This one is a personal post. I didn’t intend to be writing it, but I feel full of thoughts and lacking in who I should express them to. 

I’m in the hospital, waiting. I’ve been waiting since last June when they diagnosed me with a brain tumour. Not all of the waiting has been done here, but pretty much every day since the doctor first told me my scan revealed something, I’ve been waiting. For a solution, a way forward, anything.

I’ve had scans, appointments and consultations. I’ve had disappointments,  misdiagnosis, poor excuses and what feels like endless mistakes. I’ve told myself not to pin my hopes on this appointment. That they might not give me the answers I want or even any answer at all. They’re so good at that last one. I thought I had convinced myself… But here I am. Hope is clinging to me like the tenacious roots of a weed in shallow soil and I feel sick.  Filled with dread and longing in equal measure. 

I’ve tried to be positive. I named the first tumour. Alfie Clementine. It’s cute. It makes him less frightening and more of a loveable and yet painful inconvenience. Then his sister showed up, Norma, and its feeling too crowded up in here. I want to evict them. They’re like the house guests who show up and then just slob around your house without thought or contribution. Useless balls of tissue and snot. 

They’ve called my name…