Craic On

I’m still living season 1 of my live streaming dark comedy “my left breast”.  It’s a cracking little mini-series that has now been running for three months and promises to keep on running for at least another eight. I really hope that there is never a season 2. In the drama so far, I have given up a big old chunk of me that I thought I could never live without. It turns out that having a lumpectomy is a bit like having a bite out of the peach, or so I was told at the big reveal, that happened accidentally while I was getting out of the shower. Having your lymph nodes out is a bit more of a challenge. Every time I pick up a knife to chop carrots, I am met by cries of “Noooo” as my nearest and dearest lunge at me for fear I should cut myself, get an infection and die, or worse, that my arm cannot take it and swells to epic proportions that will cause me to moan.  I have given up my lifelong approach to checking the state of the blade, by running my thumb along it. The Son, even took my knife and fork out of m