Blessings and benefits

Two weeks ago, when I had the shock of the breast cancer diagnosis, I asked if you'd be good enough to share any unexpected benefits.

But what I'd like to share today is something far greater.
We won't call it a benefit . . . we'll call it a blessing.
What is it?
Quite simply . . . it's all of you.  I've been overwhelmed by your kindness, love,  support, and by the positivity of your response.

How could I fail to be uplifted by the thoughts, the emails, the letters, the flowers and the cards.  You've made unexpected visits . . . you've helped me to laugh.

What with a highly-motivated therapy cat, one who keeps me active and entertained, and such wonderful friends to support me through the treatment ahead . . . I'm lost in gratitude.
And, as gratitude is healing, then you've already set me firmly on the road to recovery . . . thank you, thank you more than I can say.

I also need to express gratitude for all those who are caring for me at The Royal Marsden.  How could I feel other than positive after encountering such support, efficiency and kindness?

And if, as yet, there are no unexpected benefits, there was certainly an unexpected pleasure.
Whilst flat on my back, with the lump undergoing a thorough examination, what did the nurse and I discuss?  Something far more interesting than unwanted lumps, it was the fascinating topic of her pet tortoise and hedgehog!

But let's pause at that juncture.  I'll return after my visit to the hospital tomorrow.  This time they'll be giving me the results of all the tests they took, and offering suggestions for treatment.

Please . . . be with me in spirit.

                     *                  *                  *                  *                  *                  *

Let me bring you up-to-date.

All being well, if I pass the CT scans planned for next week, my unwanted lump is scheduled to be removed on September 27th.  What's more, I'll be going into hospital in the morning and back home before the evening . . . an unexpected benefit meaning that Chloe won't have to spend a night on her own.

So,  I've the blessing of you. . . . the blessing of Chloe
. . .  the benefit of coming home within the day . . . gratitude for your loving support . . . and yet more gratitude for The Royal Marsden's Hospital's wonderful efficiency.

Surely that's enough by way of blessings, benefits and gratitude to ensure a complete recovery.

A therapist in action!

I must admit that this development was something I didn't anticipate . . . . yes, I know, Chloe has been a therapy cat for six years, but to turn her considerable therapeutic skills on me?

Ever since finding the lump in my breast, and receiving my appointment for the hospital tomorrow, Chloe has made sure that she's  the dominant member of our household.

At her insistence, there's no hanging around.  We're up early and out in the garden by eight-thirty every morning, where we spend at least an hour-long sojourn.

Our second visit, which was previously after lunch, has been brought forward to around eleven-thirty.
To satisfy her enthusiastic demands, a third one is squeezed in at around mid-afternoon.
And, something quite new, we make a final tour, coupled with a keen search for field-mice in the ivy, at around half-past five.

Am I being afforded peace between these walks?  Not on your life!

No time to feel anxious for tomorrow when a small cat is winsomely demanding a game, a meal, or a good brush.
Little room for anxiety when a toy mouse arrives at your feet for attention, chicken needs chopping, or a litter-tray is in need of being cleaned.

Even the act of writing this 'letter' is being squeezed into a brief lull in Chloe's demands . . . I may well have to drop everything in order to satisfy the next instruction!

A therapy cat in action . . . ?
Aren't I fortunate!

An unexpected benefit

I had a shock last week, may I share it with you?

Totally out of the blue, I discovered a lump in my breast . . .  quite a large lump.  
Two days later the doctor told me to be prepared for the fact that it was probably breast cancer.  She's arranged an appointment for me next Tuesday at The Royal Marsden Hospital.

So . . . where do we go from here?

Since making this discovery I've learned several things.  The foremost is the need to remain positive and, as a wise friend told me, to see the situation as a challenge, not a threat.

Then there's a need to look out for any unexpected benefits, together with the need for laughter . . . laughter, as we all know, being 'the divine disinfectant'.

Will you help me with this?

May I share any unexpected benefits of my situation . . . and, hopefully, the ones that make me laugh?

Take today, for example.  If I have need of surgery, and if this means that I have to stay in the hospital overnight, a kind friend has offered to come round and feed Chloe.

With this thought in mind, I found myself looking at my much-loved but rather scruffy home through the eyes of an observant visitor.
She would, I realised, need to go into the bathroom . . . with which thought, I gave a cautious glance at the bath.

Yes, there was no denying it.  Around the middle of the bath was an unmistakable dark ring.  Despite always giving the bath a casual clean after use, this ring had built up over the months    . . . and it wasn't pretty.
It wasn't something I'd like my kind friend to notice.

In consequence, today has seen me down on my hands and knees in the bathroom, cleaning the bath with a scouring pad     . . . and how virtuous I feel at the outcome!

So, what's the first benefit of the unexpected lump in my breast?
You've guessed it . . . a beautifully clean bath!