I felt sick to my stomach in the elevator approaching the doctor’s office. What news did he have for me. “You have a week to live!” “Sorry it was just dust on the lens!” Maybe it was best to stay in the dark.. just turn around, go home and keep my head buried in the sand.
But no, that would be a really dumb ass thing to do.
The nurse took my blood pressure – perfection as usual, asked my height – 5ft 10in and then my weight – 8st give or take 2.
Doc entered the room and I’m expecting it to all kick off. “You’re a dead woman walking – might as well say your goodbyes now.”
But instead we chatted about Tolkien, Imran Kahn and Brexit; and in-between we touched on the subject of brain tumours.
We then proceeded to look at some unusual abstract artwork – pictures of my brain – one of which I likened to a crab (see below).
It was concluded that Bambi would be served with an an eviction notice on Thursday 7th March. That’s two weeks and you’re out bitch! Out on your ear – or technically speaking out and then in a ziplock bag on your way to the path lab.
M and I left the doctor’s office resigned to the fact that war was pending. And decided to have our first strategy meeting at the nearest Starbucks. Not long after finishing my latte I felt that now familiar feeling of deja vu creeping in and I abruptly vanished into my parallel universe. I was gone for a couple of minutes before the habitual smell and then taste signalled the end of the seizure.
But OMG as soon as it was over I had a light bulb moment.
Caffeine of course is a trigger! So that’s it, my coffee bean days are over. From now on I’m a tiresome decaf tea totaler. All I need now is an a-line skirt and a hessian bag.