annanotbob2's Diaryland
Diary
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Meh
13/2/24
Honestly, if I’d made it up I wouldn’t have believed it. I can’t remember if I wrote about having an annual medical review, but if not, I had one, because I’m on the mental health list and they keep an eye on our bodies too. I asked for a check of all my weird skin stuff as it’s been about a year since I was last checked for lesions and I always seem to have loads. Right now I have a weird blodge on my arm, mostly brown with a couple of darker bits, that feel a bit lumpy.
Today I saw the new skin specialist they have at the surgery and as soon as he saw this thing on my arm he said he was glad I’d come in as he didn’t like the look of it. Out came the weird magnifying gadget, with different lenses and all that. He looked at it through different lenses then said it had to be removed as a matter of urgency. When I asked what that meant in today’s world he told me that he was referring me to the hospital and that if I hadn’t got an appointment within two weeks, to get back to him and he’d get on it for me.
I mean, obviously I’m glad, relieved, really fucking relieved, but I sat in my car and cried and cried for Barb, for dear lovely Barb, who should have been looked after just like that. I never really believed she’d be allowed to die, in the United States of all places, because I believed the bullshit it puts out, that it’s the best place in the world. Leader of the free world. They wouldn’t go letting citizens die of curable diseases, but they did, they really fucking did. And not enough people were outraged by it. Too many seemed to think, well, she didn’t have proper insurance, so what else was gonna happen?
Today, I didn’t think my thing was really going to be anything nasty. I’d thought the doc would just say, no, it’s OK, just a mole and I’d say sorry for wasting your time and he’d say no, always get these things checked. But it didn’t go like that. And on the day after Barb’s birthday.
Now I’m putting it back in the box and not worrying about all the stories in the press about people not getting the treatment they need and all the consequences because it’ll go how it fucking goes.
Before that was writing group where I took in some copies of Hopper’s Nighthawks and invited the group to give names to one or more of the figures at the counter, to consider whether they knew each other, to think about how they’d got there and where they were going. As ever, we all wrote about completely different characters, in different moods, wild, really good – made us all laugh with the pleasure of it. I took one of my characters, Ida, the grandmother (stupid name – from the generation of my grandparents, but she’s stuck with it now) and put her there, in the US when she was young with her awful fucker of a husband. I was pleased with it and will write it up but not tonight.
12:23 a.m. - 14.02.24
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