Mundane duties today of housework and trying to get my newly decorated bathroom finished off so I can put all the contents back to its place. 

This weekend I should have been making room for my friends to come and stay over for a night of food, drink and laughter but unfortunately I’ve had to reschedule. That seems to be life st the moment, rescheduling or cancelling on plans. 

The one I can’t cancel or postpone is my annual biopsy test.

The postman brought my letter and I dreaded it as soon as I saw the postmark!  It I have two kids who need me so I really can’t put my head in the sand on this one. 

It’s my 5th biopsy. It feels like I’m playing Russian roulette and I’m waiting for the luck to run out before I’m told my biopsy ain’t clear. It sucks the soul out of me & I can’t fall apart every time because I’m too much of a stubborn bitch to let it rule my head but it will, I’ll be told if I don’t get the letter all will be clear and each time I get a letter. My hand shake when holding it, my breathing does this weird thing of it feels like I’m holding my breath but my chest is heaving with how fast it’s going. And so far, touch wood, the letter tells me everything is fine. 

I want it all gone. All ripped out. I hate being female. I’ve had my babies. I’m more than likely on my own for good now so I can’t ever see me getting pregnant again. 

It’s hard to stay positive when you’re a natural worrier. I’m like my daddy in the sense of if I prepare for the bad I’m somewhat ready for the news but I’ll freak out and breakdown and I can’t do that for the kids.

So the 14th August is my biopsy date. 

I’m. Bricking. It. 

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