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Personal story
My Secret Blue Diary
Third Week of October, 2025 — Going Downward and Pulling Myself Back Up
Today I need to make a call.
I need to finish many other things: do the laundry, clean the apartment, cook, go to the salon to get my hair dyed, edit my novel, do my workout, check the kids’ homework.
Yet somehow, all those tasks dissolve in the red mist of the first one.
That call.
It will be in the evening, around seven. The doctor’s secretary will be there, ready with my PAP results. She’ll look through them and tell me if everything is all right.
I’ve been feeling quite mortal for the last few years. I guess it’s the age — the closer to menopause a woman is, the more uncomfortable diagnoses fall on her time and again (multiple fibroadenomas, please check every six months; cervical polypus, remove it once, and once again in two years’ time, and then tremble while waiting for PAP test results; IBS, please don’t eat this and don’t eat that, and please, keep calm; mood swings, try not to scream at your husband every two minutes and don’t get so touchy at every remark he throws at you, and… okay, enough for now!) — but as much as I’m comforted by the fact that it’s just…
