Second Helpings

Bad News Travels Fast

I have heard and read that once you turn sixty things start to go pear-shaped and you hear nothing but bad news. I think I've been rehearsing that scenario for quite a long time, but this past week has really brought it home, even though I still have six days left in my fifties, God willing. Without sounding like a doom and gloom merchant I'm beginning to wonder if any glad tidings will ever reach my ears again.

Last week I found out one of my gals has been diagnosed with cancer, but until she has undergone a biopsy what type and whether treatable will remain unknown. She still hopes to join my burpday bash however.

At the weekend my niece, who has recently started a relationship with a man she believed may be Mr Right at long last, was badly let down and discovered a lot of untruths about him which indicate he is definitely Mr Wrong, in more ways than one.

Hot on the heels of this I received a phone call informing me one of my old work colleagues had passed away so had to jiggle my whole week's appointments and plans round to attend yet another funeral.

On Tuesday my nephew's partner went for her first scan only to be informed she had miscarried, so sis won't be joining the grandma's club after all. Not yet anyway, but Tamsen is 38 so time isn't on her side. We'll keep everything crossed for the future.

Yesterday I received a note from a friend I'd invited to my evening burpday party to say she couldn't make it as she's undergoing treatment for breast cancer.

So all in all it's been a very upsetting and stressful week, making me feel rather guilty for planning silly and frivolous burpday celebrations which are shallow trivia in the great scheme of things.

But, to quote George Harrison, life goes on within you and without you, but I'm starting to wonder if I'd have been better off sitting quietly at home for my sixtieth, contemplating my navel and the meaning of life. I doubt I'd discover either however.