Tuesday, July 12, 2016


Never count your chickens, as they say. Don't speak too soon. Make no assumptions. Hubris.

I am feeling the Flying Fickle Finger of Fate zooming over my head. My doctor just called; Women's College Hospital told her there's an "asymmetry" in my left breast and I need to come back for an ultrasound.

This has happened once before, I hasten to add, and I'm still here, with my body so far intact. But it's scary nonetheless. I looked at the x-ray pictures and thought I saw nothing, but then I'm not a diagnostician. An asymmetry. Well, I've never been symmetrical. Symmetry is too bourgeois.

Last month, my friend Louise Edwards, in her late sixties, extremely healthy, a Y-going vegetarian yoga nut, was told she had a brain tumour and died three weeks later. So that finger is very much on my mind.

It's a good thing my kids don't read this blog. I'm telling you so I can avoid telling them; they have enough on their plates without worrying about Mama, particularly when there might be nothing to worry about. And in fact, I have now made a resolution for myself: no point worrying. Que sera sera. So I will put it from my head till next Tuesday, when I go back.

But in the meantime, I will relish even more the perfection of this July day, the flowers, the birds, the ... the two bright yellow Bell ladders in my backyard, as they inch toward burying the wires.


  1. Keep cherishing the world. My thoughts are with you. Courage!

  2. Thank you, Theresa. I will. And I am glad to have you on my team. Moving right along, she said briskly, and poured another glass of rosé.