This time is all about waiting, and I am not as good at it as I thought I would be.
I had my biopsy on my prostate two weeks ago, the consultant team met to discuss my results last Wednesday, and I am going to the hospital for those results on Tuesday. I like to think I am relaxed about all this, and I trot out the cliché that I don’t feel any different. I feel the same as I did last month.
I like to think I am “interested” in the process, in a detached, authorial kind of way, and, certainly, the biopsy itself was an interesting sensation. It was not a sensation I had experienced before, feeling something inside my body cut and scrape at something else that was inside me, but something nameless that, in some way, actually was part of me. It wasn’t painful – just very strange and sharp.
But then the waiting begins.
Is a long wait good or bad news? Have the bits of me shown no sign of cancer cells? Or have they just lost my results?
When you are waiting, all things become possible. Maybe the news is good; maybe the news is bad.
I will find out on Tuesday. Is that a long time, or does it count as a frantic emergency? It’s like those financial statistics on the news – so many millions of this, so many billions of that. Should I interpret the figure as a lot, or as not very much? Is a billion pounds of a particular thing something to worry about or something to celebrate?
Whatever happens on Tuesday, it feels like a junction. Either I will turn one way and celebrate, or I will turn the other way and my life will change.
Wish me luck, and I’ll keep you informed.