Unbenign to us: iLIVE

I knew I should behave calmly . But I didn’t. ‘Dammit. It’s the size of a golf ball. What are we going to do, disaster, how long has it been there, bugger, God, how come we’ve never noticed it before...’

Ali calmed me down.  ‘The appointment’s tomorrow.  We’ll find out then.’

I immediately went on to the internet to google’ lumps on the parotid gland’.  Doom and gloom.  One horror story after another.   I hardly slept a wink. 

And then at the Doctor.  Needles up the nose, down the throat, in both ears.   My head contorted in every direction, neck stretched up, down, every which way.

Gagging.  Wanting to sink into the floor.   Passing out.

The doctor staring.  Unblinking.   ‘Hmmm’ he said, in the way doctors do.   ‘Interesting’.

I stared at Ali and wondered how she could be so calm, when her life was in imminent danger.

Ali ignored the Doctor’s musings, and in her very zen way, breathing calmly, passed me the brown paper bag.  I was hyperventilating.

“Breathe into this’ she said ‘You’ll be fine’.

It’s the word everyone dreads.  LUMP.  Lump.  Lump of your best friend.  Your best friend's Lump.  Lump.

I calmed down.  Ali was sent off, blood tests, an ultra sound, a cat scan.  It took a couple of hours. 

In that time I bought a whole new summer wardrobe, three pairs of shoes, ate two pieces of chocolate cake, drank a bottle of wine and had four glasses of sugar water. 

I blame her entirely for my weight gain and empty bank account.

She came out from all her tests, looking cool as a cucumber and ridiculously healthy.  I was red in the face, gasping, tearful.

‘It’s likely nothing.  A Benign Lump.  But they need to take it out’, she said.  ‘Two weeks time. ‘

The Doctor explained that the lump is almost certainly benign, but it must be removed. And then -  standard procedure -  sent off for testing.  

Ali is an extraordinarily strong and beautiful woman.  She is also fussy beyond belief, will only wear certain clothing, special fabrics, expensive shoes.   She’s kind of a designer girl.  She can be difficult.  And  her lump is just like that too.  Difficult.  It’s a designer bloody lump and in a tricky position.

She needs to have a really good Surgeon.  And actually, with all us girls on his back, the Surgeon has no choice but to do a brilliant job.

At the next appointment, all the girls are coming.  Not for Ali -  she’ll be fine.  This time they’re coming to look after me.  Pass the brown paper bag….

* Name has been changed to protect the owner of the lump!