Found out yesterday that the thing I'd convinced myself was cancer is, as the consultant put it, "nothing to worry about". I'd built up a fantasy scenario in my head where I was told it was very advanced and then telling my friends and family who'd be shocked and upset, but supportive. How I'd be a trouper and die bravely. After I'd gone people would be talking about what a lovely woman I had been. All utter rubbish, of course, but this isn't the first time I've thought I wanted to be dying or, even better, dead.