I'm just back from the pub after having a drink with my cousin. He's down on a training course that's being held on the other side of the suburb and it was lovely to catch up.
It takes me away from work - which is a bloody good thing. If he hadn't rang to tee up a drink down my local I'd probably still be at it. Bit it's one of those late summer nights where the humidity is up around the 80s, and it's warm, and it is the perfect night to be sitting out in the beer garden with a vodka, lime and dry. Not working into the night is a good thing. I'm running out of puff anyway.
It also makes me think less about today's news. My doctor called with the results after having a small lump cut off my temple. It's come back as a pre-cancerous growth, tending to a squamous cell carcinoma. The margins weren't quite clean on what she took off, so for me, it's off to the plastic surgeon to have it looked at and managed. Basically, it's another hole in the head, which I need like a hole in the head. Of the good thing with skin cancers, you get them early and they give you little trouble Well, here's hoping. This one shouldn't be any trouble, but it needs to be tended to by an expert.
Both the skin cancers and the gall bladder run in the family. I rang to thank my mother when I found out about the latter (and to see how Bart was getting on).
But honestly, as I'm off to the surgeon to see about my gall bladder tomorrow, knowing that I'll be in for surgery in the not too distant future, with any luck, depending on the COVID surgery backlog.
I'm just a bit over doctors at the moment.
Oh well. It's getting older and life in general.
Just has to be done.
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