A wet Saturday afternoon

It’s not often we venture out on a Saturday afternoon, especially when it means going to the centre of Morecambe on a festival weekend. Yesterday is certainly not a day we would have chosen as the rain came slashing down. However, one of our cruising friends was showing off some of her photos with a photography class she goes to and we had promised to go to look at the pictures.

There were not many pictures. The free stand they’d got at the Festival Market only allowed room for a few. They were going to change them around so today different images were to be shown.

The standard was high. There was a beautiful image of a bird sitting on the edge of a letterbox as though he was about to post himself. There was a soulful sheepdog with his head resting on his paws. There was an almost abstract picture of colours, probably some sort of flowers, seen through frosted glass.

We were transported back to Arnside, where we used to live, with a picture of Arnside railway station. Its undeniably Victorian railway bridge which crosses the line, used to be directly opposite our flat.

There was an atmospheric black & white photo of a shunting yard that caught the feel of the age of steam railways. We can still remember those, now far off, days.

They’re going to have another, larger, exhibition later in the year. We’ll probably go along to that. This time it will be on for a month so we should be able to pick a day with better weather for our visit.

As it is, we’re glad we ventured out. We met our friends there. When she had done her stint keeping an eye on the exhibition, she & her husband joined us at the golf club for a drink. It turned into a pleasant afternoon, despite the weather.

We had thought we would have a stroll round some of the Vintage festival – Morecambe in the 1940s – and maybe take some our own photographs but the rain put us off. The crowds would probably have done so anyhow.

More myself

It is with relief that I’m moving around more naturally today. It is hard going getting dressed without lifting your arm up far.

Our gardener came yesterday. As usual, I ventured out with her, to chat as much as anything else. As usual I felt the urge to do a little weeding, too. I avoided any heavy pulling of weeds because of the biopsy incision. I usually sit on Junior, my stick that converts into a stool, & lean down to the ground. I soon discovered that just the rubbing of my arm against the injury point ached. I can only assume it must be very bruised under the dressing. I’ve not bothered to take the dressing off today, as at least it gives some cushioning to the bruising – I found last night lying on that side in bed, increased the ache.

But at least this morning I got dressed normally, lifted pans & the kettle, without worrying. I'm feeling more myself once more.

While we were in the garden we came across an enormous green caterpillar, a hawk moth we would guess. It soon disappeared into another home. Either that or a bird had a very filling snack!

The hospital

After spending nearly 3 hours at the hospital, we still do not know whether we have cause for worry or not. The probability is no.

The cause of concern turned out to be not the blurred mammogram I expected, but some very bright dots which are apparently due to calcification. They tend to occur as women get older. Well, I’m certainly getting older. I’ve not learnt how to stop the clock ticking yet.

However, this calcification is not definitely a sign of cancer. It can occur in cysts & I undeniably have a lot of cysts in my breasts. Hopefully that will be all it is in this case.

While I was at the hospital, I had a second magnified mammogram, an ultrasound & finally a biopsy. The results of the later will not be back until we return from holiday, so with that I will put the worries on one side until we’re back. I’m confident France will provide plenty of distraction.

The one thing that is certain is that there is no obvious sign of a tumour of any great size at the moment. They just need to ascertain whether the circle around the calcification is a cyst or the starting of a tumour. Certainly if it does turn out to be cancer it is at a very early stage so should be easily treatable.

Meanwhile as a result of the biopsy, which involved a cut on my left breast, I’m now going around like a bird with a broken wing. I’m not allowed to raise my left arm beyond a certain point or lift anything as otherwise the incision might break open again. Fortunately I'm right-handed.

I’m off to the hairdressers’ this morning. Fortunately the man came to read or power meters this morning. He’s kindly opened the up-and-over style garage door so I could get my mobility scooter out for the journey. He then closed the door & locked it. My mobility scooter is sitting on the drive, ready for me to go. If I cannot manage the door when I get back, the scooter can wait on the drive until the Fox is available to open the door to put it away again.

I have to confess I’m dreading the hairdressers’ a bit. It’s never my favourite chore. This time, however, my head is still sore from slamming into the shed wall head first on Monday, so this might be a painful experience. The lad, a junior, who does the hair washing believes in a good massage (I can’t help thinking raiki may be his calling.) I will have to warn him as well as the hairdresser to go carefully.