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Fab dream this morning. CD was there and we were looking at an exquisite blood red lily of the morningstar kind, absolutely stunning in its beauty. It was large, growing under an overshadowing tree, and I wondered how it got enough light there to bloom into such an epic unforgettable flower.

I hope I never forget it.

Today, check up. The tumour's shrunk by a third so the drugs may make me feel terrible but they are working. Another ultrasound in 6 weeks time, plus what the surgeon calls a 'marker' added so that we don't lose sight of where the cancer actually is, in case it gets teeny tiny. This is something I can't tell Mum, she will genuinely worry I am under surveillance by MI6 tracking me across the Earth, probably from Blofeld's satellite. Then we just keep on the Letrozole til after the big hol for R's 50th, then back I come and it's time for business. I was peeved; after all, if the tumour shrinks so much it can't be detected, it can't be there, right? Apparently not the case. I harrumphed plenty until I read about micrometastasis. Well, OK. I still think it's poopy but... I didn't want radiotherapy either until the doc told me it cuts recurrence rates in half. The surgeon dismissed any issue with Covid. And here we are. And here I am too tired to work or think but quite relieved. Lordy, who'd have thought Oestrogen could cause so much bother?