Yesterday, I posted a rather bad story, written in haste, and autobiographical (ish). Let me explain.
Two days ago, I noticed for the umpteenth time a lesion on my toe, and suddenly decided it was a malignant melanoma. I'm not given to hypochondria, but just occasionally I indulge, which is what I did this week.
Several terrifying Googlings later, I was probably going to be dead within five years. I would lose a leg first, though, so we would have to buy a bungalow. But wait. How would I go house hunting with only one leg? And how would John, who is fit but quite a bit older than I am, manage? And what about child no.4's wedding next year? Would I miss that? Could the Mother of the Bridegroom attend the wedding with only one leg (I wouldn't have had time to get used to my prosthetic one). And what about riding? I know an amazing woman with one leg, who rides, but I am not an amazing woman. I can't survive without riding. I just can't.
And then there are my kids, who've already lost one parent. While they're all grown up, I like to think they still need me. And the granddaughter who is " going to marry young, because I want you to be there, Granny" (aaaah). What about her, not to mention all the others?
But....the doctor was very kind and reassuring, so I haven't got a malignant melanoma after all (phew), and I went cheerfully on my way, feeling grateful for all the things I ought to be grateful for, and really quite jolly.
But I did look both ways before I crossed the road.