Back in November 2025, about a week after I got out of hospital, visitors started queuing round the block to \u201csee how I was\u201d. At the time I was feeling less like a person and more like one of those fish in the dentist\u2019s tank in Finding Nemo.
I half expected someone to tap the glass while I drifted slowly past and whisper, \u201cLook – that one\u2019s the recovering one.\u201d Meanwhile I\u2019m just hovering there thinking, just keep swimming\u2026 just keep swimming\u2026
Determined to prove I was once again a functioning member of society I agreed to \u201cgo down the pub\u201d to continue \u201cbeing observed\u201d. My brain was running on dial-up, but everyone else seemed keen on polite conversation, so, in a burst of catastrophically misplaced people-pleasing, I went along with the plan.
And there, during an average pub lunch, that\u2019s where IT happened.
“The Wrong Conversation” lit up in my head like a neon sign. Before I could stop it, out it came. It was out there. It had legs. And worse still, I HADN\u2019T EVEN NOTICED. Reaction from the table was minimal, only furthering my misplaced sense of pride that my public \u201cappearance\u201d was going swimmingly. I would have patted myself on the back, but my stitches had made it abundantly clear that any attempt at a twisting motion would not be tolerated.
I didn\u2019t see the tumbleweed speeding past the table, or the crow who flew in, ordered a packet of pork scratchings and left just as quickly. Surely once the lights started to flicker and the entire pub went up in flames I should have suspected something was \u201cup\u201d?
But I just didn\u2019t, OK? I didn\u2019t even notice that someone at the table was giving me vibes like I\u2019d just strangled their budgie.
Alas, I soon discovered that \u201calleged budgie strangling\u201d had not been my only offence that day. Apparently, by merely opening my mouth, I had managed to press the large red button marked \u201cReveal Sinister Master Plan.\u201d I stood exposed like some low-rent Dr Evil, quietly plotting a grand Machiavellian scheme aimed at the downfall – or, if schedules were tight, at least the moderate inconvenience – of an entirely innocent individual.
DOOF\u2026 DOOF\u2026 DOOF\u2026 DOOF\u2026 DOOOF\u2026 DUDUDUDU\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Low rent? Harsh but fair.
Plotting? Wildly optimistic.
Master plan? No chance.
In the days after surgery, I could barely string together a coherent sentence, let alone mastermind anyone\u2019s downfall. My most ambitious scheme was putting on matching socks without needing a lie-down afterwards. And frankly that was pushing it.
I\u2019m now 4 months into my recovery and as it turns out, it\u2019s been far less of a graceful comeback and more of a slightly wobbly comedy tour. One minute you\u2019re embracing all the positives, like getting dressed and being allowed out of the house alone, the next, you\u2019ve accidentally launched a conversational nuclear warhead and are left wondering how on earth that happened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Messy. Awkward. Ridiculous.
But it\u2019s also oddly impressive. After all, if you can survive an 8-hour surgery, a burning pub and being mistaken for a budget-Bond-villain in the same week, you\u2019re probably doing alright.
So don\u2019t be too harsh on yourself, OK?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Back in November 2025, about a week after I got out of hospital, visitors started queuing round the block to \u201csee how I was\u201d. At the time I was feeling less like a person and more like one of those fish in the dentist\u2019s tank in Finding Nemo. I half expected someone to tap the […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":277036254,"featured_media":1508,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"advanced_seo_description":"","jetpack_seo_html_title":"","jetpack_seo_noindex":false,"jetpack_seo_schema_type":"","_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_wpcom_ai_launchpad_first_post":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[787859121],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-811","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-blog"],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/ph50vH-d5","jetpack-related-posts":[{"id":92,"url":"https:\/\/adhd-and-me.blog\/?p=92","url_meta":{"origin":811,"position":0},"title":"Making friends in odd places – how my ADHD brain helped me cope with cancer","author":"Zozo@adhdandme","date":"March 1, 2026","format":false,"excerpt":"Having been late-diagnosed at 53 with ADHD, at 55 I was diagnosed with breast cancer.I took a deep breath, but strangely, my world didn\u2019t collapse. 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A Yoda-like creature sets up permanent residence in the frontal lobe. He perches in the doorway between thought, speech, and career suicide. He guards against inappropriate observations and reckless thoughts. He gently shakes his little green head. 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Some people collect stamps; I collect emotional reactions to road layouts. Give me a slip road and I\u2019ll give you a TED Talk. The A3\/M25 junction? Stunning. The Hindhead Tunnel? Please don\u2019t start me unless you\u2019ve cleared your afternoon. 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