Page 84 of While I’m Still Here

But I still love you

Also spectacular timing for telling me

Please don’t get fired. xx

Danny moves to the door, but before he unlatches the lock, he kisses me again, and I feel myself melt into him. How has my life turned into this in just two weeks?

Murderous tits, Danny Clarke, a cancer support group that has far too much pink but also has Marcus Bennett, and somewhere across town, Colin Fletcher is jealous as fuck but dealing with it for me.

Chapter 14

Monday, 6:40 p.m.

Cancer: Still fucking here.

Boyfriends: 1.

Boyfriends told I love them: 1.

Timing of declaration: Fucking appalling.

Work colleagues currently standing far too close: 1.

Work colleagues, I've wanted for nearly three years: Same one.

Secret cheating scandals: 0.

Conversations I never imagined having with Colin: Several thousand, apparently.

Things postponed: Fewer.

Workplace professionalism: Dead.

Sensible women who don't shag Danny Clarke: Probably loads, but I’m apparently not one of them.

Chapter 15

FUCK CANCER, SPECIFICALLY

Beatrice ‘Bea’ James

Some things in life should come with dates. Birthdays, weddings, holidays, the annual MOT reminder that arrives specifically to inform you that owning a car was a financial mistake. Even funerals come with dates because apparently grief requires administrative organisation and somebody has to decide whether everyone is eating tiny sandwiches afterwards. There are calendars for the things we look forward to and calendars for the things we dread, but until approximately four minutes ago, it had never occurred to me that somewhere in the NHS there would be a woman sitting at a computer whose job involved finding an available Monday on which I could have both of my breasts removed.

Monday, 9 November.

Twelve days from now.

I stare at the piece of paper Claire has placed in front of me and wonder whether the date is supposed to make this better. Perhaps uncertainty has been the problem all along. Perhaps now that I know exactly when my tits are being evicted, I can become wonderfully organised about it. I could put it in my phone calendar between pay electricity bill and Susan's birthday, maybe give it a cheerful little colour and set a reminder for the night before.

Tomorrow: DOUBLE MASTECTOMY, 8:00 a.m.

Don't forget: phone charger, dressing gown, dignity.

Actually, dignity can stay home. It hasn't attended a single medical appointment so far.

“Both?”

The word comes out much smaller than I intended.