For the (wow I’ve already lost track so fill in blank) day, the weather in London has been absolutely, positively supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. I don’t think I saw a single cloud today and that is something else considering how the wind blows things across this island.

We had a mellow day. My big event was walking to Hampstead for a polish change, a medical necessity to help strengthen my nails (sort of hard hit by the chemo drugs). Plus it gives a bald girl a lift. A little colour is always good.

I slathered on SPF 50 and put on the bare minimum of clothing, having worn my parka just last week! (Do you think that warranted an exclamation point, or what is overkill?) A black GAP body tank top, my H&M striped miniskirt, flip-flops and an apple-print headscarf (also H&M). I’d post a pic but I am in my pyjamas now and that train has left the station.

Then I hoofed it up the hill to the Beauty Boutique on Flask Walk. I love this place because it is low-key, friendly, they know who I am and act normal toward me. How nice.

With good weather comes skimpy clothing. People of all shapes and sizes partake, and there were indeed some eye-catching ensembles this afternoon.

The thing I noticed most was how everyone’s tits were out. Lots of tank tops, bustiers, revealing sundresses, you name it. A little sunshine and all hell broke loose. The women of north London were practically serving them up on a plate.

Lots and lots of cleavage. And bouncing scoops of flesh.

As I mentioned in “One to Go,” after chemo on Thursday I saw the radiation oncologist. She warned that there was a good chance the radiation would foul up the reconstruction on my right side. Nothing to be done about that but wait and hope for the best. Expect the worst.

I am not gonna lie. I ain’t thrilled about this. But it wasn’t new information. It just sort of sucked to hear it again when I am about to kick chemo’s ass and embark on the next phase. Got to hand it to the docs, though, they are on the ball. Yesterday I got my entire radiation schedule e-mailed to me, with times and everything. It’s on my iCal, waiting to be crossed off.

I just hope that at the end of the day I won’t have too many complications. Radiation has what my reconstruction surgeon calls “the bystander effect.” For every one bad cell that you are targeting, it destroys or alters about a billion healthy cells. This is too bad. But Das ist so.

Having implant-only based reconstruction surgery following (or prior to) radiation can be problematic. Your skin acts different, the blood supply is affected and you are more prone to bleeding, infections and capsular contracture. Capsular contracture is when scar tissue forms around the implant and sort of squeezes it. It can cause the implant to be hard and/or misshapen. And sometimes further surgery is required, including eventually removing the implant.

I don’t really want to be an Amazon.

I’ll tell you what, though. If that shit happens, if that is my lot, then I’ll take it over the cancer.  I’d rather be an unwitting Amazon than have a great set of reconstructed boobs for two years and then find out I have a recurrence in my chest wall.

If that shit happens, I will become Katniss (from The Hunger Games, people) and take up the bow and arrow (although it is reputed that the Amazons had their left breast removed not their right, so that they could shoot arrows and throw spears more freely, despite being depicted with both breasts in artwork).

I will admit that it is not my first choice, and it would definitely cramp my fashion style. However, sometimes you have to make a sacrifice in order to kill it. And my reconstruction surgeon has more than one trick up his sleeve. So we’ll play it by ear. And meanwhile I will continue to watch the parade of large, jiggly buzzies romping up and down the high street.

An unruly sea to which I not so long ago belonged.