I wouldn’t have believed it myself that you, the doctor who does my colonoscopies and gastroscopies, would become my favourite, but it’s true. And now you’re leaving the UK to fulfill your doctor-dreams in the U.S. I can’t live without you. This may sound metaphorical, over-dramatic, and creepy, but I’m not convinced any of those are true. (Although if I am diabolically dependent, I might not be the best judge.) Let me prove to you why my devotion is perfectly placed. From the beginning, you treated both my husband and me with respect. Many doctors make us patients earn it, which I understand, but it’s hard work. We’re already sick.…

Lumps and Bumps update: It’s dangerous, this thing I am about to do. Maybe even reckless. I’m writing about a new diagnosis on the day of the new diagnosis. Some writers give the advice to never write about something while you feel emotionally charged. They say we should wait until the emotions are a memory. This is to protect your emotional well-being and not write something you will regret. Sod it. I’m throwing caution to the wind and am inviting you into my vulnerabilities. Get out now if you’re at a pool party and are soaking up the sun, friendship, and pina coladas. My precariousness state can wait.  Before I…

Today is the day. If you’ve heard any of my recent podcast interviews as of late, you’ve probably heard me talk about this day – this indulgent day of self-pity and grief. I need a day like this – a day to sleep and cry and walk and scream at the cows – every six or eight months. Sometimes the cow is a friend. Wait. Nope. That was a (terrible) metaphor. Sorry Kath. You are definitely not a cow. Anyway, yesterday I hit the wall. First off, thanks to pesky symptoms and ongoing disease, medical appointments have been flooding in. After sorting some things at my GP’s office a week…