I didn't have the heart to tell you

I've known for quite a while that things haven't been right, you just know don't you? Speaking to and seeing various medical bods, I knew in the summer that I would have to have major surgery. I met my surgeon on 20 August who told me as much and talked me thru the procedure in some detail. He told me then that he would like to see me 'sooner rather than later.' Although he explained that I was in no imminent danger, my condition will only get worse and left unattended will result in death. That kind of focuses the mind.

We all know about the seven and a half million people currently sitting on various NHS waiting lists so I had no real expectation of being seen this side of the new year. My surgeon, however, had other plans. He said that all things being equal he saw 12 weeks as being realistic. His PA rang me yesterday: my surgeriy is scheduled for 6 December.

Apologies for my previous vague and ambiguous stabs at trying to tell you  something was 'up'. But until I'd got a concrete date I didn't know how to play this. Thus far, I've been drip feeding information to close friends and family on a need to know basis. So, I guess, this is me coming out. I've been told that I'll be in hospital for five days, gradually working towards a full recovery in three months. Just writing this down has been cathartic. Message ends. 

 ❤️

I'll keep writing until I go in to hospital (it keeps me sane, you know that); December's Photo Challenge will still happen and that will tie things up quite neatly - two full years of your wonderful photographs (thank you for all the sunrises and sunsets you've being sending me). The photo at the top of the page was taken last night, minutes before I got rid of the goatee. I started growing it in August and said to myself I'd shave it off only when I got a date for my surgery. J x