Back to work today. A bit of a surreal experience. I’m there, doing the usual training sessions with the others, well, actually, with an assistant head, knowing that I wouldn’t be there to put anything into action. Just as well anyway though, given that I couldn’t remember ANY of the stuff that we were being quizzed on, in front of an assistant head. She rather nicely (patronisingly?) told me at the end that I knew more than I thought I did.
Had to watch the (admittedly very nice) supply sitting at my desk, using my room, shifting my stuff around (not that I’m territorial at all, of course). Then I checked my / her year 12 class list. ALL of my top set year 11 pupils in my / her group. That I won’t get to teach until bloody February or March. Fucking, fucking cancer. First I lose my lovely year 10/11’s and then I get an amazing sixth form group, including one of my favourite clowns and because of a few random cells I miss out.
And my bloody stupid boob is reforming its seroma / fluid retention. Despite my constantly wearing my crappy, constricting, hot, restrictive sports bra as ordered by S.
Appointment with the oncologist next week. Roll on chemo. Facial bloating and weight gain. But as was so thoughtfully pointed out (actually, it was very funny and very true) to me at the weekend, I need to stop being shallow and just be pleased that my life has been saved. And I am. Of course.
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