I had a bit of a bimble around Barangaroo today, soaking up big winter skies. It’s my annual medical oncologist appointment tomorrow. Lotsa questions that I don’t want to ask unless I’m guaranteed good prognosis answers (as in: “you’ll never, ever, ever, ever, have cancer ever, ever, ever, again. Ev-ah!”). That’s not gonna happen, cos that would make The Shitshow a lot less shit-like. I will never be told I’m in remission and that I will not get breast cancer again as teen-tiny micro breast cancer cells may be lingering in other parts of my body ready to guest-star again. That’s not to say I’ll get bad news tomorrow, it’s just that the nature of a post-breast cancer diagnosis is that I won’t get the magic R-rating. So I’m gunning for an NED (no evidence of disease). It’s a bit head-spinny, but it’s the reality of the “new me” cliche (a.k.a. ‘Me v3: The DIEP Edition’). Coming Soon: ‘Me v3: The DIEP NED Ed.’ Je suis an abbreviation.