April Showers

The doorbell rings one morning, and a shortish, jolly-looking man is standing outside. He says, 'Hello, I'm Steve from Stress UK Limited.' Heavens, I think, has it come to this? They've got me on anti-anxiety tablets, two different waiting lists for therapy, and the GP is insisting on seeing me every three weeks to keep tabs on my 'panic'. NO NEED TO GET ALARMED, KIRSTY, WE JUST NEED TO SEE YOU RATHER OFTEN IN CASE YOU GO LOOPIER THAN YOU ALREADY ARE... But no, in fact Steve's company, Stress UK Ltd, is a Structural Repairs and Specialist Service, employed by our landlord to fix our wonky wall. And what a wall. Number 10 Downing Street would be pleased to get such service. We can currently boast a smart Portaloo on our premises, a very large skip, two wheelbarrows and a long, deep ditch with all sorts of interesting pointy things sticking out of it. And three rather polite builders who bring their own kettle, teacups and chairs, and don't require the use of our indoor WCs. What a result.

That evening, in the balmy April air, we are sitting in Pizza Express, enjoying a very rare family night out. Or rather, I am sitting in Pizza Express, and my husband is rushing after our toddler, who is marching down Jesus Lane in search of Entertainment. And it comes in the form of an inflatable toy stuck to the magazine of choice for all discerning preschoolers: 'In the Night Garden'. Young Freddie brings the toy to me excitedly, clamouring at me to get it working. So I sit, pizza half-eaten, blowing up a pink, knobbly airship and marvelling at the safety warning on the back. 'Not to be used as a buoyancy aid'. Drat it! And I had all those plans to cross the channel with my inflatable Pinky Ponk ready if the sharks came...

A few days later, and the soft petals of blossom are brushing our cheeks like confetti and catching on our tongues, as are the seeds of just-blown dandelions. Oh, and the tiny snowdrop scatterings of Styrofoam from that skip of ours. Oh yes. The April wind is whooshing up the contents of our big yellow monstrosity and strewing it across Sherlock Road willy nilly. A visit from our local Neighbourhood Watch representative reassures us that our fellow residents are duly concerned, so we resolve to take action. We get our big broom and Freddie's tiny pink one, and we sweep. And sweep. And sweep. At four o'clock we stagger inside for a well-earned break and a steaming brew, just like the builders do. We gaze out at the street by our house, with it's immaculately pruned bushes and discreetly stored bins. And little white flakes flutter by, dancing on the breeze. 'Look!' shouts Freddie. 'It's snowing!' 'No, Freddie,' we say, 'alas, it's not snowing. It's the polystyrene from our skip, escaping down the street. Again.'

Appointment palavers

Just to reassure anyone who's been waiting for news from my appointments. There haven't as yet been any appointments (or not the ones you'll be thinking of. We've seen the surprisingly glamorous psychiatrist at Addenbrooke's (I got clothes and boots envy at that one. Considered asking how to deal with the issue of 'envy' but left it!) and had other minor visits, but not to the breast unit. All a bit of a mix-up but I'm not too rattled by it.

They've booked me in for 9am tomorrow morning, ignoring my pleas to avoid that time due to my zoladex injection and blood test at that time. Zoladex is like a top-notch film - it's unmissable and very difficult to book in each time at the GP's so I won't be able to miss it. So I've left messages with the breast nurses to either fit me in later tomorrow (with Freddie in tow? Don't know how I'm going to do the childcare bit) or after Easter. We'll see what happens. I feel somewhat silly given I can no longer feel the Lump-that-isn't-a-lump and the pain on the other side is going down and the thickening area on the 'healthy' breast has probably been there all along (doesn't feel new). Still, can't just let is pass, so will press on and get myself checked out. Eventually!

How lovely it's been outside this week. None of the miserable grey and rain that was predicted.

Just tried to turn over the fish fingers with disastrous consequences. Why do they ALWAYS stick to the pan?

Freddie is in a bit of a paddy due to dropping his nap this afternoon (my idea) in an attempt to get him sleepy BEFORE 10pm at night. I now see why parents of children who have dropped their naps are completely frazzled by 5pm. The fishfingers have just had a taste of my temper! Poor Freddie. He's pooped. Time for supper, bath to wash off the poo he did in the middle of the park that wouldn't come off and still stinks in his pants, and then ... bed?

bye, bye, Bob the Builder. It's supper time. Hurray!¬

I'll tune in again when I've been for the Appointment that Wasn't an Appointment.

Kirstyxxx