INTERESTING STUFF – 16 February 2019

TIME GOES BY DONATION WEEK REMINDER
This is day four (of six) of the 2019 TGB donation drive to help support the costs of maintaining Time Goes By for the next five years. You can read the details on Wednesday's post.

Whether you donate or not, nothing will change. TGB will always remain advertising-free with never a membership fee or paid firewall. If you would like to help support the work that goes on here, click the button below. If not, which is perfectly fine, scroll down for today's post.

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ONE TOWN UNDER ONE ROOF

All 200-plus people in remote Whittier, Alaska, live in one, 14-story building. Take a look:

More information and more video at curiosity.com.

HOW NOT TO WAKE A LADY LION

This is probably not what he was expecting.

NEW MEDICARE CARD

If you recall, last year new Medicare cards were sent out with new random ID numbers rather than our Social Security numbers. Last week, medicare.gov announced that card mailing is complete and you should have received yours by now.

”Haven’t gotten your new Medicare card yet? Sign in to your secure MyMedicare.gov account to see your Medicare Number and print your official card. If you don’t have a MyMedicare account yet, sign up for free at MyMedicare.gov today!

“Alternately, you can call 1-800-MEDICARE and our call center representatives can help you get your new card.”

DENALI – A TRIBUTE TO MAN'S BEST FRIEND

My friend John Gear emailed this video of a lovely tribute to man's best friend.

WHAT WILL CLIMATE IN YOUR CITY FEEL LIKE IN 60 YEARS?

Unless you are among the deniers, you know Earth climate is change. The University of Maryland has put together a map show how the climates of several hundred U.S. cities are expected to change in the next 60 years.

ClimateMap

Go here to use the interactive map. There is more information about the project here.

SNOW DAYS AT THE OREGON ZOO

A whole lot of animals playing in Portland, Oregon's recent snowstorm.

GHOST APPLES

I never heard of this before and it's amazing. Beautiful – a winter special effect.

RESCUE OF A OLD DOG WITH A BROKEN HEART

A homeless dog on Romania finds a forever home in the United States.

More information and more photos at Laughing Squid.

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Interesting Stuff is a weekly listing of short takes and links to web items that have caught my attention; some related to aging and some not, some useful and others just for fun.

You are all encouraged to submit items for inclusion. Just click “Contact” at the top of any Time Goes By page to send them. I'm sorry that I won't have time to acknowledge receipt and there is no guarantee of publication. But when I do include them, you will be credited and I will link to your blog.




Crabby Old Lady – Not Me, A Poem

TIME GOES BY DONATION WEEK REMINDER
This is day three (of six) of the 2019 TGB donation drive to help support the costs of maintaining Time Goes By for the next five years. You can read the details on Wednesday's post.

Whether you donate or not, nothing will change. TGB will always remain advertising-free with never a membership fee or paid firewall. If you would like to help support the work that goes on here, click the button below. If not, which is perfectly fine, scroll down for today's post.

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Last week, a reader named Joseph Burns left this comment on a post from the first year of this blog's existence, September 2004:

”I read this out to my year 10 form, you could hear a pin drop, almost in tears towards the end, but think each child got something from the poem.

“And to me it’s not just a poem it’s a reminder of life, so so true. Whoever wrote this has captured it so true. 👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏"

I think after 15 years this is definitely worth a repeat. I've included my original introduction from 2004.

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This poem is floating around the Web here and there. According to some, it was found among the "meager possessions" of an old woman who died in the geriatric ward of a Dundee, Scotland hospital, and was later published in the News Magazine of the North Ireland Association for Mental Health.

That all may be apocryphal. I can't find any reference, except in relation to the poem, of the publication or its organization. Those who retrieved the poem did not record the woman's name nor is there a year attached, but that is not important. This is a cry from the heart, whoever wrote it, to not be made invisible in old age.

It would do us all well to remember this poem when we are frustrated by someone old moving too slowly in front of us and when we find ourselves with an older relative or friend whose mind is perhaps not as quick as it once was.

Herewith, then, the poem titled Crabby Old Lady.

What do you see, nurses, what do you see,
what are you thinking when you're looking at me?
A crabby old woman, not very wise,
uncertain of habit, with faraway eyes.

Who dribbles her food and makes no reply
when you say in a loud voice, "I do wish you'd try!"
Who seems not to notice the things that you do,
and forever is losing a stocking or shoe.

Who, resisting or not, lets you do as you will
with bathing and feeding, the long day to fill.
Is that what you're thinking? Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse; you're not looking at me.

I'll tell you who I am as I sit here so still,
as I do at your bidding, as I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of ten with a father and mother,
brothers and sisters, who love one another.

A young girl of sixteen, with wings on her feet,
dreaming that soon now a lover she'll meet.
A bride soon at twenty - my heart gives a leap,
remembering the vows that I promised to keep.

At twenty-five now, I have young of my own
who need me to guide and a secure happy home.
A woman of thirty, my young now grown fast,
bound to each other with ties that should last.

At forty my young sons have grown and are gone,
but my man's beside me to see I don't mourn.
At fifty once more babies play round my knee,
again we know children, my loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead;
I look at the future, I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing young of their own,
and I think of the years and the love that I've known.

I'm now an old woman and nature is cruel;
'tis jest to make old age look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles, grace and vigor depart,
there is now a stone where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells,
and now and again my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys, I remember the pain,
and I'm loving and living life over again.

I think of the years - all too few, gone too fast
and accept the stark fact that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, nurses, open and see,
not a crabby old woman; look closer - see ME!




Happy Valentine's Day

TIME GOES BY DONATION WEEK REMINDER
This is day two of the 2019 TGB donation drive to help support the costs of maintaining Time Goes By for the next five years. You can read the details on Wednesday's post.

Whether you donate or not, nothing will change. TGB will always remain advertising-free with never a membership fee or paid firewall. If you would like to help support the work that goes on here, click the button below. If not, which is perfectly fine, scroll down for today's post.

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Perhaps you have noticed that this is Valentine's Day – a perfect time for me to again thank you all for your continuing support of this blog and especially your many good thoughts, prayers and well wishes throughout the ups and downs of this cancer predicament in which I find myself.

Valentines-day-lettering

Sending all good Valentine's Day greetings to each and every one of you.




Annual TimeGoesBy Donation Week 2019...

Plus The Alex and Ronni Show. But first:

Here we are again for the fourth year in a row with the TGB Donation Drive. I began this annual fundraiser to help pay for the services I use to keep this blog advertising free.

In particular, I think email subscribers over this past year probably appreciate not having their mailings splattered with ugly ads since I added that service thanks to your donations.

Donations also pay for email and domain name registrations along with the #$%^&* increase twice each year in the price of internet access.

They also allow me to subscribe to the most important news and information publications as even more of them this year have placed their sites behind paid firewalls. This and more help keep the TGB website an ad-free zone on the internet.

You would be right to wonder, given the news of my incurable cancer, if donation week is still necessary – and indeed it will undoubtedly be the last one. Let me explain starting with this quotation from “John” in the comments from last Wednesday's post:

”What's the plan for this blog? Out in time, the farther the better, but when 'the battle ends' will we be able to re-read 'Time Goes By' for some span of time?

“Perhaps there is a designated successor already in the wings for seamless handoff. Or, it is (irreplaceable) Ronni or nothing and TGB will simply just be gone.”

Good questions, John, that I have been sporadically working on for several months. Dozens of readers, like John, have written to ask what happens to TGB when I die and I have decided to pay ahead for each of those services listed above for the five years following my death. When that happens, ownership of the blog, domain ownerships, etc. will pass to my friend, healthcare proxy and heir.

It's not set in stone to happen but I am also looking for a blogging successor. It's tricky. The person needs to be old enough to have some personal experience with ageing – above 60 I would say at the young end up to any age but with a better life expectancy than my current one.

The person should closely share my political and societal opinions on elders and ageing, be a reasonably good writer with a willingness to keep up with news and politics related to ageing in all its aspects, have a passion for ageing issues along with a decent sense of humor about it all.

With the news of my latest CT scan reported here Monday, I'm guessing I might have more time than I thought to find this special person.

I love doing this blog, and I am grateful to all of you, dear readers, for your fine contributions in the comments. It's your smart, thoughtful, and funny conversation that makes TGB special and I want to find a replacement who can continue making this blog one of the best collaborations online between producer and readers.

Which brings us to this week's fourth annual donations drive. As in the previous years, I will make this as unobtrusive as possible – at least a bit less annoying than NPR donation drives, so let's get started.

HOW TO DONATE
The campaign consists of this introductory blog post (including the latest Alex and Ronni Show episode at the end) with a link to the Paypal donation page and a MUCH shorter version of this invitation to contribute at the top of each post through next Monday. The “rules” are these:

  • No one is required to donate. Nothing about TGB will change if you do not. This is entirely voluntary.

  • If you do choose to donate, no amount is too small. Whatever is comfortable for you is all that matters.

  • You do not need a Paypal account to donate. When you click on the link below, the Paypal donation page will open (it's a little slow sometimes) where you can donate via credit card, debit card or, if you have a Paypal account, by a money transfer - each in any amount you want.

  • The Paypal site works in the United States and internationally.

To repeat: Donations are voluntary. Nothing changes if you do not donate. Here is the Paypal link which you will also find near the top of the right sidebar.

As I said, donation is voluntary. I don't want anyone to feel coerced. For those of you who have set up a recurring donation, you might want to cancel that and if you are still inclined to donate, do it as a one-time. It will save you some scrambling perhaps, when I have shuffled off this mortal coil, setting your account straight.

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As I noted on last year's donation drive kick-off post:

Having cancer certainly does rearrange one's priorities and I have thought hard about this extra time on Earth I have been granted. I've never been interested in a bucket list and unless you count my longing to live again in New York City, nothing I yearn for.

What I like these days is my comfortable apartment while making the main part of my daily life the production of TimeGoesBy. It has become much more to me than a blog; it is a gathering place for like-minded elders to talk about what it's like growing old, and I learn so much from you.

And now, here is this week's Alex and Ronni Show.




A TGB READER STORY: My Auntie Mame and Uncle Elvis

By Lyn Burnstine

I grew up with a plethora of uncles. On my mother's side, I had four half-uncles, two of whom I never knew since they lived far away on the west coast, and two half-uncles-in-law (my half-aunts' husbands). Have I lost you yet?

I was very close to the Illinois uncle who lived the nearest: in fact, he lived with us once for a few weeks and we eagerly awaited the Kansas uncle's visits, also.

My grandmother, their step-mother, had finished raising those two youngest ones and they loved her dearly. On my father's side there was one uncle-in-law and five uncles, who all looked just like my father. One had died as a young man, but the others I knew because they lived nearby.

Most of the socializing we did was with relatives: dinners back and forth from one home to another and reunions every summer at a park or churchyard.

But there was one whom I adored, unrelated but connected by something as strong as blood-ties.

My mother had grown up with few neighbors in her little rural community. She was so much younger than her step-brothers who left home while she was still a youngster. Fortunately just up the road a piece - as my grandmother would have said - was a handsome, charming couple with three little girls.

The youngest was named for my mother, so I assume she was born after the two families became close friends. The four girls were inseparable. Time went by, people grew up and scattered but Aunt Mame and Uncle Elvis moved into town, and so did my parents, my sister and I.

We must have gone to see them frequently, because often in my dreams I find myself walking on their street sure that I'll recognize their house when I see it, and knowing that it would be a safe haven from something that was threatening me in the dream.

But my most vivid memory comes from a time, a few years later, when I was envying my sister her flute and ability to play in the band. Our dinky school had no band activities for elementary-level students so I would not be eligible until I got to high school (I snuck in a few toots on my sister's flute when she wasn't around, though).

One day when we were visiting back in Flora from where we'd moved to follow my father's renewed teaching career, Uncle Elvis offered me a wooden piccolo and training in how to play it. It was the first time I had realized that this tall, kindly man, whom I picture always in a fedora and long overcoat towering over us all, was anything but my beloved Uncle Elvis: he was also the local band teacher!

I was thrilled and learned quickly; I already was a good pianist and a crackerjack sight reader. (I always said I could play something the first time as well as I'd ever play it again.)

I practiced for hours every day till my pinkies got used to the curled position and stopped cramping painfully. And that little wooden piccolo had the sweetest tone of any I ever played, bar none. Joy of joy, that very fall the high school band teacher instituted a training band in the seventh and eighth grades, and I got to play the piccolo as well as a wooden flute loaned to me.

Uncle Elvis became a hero in my eyes; sweet, little dumpling-faced Aunt Mame remained a shadowy figure in my memories. The connections lasted through my early-married years when their oldest daughter was living in the same town in Mississippi as my husband and I, and she and her unconventional husband became our friends and first babysitters.

Vesta, whom I always thought of as the vestal virgin since she was single till 49 had married Harry, a former rodeo clown and outrageous adventurer. What a strange mating that was.

In much more recent years, I was looking through old pictures and found one of Uncle Elvis and Aunt Mame as young newlyweds and was amazed at how gorgeous they were - her cute and tiny, him tall, dark-haired and full-lipped like the other Elvis.

There must have been lots of little girls who had crushes on that young Elvis, their band teacher but he was my Uncle Elvis.

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EDITORIAL NOTE: You are a prolific bunch of writers and there is now a backlog of reader stories to carry us almost to summer. So for awhile, I am not accepting new stories until we work through some of the ones already on the list.




Cancer Tests and Magic Mushrooms

Wow oh wow oh wow oh wow.

After all your wonderful well-wishes on Friday's post, I wish you could have been there on the telephone with me and my new oncologist Friday. As we were getting through the preliminary niceties, he interrupted us saying, “Let me get to the point first.”

The thing about that is you wait and wait and wait, rocketing back and forth between fear and confidence, and suddenly the answer is right there, right now.

Sharp intake of my breath on my part and then he says – this is close to verbatim:

“The CT scan shows the size of the lesions in your lung have decreased by half and some are no longer detected at all. The one lesion in your peritoneum is not visible.”

This does not mean the cancer is curing itself. It means the chemotherapy is doing what it is supposed to do – slow the growth of the cancer to give me longer healthy time to live.

The doctor is so encouraged that if the news is as positive when the next scan takes place in two months, he will extend the scan interval to three months.

For now, however, Wow oh wow oh wow oh wow.

Chemo continues every two weeks until it doesn't work anymore. No one knows how long that is – it's different for every patient. But I'm encouraged now that I will still be here for my 78th birthday in April. For a long time I didn't believe that.

MAGIC MUSHROOMS
A couple of comments last week are of some concern to me. In one of them, the writer says that since I was fearfully anticipating the test results, my psilocybin session that freed me from my paralyzing fear of dying, must have failed.

Perhaps the writer doesn't understand that humans can't live with two and more emotional conditions, even strong ones, at once. I thought everyone knew this.

I can be, and was simultaneously, scared of test results and not afraid to die.

He also suggested that to maintain the results, I would probably have to have regular psilocybin trips. I don't suppose it would hurt and I have supplies for micro-doses but it certainly hasn't failed for me although I don't know about other people.

Speaking of psilocybin and other psychedelics used as therapy for depression, anxiety and PTSD among other conditions, I was surprised and pleased to see that in at least one survey, a majority of Americans support the use of these drugs for treatment.

As reported at YouGov that conducted the survey in 2018,

”Despite the stigma surrounding these controlled substances, new data from YouGov shows that many Americans are ready to embrace psychedelic therapies.

“What’s more, a relationship appears to exist between higher levels of education and increased support for psychedelic research and treatments. At each increasing level of education, there's a corresponding increase in support for medical research into the potential benefits of psychedelic substances, such as psilocybin mushrooms, MDMA, and ketamine.

“53% of all respondents support medical research into psychedelic drugs, and this number increases to 69% for respondents with graduate degrees.”

Here is the YouGov chart on support for psychedelic therapies among education levels:

Psilocybenchart

Both the state of Oregon and the city of Denver already have ballot measures approving such use of these drugs ready for a vote in the 2020 election.

You can read more at YouGov.

Again and from my heart, thank you for your many words of love and support through not just this latest test scare, but for the entire 20 months so far since my original diagnosis of pancreatic cancer. I love you all.




ELDER MUSIC: Monk

Tibbles1SM100x130This Sunday Elder Music column was launched in December of 2008. By May of the following year, one commenter, Peter Tibbles, had added so much knowledge and value to my poor attempts at musical presentations that I asked him to take over the column. He's been here each week ever since delighting us with his astonishing grasp of just about everything musical, his humor and sense of fun. You can read Peter's bio here and find links to all his columns here.

* * *

Thelonious Monk

Today's column might be a bit challenging for people who aren't as in love with the music of THELONIOUS MONK as I am. He is my all time favorite jazz pianist, one who I managed to see a couple of times as he came out to this wide brown land in the sixties.

Monk's music is replete with dissonant harmonies and strange twists as if he were anticipating classical music of the mid-twentieth century. Only Duke Ellington, of all jazz composers, has had more of his compositions recorded by others. It's not others I'm interested in. I like to hear the real thing, and so will you if you stick with me.

Most of the music today was composed by Thelonious, including this one, Hackensack, presumably named after the place in New Jersey.

♫ Hackensack


Thelonious Monk

Smoke Gets in Your Eyes was written by Jerome Kern and Otto Harbach back in 1933. The Platters’ version is the best as far as I’m concerned. Monk puts his distinctive take on the tune.

♫ Smoke Gets in Your Eyes


In Walked Bud is a tribute to his friend and fellow jazz pianist Bud Powell. It seems that Bud once tried to stop police from beating Thelonious but there are varying accounts of what happened next.

Whatever happened, Bud received a severe beating himself that troubled him for the rest of his life, probably causing him to turn to drink and drugs. Thelonious recorded the tune several times, the last one with the great jazz singer JON HENDRIX supplying vocals.

Jon Hendricks

♫ In Walked Bud


Just a Gigolo was written by Leonello Casucci and Julius Brammer in 1924, and was originally called Schöner Gigolo, armer Gigolo. Irving Caesar supplied English words to it in 1929, and gave it its English title. It’s been recorded often, but never like this.

♫ Just a Gigolo


Thelonious Monk

Straight No Chaser is another of his compositions. It features his long time tenor sax player CHARLIE ROUSE.

Charlie Rouse

♫ Straight No Chaser


GERRY MULLIGAN was THE baritone sax player in jazz.

Gerry Mulligan

He started out in California but eventually played with everyone who mattered. He was a main participant in the famous “Birth of the Cool” sessions with Miles Davis. He probably wrote more of that than he is generally credited with.

Here he teams with Thelonious on one of Monk’s most famous tunes, Round Midnight. Everyone’s had a go at this one.

♫ Round Midnight


Thelonious Monk

Thanks to the Columbia Record Club (remember that?), the first album of Monk’s that I owned is “Monk’s Dream”. From that album, here is the title track. Charlie Rouse features on this one too.

♫ Monk's Dream


Thelonious Monk

Duke Ellington knew his way around a piano keyboard. He also knew how to write a good tune or two. Just like everyone else in jazz (and a lot elsewhere) Thelonious tackles one of his tunes, It Don't Mean a Thing (If It Ain't Got That Swing).

♫ It Don't Mean a Thing (If It Ain't Got That Swing)


JOHN COLTRANE joins the fray now.

John Coltrane

He and Thelonious play Ruby, My Dear, a tune named for Monk’s first love (or so he said). It later had words written for it and Carmen McRae recorded a fine version, but it’s Monk and Coltrane today.

♫ Ruby My Dear


Here is the first appearance on record of Charlie Rouse with Monk. It also has Thad Jones on cornet. The tune labors under the awkward name of Jackie-ing.

♫ Jackie-ing


Thelonious Monk

It has nothing to do with his music, and he was famous for this: he really liked hats. Just thought I’d mention it.

Thelonious recorded quite a few solo albums, just him playing piano. I guess it meant that no one had to anticipate where he was going with his playing, which, if you’ve listened all the way until now, can be quite an exercise.

From his complete solo recordings compilation we have the old standard, These Foolish Things.

♫ These Foolish Things




INTERESTING STUFF – 9 February 2019

MY CANCER TEST RESULTS

What an outpouring of thoughts, hopes and prayers from you, dear readers, on yesterday's post about my mistake in regard to CT scan results. Apparently all your efforts worked.

My new oncologist telephoned Friday at the time we had agreed to with excellent news. At both cancer locations, one lung and the peritoneum, lesions have decreased in number. Exactly what the chemotherapy is designed to do. Woo-hoo! I thank you all and will have more information on Monday.

93 YEAR-OLD'S DEATH BED REGRET

Thank you, John Gear, for sending this tweet. I know exactly how this man felt and I'll be furious with the cosmos if the same happens to me.

Some comments at Twitter.

CONTAGIOUS LAUGHTER ON BELGIAN SUBWAY

Okay, it's just a commercial for Coke but it was fun to watch and I got a good laugh too.

IF I COULD TALK

The other animal videos today are nowhere near such tear jerkers as this.

TEE HEE - CAT TREE IN FULL BLOOM

CatTree

A BALL OF YARN NAMED PURL

Purl, directed by Kristen Lester and produced by Gillian Libbert-Duncan, features an earnest ball of yarn named Purl who gets a job in a fast-paced, high energy, bro-tastic start-up and tries to fit in.

LOWE'S MAJESTIC HOWL

As YouTube explains:

”A sweet dog named Löwe who had never howled before, found her voice by watching a video of another dog howling on the computer...It took quite a while to finally get her to howl, and when she did we were not prepared for the majesty of her regal voice.”

THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A DUMB ASS AND A SMART ASS

Hank Berez sent my favorite animal video this week.

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Interesting Stuff is a weekly listing of short takes and links to web items that have caught my attention; some related to aging and some not, some useful and others just for fun.

You are all encouraged to submit items for inclusion. Just click “Contact” at the top of any Time Goes By page to send them. I'm sorry that I won't have time to acknowledge receipt and there is no guarantee of publication. But when I do include them, you will be credited and I will link to your blog.




Oops. Sorry About My Wednesday Mistake

On Wednesday, I told you I would get the results of my latest CT scan yesterday, Thursday. Wrong.

Right here on the desk in the notebook where I keep important information from meetings with doctors and nurses, in big, black letters, it says:

“Dr. will call Friday with scan results.”

I would like to blame chemo brain for my mistake but it had been two weeks since my last treatment so that is probably not the cause. Chemo brain can make you stupid for a few days but it had subsided by the time I was screwing up the Wednesday post.

So, assuming I do hear the results sometime today and to spare you, kind and gentle readers, any test-results-wait-anxiety I may have infected you with on Wednesday, I will slip in the salient information on the Interesting Stuff post tomorrow.

Meanwhile, I ran across a recent BBC story about “cancer cliches” - words and phrases that many cancer patients reject.

We discussed this a bit last August when I explained why I dislike phrases like “battling cancer” and “fighting cancer”. BBC cites a survey of 2000 people who have or have had cancer, reporting that I'm not alone.

”Calling a person's cancer diagnosis a 'war' or a 'battle' and saying they had 'lost their battle' or 'lost their fight' when they died, were other unpopular descriptions, according to the poll carried out by YouGov.

“Articles in the media and posts on social networks were found to be the worst offenders for using such language.

“Mandy Mahoney, 47, has incurable metastatic breast cancer...Mandy said it was not necessary for people to 'swallow a textbook and come up with all of the key phrases' to talk to someone with cancer, and it is fine to not always know what to say.

"'If you tell me it's awkward and you don't know what to say I will find a way to make that right for you, and actually on some occasions I might say 'we don't have to talk about it'.

"'But just be real.'"

There is more detail and a different opinion from a body builder at the BBC site.

I know there are a number of TGB readers who have or have had cancer. How you do you feel about these words and phrases?




A Week of Worry

While some of you are reading this today, I am at the medical center to drop off a couple of vials of blood with the phlebotomists (wonderful word), meet with my new oncologist and then undergo an ultrasound scan to (gulp) determine if the chemo I've been taking for two months is doing what it is meant to do.

What that is, is to slow the growth of the cancer – it cannot cure the cancer - thereby giving me some number of extra months of healthy life.

Because the scan happens every two months, it is easy to forget about it for six or seven weeks and get on with everyday life.

But not this week.

My previous chemotherapy regimen failed at its job so I know what that conversation with the doctor is like.

This is my first scan since the new chemo began and I'm nervous. You might even say scared. How about frightened, terrified and unnerved?

They all apply and sometimes, this week, it had been hard not to cry. Anticipation is a bitch.

There is no dearth of advice on coping with what a couple of websites call “scanxiety” - itself a grossly inept attempt to make light of a serious health predicament.

Worse, the advice itself doesn't improve things. It ranges from surrounding oneself with positive people and thinking of scans as maintenance (clearly written by someone who never had cancer) to this deeply misleading nonsense:

”Even when we do find that cancer has spread, we can usually craft a plan to control the disease so it doesn’t continue to spread and cause more problems.”

Not true.

Which leaves me exactly nowhere except to tough it out. I wish it were not so but I'm pretty sure that a not small percentage of you, dear readers, have been exactly where I am right now. Somehow we survive the anticipation.

I'll let you know what the scan reveals.