There can be no better Christmas gift

‘All I want for Christmas are my two front teeth,” goes the ditty. But all I wanted was an IA laptop churning out columns by just giving it a subject.

As it turned out, my wish took on a more serious note. Universally there’s one word around which we inevitably skirt. Because the meaning fills us with dread. We prefer calling it by another name to soften the blow. The Big C is the common bypass.

The word came up in a skin specialist’s surgery. Two warts tested cancerous and needed the knife. Mine. Although small potatoes compared with the more serious life-ebbing ones suffered by so many, the word nevertheless left me dazed. Now I really have appreciation for the fear and trauma experienced by the ill-fated victims. I’ve survived the operation and thankfully the cancers were destroyed.

And it’s grateful thanks to the surgeon’s professional hands and the anaesthetist whose sedation prevented me feeling any pain during the sensitive procedure. I was conscious enough to hear the repartee between the theatre team. It was jolly entertaining.

They even touched on politics. When Ace’s name came up, I swear I felt an extra few tugs on the stitches to my nose.

OK, so they left me with a face reminiscent of Rocky Balboa, bloodied bandages adding to the frightening deep blue spectacle. But it’s a small price to pay for having the horrible disease expunged.

Over the years I’ve known numerous folk who suffered the disturbing news of cancer and in most cases they’ve come through it – but not after months of chemo or radium causing nausea and fatigue. I’ve always wondered how they were able to survive the relentless badgering to their bodies.

So I’ve stopped feeling sorry for myself because, after all, it’s only my looks compromised. My Heidi reckons I must thank my lucky stars I look like Rocky, not Frankenstein. One of the theatre sisters called me her “Pretty little Koala Bear”. Whether a term of endearment or she’s simply playing me, I wouldn’t know, but in the scary precinct of an operating theatre it sounded good. And I felt good.

Funny, the wish for a state-of-the-art laptop has receded, and I’m now quite happy to churn out 400 words with blood, sweat and tears. And a happy Christmas to you too.

Cliff Buchler.

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