Something New Under The Sun...

...well, not new of course in the sense of never yet seen or heard. The Preacher after all was right when he wrote that there is simply nothing new under the sun. For every human event there will always be someone already with the tee-shirt bearing the logo "Been there, done that...etc., etc."

But a novelty within my life, though even here it must be said only up to a point. One has trod before the Via Dolorosa of cancer [see earlier] and now it seems one may be about to tread that same rocky road bearing a new and lengthy slogan: "Yay melanoma, do you think after I've survived a most minging sarcoma that should have seen me off a decade ago I'll let a little skin cancer do for me?"

Lacks a certain precision as a slogan I'll admit. Hard to get all of that text onto a medium-sized rectorial chest. We are not quite there yet, so time still to work on it.

'Twas H of course who set the whole thing in motion. "Don't like the look of that peculiar shaped mole dear PP. Hie thee to a GP this instance and let him opine on the matter."

Well you know us blokes - anything to avoid mithering a doctor. (First Rule of Bloke Health: 'Ignore it and it will go away.' Second Rule of Bloke Health: 'Sometimes that's a really stupid thing to do.') One thing though more to be avoided, at all and any cost, even than troubling a busy GP and that, of course, is a good indoors and persistent nagging.

So solely to ease the ear-bashing, one duly telephoned the local NHS slaughter house masquerading as a surgery. A brief convo. with the Female Demon (receptionist), a swift telling of the circs., and it was "See you 9.05 ack emma tomorrow Rector and no excuses."

All a little hasty one pondered. Usual waiting time for an appointment - if you're still actually breathing - being nearer the two to three weeks mark. Wouldn't even put it passed H to have had a word with said Female Demon, they both being on some committee or other for public good of a generalised and no doubt splendid nature.

Anyway, so no sooner Mattins done and dusted than it was off to dear Doc Peasbody for to let him take a decko at said unfavoured mole. Slightly, one must say, taken aback at his reaction. For no sooner had the professional gaze alighted on the spot in question than pens were being grasped and phrases such as "referral for urgent excisional biopsy" were upon his lips.

The fax even was sent as we sat gassing about life, the universe and the odds of it being malignant. "About 50 / 50 I should say Rector" - in a voice that had me not reaching for my wallet to bet on the better half of the wager.

And as if that wasn't bad enough, no sooner is one back in the old study sipping a reviving and nerve-steadying pre-luncheon malt of some considerable measure it must be owned (not sure what line the Dutch take on courage in the face of possible fatal sickness, but whatever it is they have it nailed for certain), but the old telephone sounds in the old study with a new voice announcing that a 'See and Treat' appointment has been made for Friday following.

Allowing that this here 'See 'n' Treat' malarkey is just a fanciful name for the NHS simply doing its job, one is still impressed - if slightly over-awed - by the swiftness of the whole thing. Where gone are the good old, bad old days of "Around Michaelmas-tide I should expect, if the weather be fair" approach to secondary medicine I should like to know?

And so there we have it. One may - or one may not - have melanoma and one somewhat anxiously waits to find out. This is where the whole 'Been there, done that, worn the wretched tee-shirt' thing comes into its own. For once more must I become the 'impatient patient', finding out in advance all there is to know and ask about melanoma in order to ensure that all options are considered and all decisions taken are with my full and active consent. Will we or not, for example, opt for the 'sentinel node biopsy' to check for local invasion of the lymph system and if not why not?

My poor people who treated the sarcoma had to become accustomed to my asking all and any question I cared to ask. "That big shiny yellow thing in the sky..." "Yes Rector, it is the sun now may we proceed?"

So now we have the time of waiting. Either I have the thing or I do not. Here, tonight, and for possibly some several weeks to come I shall not know which it is. One or the other though it must be, I cannot play quantum and be both beam and particle at once. Either one door will open pointing the way to 'business as usual', or else the other darker door will usher me into the Lord alone know what.

This waiting then is painful. It agonises and it sets the spirit and the soul on fire. Poor H is all over the shop and I'm not exactly standing calmly by the till waiting to serve the next customer, as it were.

If you know your Bob Dylan you'll recognise the song that is pinging in my head right now. Comes from my all time fav 'Blonde on Blonde'. Catchy little number with a rock-a-billy beat called 'Memphis Blues Again'. Irresistible line goes thus: "And here I sit so patiently waiting to find out what price you have to pay to get out of going through this whole thing twice."

Nothing new then really under this or any other sun. (And yes, I do still miss my horse. That will and can never change. Some constant in one's life is always welcome.)