Strange land this new place, you have just been informed you have DCIS, early breast cancer to you and me, they look at you with quiet eyes and know the shock they have just given you.
Of course they do it every day, give people bad news, change lives, and alter futures.
Well it started with a mammogram, and because I was busy I nearly didn't attend, it was in B & Q car park, and I needed some light bulbs so thought what the hell, might as well go.
I open mail in the evening between making a meal, talking and pouring a drink to unwind.
The letter that changes everything, said simply would I attend for another mammogram, they have made me an appointment to attend next Tuesday, today is Thursday, and my brain is starting to give me panic signals.
Gosh that's quick, yes it is, and anyway you tell yourself it's just blurred picture.
They say yes you have a problem, but we need a sample of tissue to be sure, how does one comprehend, a biopsy? Television and media say oh yes it an extraction of tissue, easy peasy, they slice it up and give you a reading.
Well hell, don't believe a word of it, a vice on your most cherished possession and then pain then a crunching noise, what no one ever says is, this crunching noise, which one assumes is a bit of you going down a tube, is repeated again and again and again.
Not frighteningly painful, just an experience you don't wish to repeat, its grim.
Then the fast forward, as there are no waiting lists in our NHS for this, just a fast track on an escalator you wish you'd never seen.
Out patients is a congregation of people there for differing illnesses they all look normal, you find yourself looking at them and wondering, do you have cancer, or you or you or you, of course you don't know and they don't know you have a multiplying growth inside you.
The nurse calls your name and you walk towards her, she looks up from your file, and you see her eyes and mind take in what's written down.
Her face softens and she lowers her voice when she speaks, and smiles, and you realise she feels sorry for you.
I want to shout, look I do a responsible job, I have a business, I pay taxes, I can understand a mobile, I am somebody, don't feel sorry for me and don't give me the look that says rather you than me.
I sit and believe I am above all this.
Then awful truth dawns, money possessions, paid for houses, mean nothing, cancer is the greatest leveller you have experienced - trust me on this one.
The day arrives you are admitted to a day ward, along with a motley selection of people, they all look normal, so what's wrong with them, of course I too look normal, do they have a lurking being inside them I wonder.
The surgeon you have seen for 5 minutes a few days ago is going to nibble bits out of one of your most cherished possession, oh yes you hear yourself say, you have another one, what's the problem.
You live in fear of someone saying yes take the whole breast off, and what if it happened in error, like the guy who died because the operating team took out the wrong kidney.
That was years ago, and now they label, your arm, your foot, check your Dob, and then do it all again and again and again.
It must have been an expensive mistake taking a life, so one assumes they won't take yours.
They check and check and what the hell check again.
Before the operation, they say ah yes just going to insert a couple of wires into the area, simple just wonder down the corridor with nurse, I guess she goes with you, as one is momentarily considering doing a runner and hope the whole thing has been an ghastly mistake.
Sitting with cherished possession in a clamp in a dark room is not nice, and they then compound it by leaving you on your own.
It's at this point you think to yourself, if I ever get out of here I will be good, oh yes God I will be good, just please help me.
Cries of course go unanswered.
Someone comes along and in the now familiar soft voice says small prick, stay still and wait.
Well one can hardly do anything else.
So you wait, till the 10 degrees, 2 degrees round up down jargon is passing round your ears.
Eventually after what seems like a lifetime, but is about half an hour, which is bad enough, someone releases you, and your body shakes, it's a cold odd feeling, sitting there with two piano wires sticking out like of your boob like antenna.
Eventually you are collected by same nurse, who now knows you are definitely not going to do a runner with these wires sticking out of you.
Clever, they now know running is not an option, but you still go through the building dressed in a shapeless gown, your slippers and fear on your face.
As you can walk, nurse takes you down to theatre, difficult bit this, as you wonder will I come round, will it be with or without cherrished possession, then sense says no they cannot take the whole thing off and not tell you.
Still, the lurking doubt in your mind.
Along with the other feeling of will I see my mum again? Mum suddenly becomes the most important thing in your life, and well honestly you should have learnt to not be dependent on her.
But it's the only thought.
Did they wake you, did you wake yourself.
Dry mouth, well very, very dry mouth, no one mentioned that bit, feels like you have been eating cotton wool.
Speech is okay is, but everything seems to be running past you at a jerking fast speed.
When it becomes obvious you are back in the real world, they whip you back to the ward, trolley this time, not that they are scared you will run, but they want you out of their space.
Good book passing this, back to the day ward, with a limpet dressing on your body.
A nurse brings you toast and tea, you look at it and think, is it butter, its white bread heaven forbid, but eat you do, as it confirms you are back from a space you never wish to see again.
Now the tables are turned and you are free to go, and go you do, as fast as your wobbly legs will carry you.
You are minus 20mm of tissue, can you have it returned for sale on eBay I wonder.
Mentioning cancer is like talking about divorce or death, it's in hushed tones, some friends stay and others leave.
Frightened I would be a burden, a responsibility too far.
True friends and relatives give unconditional love in mega large helpings.
Certainly, it sorts the men out from the boys with lightening speed.
The scared ones retreat to a distance that's not on your radar.
One experiences deep sadness, unchartered waters, it begins deep within you and whirls around, it's the first thing you think of when waking, and the last on sleeping.
Can one will oneself better, or is it like life, what will be, will be.
Can you really change the course of fate, or do you just delay it taking a different course in your life.
Would you change it anyway, you couldn't of course, because you believed it was a problem someone else had.
Back from the repair and mend building your home appears a safe warm sanctuary, your space, and mum, she brings tea, sympathy and unconditional love, and a deep look that says I wish it was me not you.
Limpet dressing which clings with all its might, when removed reveals a row of staples.
One sits and waits till gratefully cherished possession starts to heal and eventually your wire bits are in the sharps yellow bin.
Then the nightmare of clear margins begins what the hell are they, finally it dawns the need to see clear margins round the tissue, they have extracted at great cost to you.
The bit you gave them willingly and free, never to see again, is not good enough.
The offering to the gods is not perfect, oh why, oh why.
At this point you can cry, as you are faced with decisions that fill your head with fear and dread.
You cannot be rubber stamped, and allowed to pas go, no it's back to the drawing board.
Onward and upward you tell yourself as there is no other route, like life there is no reverse, one cannot change the course of your soul progressing to its final destination.
Mine seems to be wishing to swim in unchartered waters.
But life has to teach you something, so what's the gospel telling me, is soul fulfilment full of happiness and sadness, should soul fulfilment be purchased in equal quantities does it need segments of equality and inequality to become complete.
You tell yourself your soul as to experience life to progress, so why did it pick on me? Do I cope better, or does it spur you on to greater things.
A much younger friend, who has healing powers, arrives with support, and love.
She takes me to a higher plane of softness; calmness arrives together with doses of white light and gentle warmth.
She brings space to my head, and I focus on the strength offered by her and friends who never expected to have to transfer a love on this high unchartered level.
Your soul lies within you, and with unconditional love in your heart you have to accept that it will do the best for you, for without your cooperation it will not grow and expand to achieve its final plane.
The experience teaches you to take small steps, absorb knowledge and problems slowly, give it all you your brain, you have the greatest computer in your grey matter, and you will eventually see clear space if not clear margins.
*********** My thanks to all staff of my local hospital, for their perseverance, support in helping me attain clear margins.