Since last year, there has remained a sore spot, painful upon urination, painful to the touch. Again, the journey to see my oncologist. Again the dreaded and oh so familiar diagnosis. Vulvar cancer.

Can I actually be getting used to this? Or is it a human reaction to insulate ourselves from too much trauma?

Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on your point of view, I am very familiar with the procedures, the pre-op, the post-op, the journey home, the recovery. Again, I elect for day surgery at the clinic and will recuperate at home.

Again, the oh so familiar surgical prep procedures. The déjà vu of awakening, the pain, the smells, the sounds, the efficient nursing staff. There's helping hands into my clothes, into the wheelchair, into the car. Homeward bound, dazed by drugs thankfully. Dozing, waking, dozing.

The oh so familiar slow journey into the house, up the stairs, exhausted... all of it all over again.

Again I rely on Ken for support and help. He is my fortress. He has been there every step of the way; his arm has been my help through all the horrific ordeals and all the private, behind closed doors events.

But wait, there is a difference!

By day 4, I know I'm in trouble. There's some infection. A journey back to Vancouver is just beyond my physical capabilities. Ken calls our friends and requests another supply of Colloidal Silver Water. Within a few hours I am drinking a few ounces and begin frequently bathing the surgical site. There is the well remembered cooling. Almost impossible to believe, by the next morning all infection is gone, as is most of the pain.

Time really does heal all wounds.