, the breast op is sufficiently non-urgent to allow for the gallstones stuff to be resolved first (excellent, because they s*dding hurt).

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Found myself menu-planning for the likely 4-day hospital stay for breast op:  sushi from Wasabi; soup from Itsu;  reliable S~S bringing reliable M&S; dosa & thali from Rasa Express; must try those instant porridge kits from Planet Organic, but didn't they get a lousy review somewhere..

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Onto brighter things:  please, please try this Italian;  bang opposite Saatchi & Saatchi, which would explain the framed cartoons by well-oiled patrons;  though the photograph of a sheepish Prince William eating there was remarkably understated, I felt.  Had it been on my wall, there would probably have been a ruddy great arrow pointing him out.

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My amanuensis of the day, our J, took excellent notes, paid for slap-up lunch, and then I had to let her get on with some work.  So, reluctantly, I scooped up my biscotti in a serviette, embarassingly bridge and tunnel of me, I know, but I couldn't bear to leave them.  Had to explain 'bridge & tunnel' to our J, who will clearly have to broaden her reading to include far more trash.

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A quick emergency shop in Drummond Street for sandal soap, upma mix and ginger;  fellow Victoria Line passenger with perplexing book simply entitled 'Advance List', full of celeb stories due in the coming months:  Roger Moore's autobiography, imaginatively entitled "My Word is My Bond", is coming in October, apparently, with saucy revelations that he (gasp) slept with Bond girls.

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Home to a promptly delivered bird bath - only ordered on Sunday night.  The small print on the bird feeder claims it'll get more customers with a proximate water supply.  We shall see.  I think the large cat population around these parts will keep visitors to a slow, possibly dead, trickle.

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What sort of gene pool do I have exactly, to have two different, unconnected conditions in the same breast?? Back to see Mr Trustworthy Surgeon (he'd come in during his holidays to explain all this weirdness to me) next Tuesday.  GG, it might be your turn next...