Celebrating 9 Months Sober

So, how to celebrate nine months totally alcohol free? Three quarters of a year!

I had been invited to a ladies lunch in Edinburgh. I usually avoid the whole 'ladies who lunch' scene, but this one was being attended by Princess Anne, who I've always had a bit of a girlie crush on. She's so wonderfully down to earth and horsey, despite the whole 'Mummy's the Queen' thing.

However, as regular readers will be aware, recent events conspired against me, and instead of dining with royalty I had my first session of radiotherapy.

I'm back to counting days. I have fifteen sessions over three weeks. Five days on, two days off.

Radiotherapy, it transpires, is a walk in the park compared to chemotherapy.

(I feel almost guilty about not doing the chemo thing. I can't meet the eyes of the ladies in the wigs and headscarves in the waiting room. I imagine they're thinking "look at the imposter over there, with the whole cancer-lite thing going on. Hah! Call that a treatment programme!?! Wimp!")

When it's your turn, you're ushered into a room which is dominated by this narrow bed fitted with arm restraints. It's like something out of Fifty Shades of Grey. Then two radiotherapists spend an age getting you into exactly the right position.

Meanwhile, you're topless, with both arms over your head, feeling like a spatchcocked chicken.

In order to line you up perfectly, they give you two permanent tattoos - one on either side of your boob. I was quite excited about this. I've always secretly wanted a tattoo.

"Can I choose the style and colour?" I asked. I was thinking dolphins.

"No. You get a blue dot, like everyone else," they replied, missing a fabulous opportunity to up-sell.

"Any more questions?"

Mr SM had asked me to see if they had any advice on how to fix our broken microwave. I was not convinced, however, that this would go down well.

Finally, when you're perfectly in position, they scurry out of the room and hide behind very thick glass so as not to get anywhere near the horribly dangerous rays which are firing at you from close range.

So, I celebrated nine months with a massive blast of radiation to the bottom left quadrant of the left boob. Not the way I would have planned it, but - on the upside - my final session is scheduled for 22nd December......

.......just in time for Christmas!

I'm not sending hugs this evening. Unless you're wearing lead clothing it'd be far too dangerous.

SM x