Iām very annoyed that I have to go to the doctor next week; the appointment conflicted with my Paris trip and I am losing a day in France in favor of berating my recalcitrant GP. But it must be done: I am now three years overdue for one of my routine cancer tests. Mostly because I dislike the test.
I also dislike doctors, hospitals, and, well, having cancer.
This morning in the bath I remembered that when I started driving (the day it was legally possible, mostly because it was necessary to take myself to medical appointments) I had to wedge such things into my social routine.
It was normal to pick up assorted friends to go to a show, stop at the clinic on the way, tell everyone to wait for a bit, and pop in to have a couple dozen cancerous lesions sliced off my torso. Then back to the car without a word, and onward to see some random band.
From what I recall and what the more dependable witnesses report, I never mentioned what happened in the clinic, and certainly never let the whole stupid thing halt my schemes.
My behavior probably warped my personality, but what were the other options? Staying home, or crying? It was better by far to keep moving.