T minus 365 days and counting

Last night Jason and I celebrated what we’re calling our -1 anniversary. In just one year from April 18th, we will make the commitment to spend the rest of our lives together. In recognition, Jason sent me a beautiful bouquet of flowers at work, which generated many queries about it being my birthday, and spawned a lot of “ahhs”, especially from the female patients, after I explained its significance. It seems that with all we’ve gone through thus far, it will mainly be a formality, but a much celebrated and awaited one at that.

Flying Fantasies

This past week Hamilton has been invaded by a multitude of balloons flying over the city morning and evening. It is part of the Balloons over Waikato event, a free to the public annual event bringing balloonists from all over the world. This year’s theme was “Flying Fantasies”, which brought in some interesting shapes, including Darth Vader from Belgium, The Nightmare House from Brazil, and The Little Pirate from Tennessee in the states. Fortunate for us, the balloons launched at the lake directly next to our house, so each morning we were woken by oddly shaped clouds shadowing our house and the sounds of petrol igniting. The festival culminated in the Night Glow at the University, in which all the participating balloons light up in the night sky. Jason and I decided to venture to this portion of the festival, along with half the city. Taking the “special events” bus, we were quickly joined by a busload of other attendees. It was quite a shock to see this many people present, and quickly dissolved any thoughts we had of eating when we noticed the food lines snaking back several hundred people. So, we joined the thousands of others and stood watching the pre-nightglow events, including a trapeze artist hanging down from a balloon, and the “Egg a Day” balloon fry one of his own eggs when the balloonist accidentally misaimed the petrol, scorching the bottom of is balloon. Oops! Then it was show time for the other balloons,as they slowly inflated and lit themselves up with their petrol flames, coordinated to the sounds of scary music. Fairly impressive, I have to say, although my attempts at capturing them on film were not. The night finished with a fabulous fireworks display, then a rapid dash back to the bus to beat the crowds home.

The Tumors of our Lives

I hate the word tumor. We try to make it sound innocuous in medicine, as if it implies only a growth and nothing more serious. We all know we’re kidding ourselves to think otherwise, both patients and doctors. Yes, occasionally it’s a benign growth that can easily be taken out, but usually not. Tumors are the least favorite aspect of my life as a GP. I hate thinking about them, in respect to cancer, I hate potentially missing one in a patient, and I certainly hate when I get an urgent fax from the local radiologist showing they’ve found one on a routine scan. Such was my fate on Friday afternoon. Then, the inevitable question comes, when do I tell the patient? Jason and I have had several discussions about “the Friday afternoon diagnosis”. He comes from the perspective of a son whose father had cancer, and I come from the perspective of someone who has to deliver the news. Yet, we always come to the same conclusion that it’s better to know sooner then later and allow the information to digest. Unfortunately, no matter when you deliver the news, it never takes away that nauseous feeling, for both doctor and patient, of dropping a time bomb on someone’s life.