I'm off to he VHL clinic today. I'm preparing for it in the way I've done for years. Reminding myself of the names of staff I'm likely to meet and writing out the questions I want to ask, the things I need to check and information I think I should impart.
I'm writing it all down in my little book that I've used for years too.
I've gone over old medical letters, checked my facts and dates, ensured I know what my ideal scenario would be given the situation I don't want.
I'm ready.
And, as with each year I will be ready to hear whatever news and be ready to cry. I have tissues.
I'm ready to leave the room and then think of the questions I wish I'd asked. I'm ready to make the polite jokes, do the polite effort of saying how my dad is and despite the fact it is far from fine, I'm ready to say, he's fine. I'm ready to add to the list and I'm ready to find out, have number 14 grown, is number 12 the same and this time I'm ready for them to tell me about my kidney cancer.
Will I get to keep living this life I've carefully protected and clung onto?
I'll find out soon
Well, I'll find out where I am no, because with VHL one day is just that and who knows what tomorrow will look like.
And that's true for every one on this planet, but people like me know it.
Really know it.
and
I
am
ready
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