It’s exactly a year since I was in hospital, recovering from a six-hour operation to remove a cancerous tumour from my colon.
This means two things. One, that it’s Glastonbury weekend, which 12 months back I was watching from my adjustable bed wired up to a zillion tubes.
Hospital days are long, but the nights are even longer, and lying in that dark ward the noisy joy of Glastonbury was a welcome distraction.
The other, more haunting thing, is the onset of ‘scanxiety’.
As everyone who has cancer knows, this is the dread of the routine scan and what it might reveal. It messes with your head, removing a large dollop of rationality.
Last week was my first-year follow-up colonoscopy, and on the morning of the procedure I looked at the cherry tree in our garden. We’ve been blessed with a magnificent amount of bright red, sadly sour fruit this summer, and along with fretting about the scan I was wondering what to do with it all.
It seemed a shame to just leave the cherries dangling there for the pigeons to feed on, but I’m not a cherry pie kind of gal, nor a jam-maker.
But then the scanxiety kicked in. Would doing something constructive with the cherries mean the scan would reveal some new horror?
It’s exactly a year since I was in hospital, recovering from a six-hour operation to remove a cancerous tumour from my colon, writes Alexandra Shulman (above)
I now have no excuse not to try my hand at the jam or pie making, and there’s enough cherry vodka in the freezer to take the edge off my next bout of scanxiety
It’s obviously not clear headed, but in my mind, having the hubris to think it was worth making something out of the cherries would be tempting fate. In the end, common sense prevailed and I made a jar of cherry vodka before heading to the hospital.
Very fortunately, the scan was clear. I now have no excuse not to try my hand at the jam or pie making, and there’s enough cherry vodka in the freezer to take the edge off my next bout of scanxiety.
An at-home test could save you too
On the subject of medical testing, my cancer was picked up by the DIY bowel cancer test mailed out by the NHS. Last week the Government announced it would be sending at-home cervical cancer tests to women who’ve never attended smear tests.
My gut feeling is that most people who are too queasy to attend the testing already on offer are unlikely to do their own, but perhaps not having someone else prod around your vagina might be an encouragement.
At any rate I would urge everyone who receives one to take up the offer. It could save your life.
The terrible curse of White Lotus
‘That’s the plan.’ Those three words haven’t sounded the same since Season 3 of HBO’s The White Lotus.
Anyone who’s seen the moving scene between the emotionally damaged Rick and the younger, optimistic hippie-chick Chelsea, when Rick finally agrees that their destiny is to be together for the rest of their lives, will remember those words. ‘That’s the plan,’ he says to her astonishment. Next thing we know they are both murdered.
Now whenever anyone says ‘that’s the plan’, it’s that scene with Walton Goggins in his tropical print shirt and Aimee Lou Wood’s toothy grin, that comes to mind, and with it a sense of impending doom.
‘That’s the plan.’ Those three words haven’t sounded the same since Season 3 of HBO’s The White Lotus
My lack of curiosity didn’t kill the cat!
Time was running out to find someone to take care of our cat Coco when we went away recently, so for the first time in 18 years we searched online for help.
We found TrustedHousesitters, which pairs owners with sitters. The process was similar to how I imagine online dating would be – a shot in the dark.
I plumped for a sweet Canadian boy with five-star reviews who I only spoke to on FaceTime briefly before his arrival.
The night before the trip I had a total panic. Despite being a woman who returned to work leaving her four-month-old son in the care of a nanny who’d only arrived the night before, abandoning Coco to a complete stranger felt more worrying.
I realised that I knew nothing about the Canadian other than
the basic information provided online. All I had was his mobile telephone number. I didn’t even know his surname.
I had visions of the subsequent news stories: ‘Former Vogue editor’s home is raided and cat killed by man she gave the keys to without bothering to learn his name.’
As it happened there was no need for the front-page fears and we returned to a very happy cat. My son survived his nanny back then, too.
Shining example of our lack of urgency
Arhitect Norman Foster’s plans for a memorial to the late Queen in St James’s Park look splendid, in particular the glass balustrade bridge which will shimmer beautifully over the lake.
But why does everything have to take so long? The final designs aren’t going to be passed until next year and there is no completion date scheduled.
With this country’s tragic lack of urgency when it comes to getting things done, there’s every chance we could be well into the next decade before this beautiful new parkscape emerges.
It’s not only the Kardashian clan at the Bezos wedding who are kitted out in mini dresses – they’re springing up everywhere. After years of women in wafting midis, the mini is back. Pictured: Kendall Jenner leaving in Venice for Jeff Bezos and Lauren Sanchez Bezos’ wedding
Mysterious return of the mini dress
It’s not only the Kardashian clan at the Bezos wedding who are kitted out in mini dresses – they’re springing up everywhere. After years of women in wafting midis, the mini is back.
The famous hemline index – that long hems are fashionable in economically tough times while short skirts thrive in economic prosperity – isn’t exactly describing what we’re experiencing.
But perhaps fashion knows something we don’t? Now wouldn’t that be fine.
