Tempus fugit

For over two months, I almost got out from under the doctor.  I wore a funerial suit and went to work.  Everything is subject to change.

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Now, I've wanted to make fairy cakes for days, but stop short at the prospect of standing up in the kitchen.

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S~s raised her eyebrows on seeing my copy of John Diamond's 'C - because cowards get cancer too'.  One swift nudge and she remembered reading Jude the Obscure four times the summer her father died.
Pace.

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14 days ago I had surgery to remove a seemingly undiagnosable lump - the more tests I had on it, the more conflicting results I got.

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Six days ago, my surgeon congratulated me on not having cancer.  Instead, I have a pre-cancer which itself necessitates a mastectomy.  But not before the gallstones operation, itself necessitated by the hormone treatment taken for last year's tumour.

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Four days ago, my wound opened itself wide and I've spent from then to now being cleaned, swabbed, patched up and drugged.  I've done a full circuit of the NHS' out-of-hours offer.  And, somehow, between it all, I live a life.  Now, where are those jelly diamonds?