First Check Up

If you’re only here because you’ve been enjoying reading all about my adventures and looking at pretty pictures then skip on down to my previous post about the Amalfi Coast, I really won’t be offended.

Instead, this is just a quick update about my health. One of the stipulations since finishing cancer treatment earlier this year is that I need to have annual mammograms until I’m 55. Whilst not being the most pleasant of activities, the reassurance year on year will be worth it I’m sure. Last week saw my first one. I’d given it absolutely no thought at all, in fact it was just an inconvenient appointment that hindered my very, busy schedule out here! Whilst driving over to the hospital I was absolutely fine, the song of choice blaring out the speakers, me screeching along at the top of my voice whilst trying to avoid a collision in the usual, crazy Neapolitan traffic! It wasn’t until I was sat in the radiology clinic (with one of those hideous, disposable paper gowns on) waiting for the radiographer to arrive, that it really crossed my mind that it actually might not go well. The earlier positive mood was so easily replaced with doubt and ‘what ifs’ that were only magnified by the clinical surroundings and the huge contraption in front of me waiting to squeeze the life out of my boobs! However the staff were very reassuring and very thorough and after about 40 minutes of trying to get good enough images (because of where the tumour had been) I had another torturous wait whilst the radiologist was shown the images for an immediate verdict. On the plus side at least I wasn’t waiting two weeks!

Fortunately, everything was absolutely fine and the radiographer was happy with the scan. The feeling of dread instantly vanished and my thoughts soon turned from worse case scenarios to whether I’d have mozzarella or ricotta for lunch!

It made me realise how easy it is to slip back in to everyday life. The details of last year slowly fading and it’s not until you’re in a situation like that where memories come flooding back. It’s reminiscent of a nightmare; one of the horrible kind where you wake up in the middle of the night with your heart racing, covered in sweat; seemingly so real. But by the time you get up in the morning you can’t remember any of the details, you only know you experienced it.

I don’t think it’s a bad thing to remind ourselves of the past, in my case the feeling of ‘seize the day’ and ‘make the most of every moment’ can soon be swept up and overlooked by everyday tasks. (Even here in Italy!) Experiencing the worry and dread for those few minutes in the hospital took me back to certain moments last year, like a strange sense of deja vu. Moments where I promised my future self that I would (as cheesy as it sounds) take stock and appreciate the beautiful things in life and not sweat the small stuff. So whilst it’s not particularly pleasant feeling dread and fear, it can certainly help to put things in to perspective. In my case, not constantly beating myself up for not losing the weight I put on as quickly as I would hope, or not getting frustrated by still being last to cycle up a hill. At least I’m out there doing it; enjoying the sun on my face and marvelling at the view from the top.

I’m sure the dread and fear will never completely go, particularly at this time every year, but if it can be turned in to something positive and is a reminder of how far I’ve come, then perhaps it should be allowed in and welcomed warmly from time to time.

For now, I’m off to get a glass of wine and some delicious antipasti because you know what? Life’s too short not to!