By Benny Davis
SOME readers may have read my `retirement´ announcement in a previous Olive Press issue. Nearly 90 now and suffering from cancer, it seemed the sensible thing to do, but after receiving a plea from the newspaper owner, Jon Clarke, to carry on as long as possible, I called for a family conference. The verdict – stay strong, go with Jon
So, I´m back, but before I get going again with my zany mumblings, I have to mention my admiration for fellow suffers I meet every day in the cancer treatment clinic. Mostly, ladies wearing head scarves, wigs, and hats to hide the loss of their crowning glory. All greet me with smiles, waves, as if attending a friendly tea party, not a sad face between these lovely people who have retained their personalities and dignities.
This is another reason I am not giving up. If they can do it, as the new boy on the block, so can I.
My treatment is solely Radiology at present. Lying flat under a huge robot machine that has two parts playing hide and seek over my body. Clicking, whirring, and making other strange noises, it sometimes hovers above, then takes a deep dive to the right whilst a second dramatically appears from the left, as if acting out a strange ritual tribal dance. I always expect to see a line of miniature Benny´s marching out of the monsters base at the end of each session, looking a bit like ´Minions.´
Should a patient be cleared of cancer, a hanging bell in the waiting area is clanged like hell by the winner. I recently witnessed this miraculous result when fellow patients and relatives heaped flowers, greetings cards, applause, and cheers on the recipient together with lots of selfies. One of the most genuine and happy occasions I have ever been privileged to attend.
That´s it folks! I promise not to mention any of this `Holby City´ stuff again. Back to Benny´s rubbish in the next issue when I introduce you to my blow-up sex doll, `Dolly.´