January 14 Anyone for tuna?

I haven’t told mum or dad or my big sister about the 'borderline' news. The consultant has lined me up for a second appointment after she gets the results back from a pathology report (don't pathologists deal with dead people, I want to ask). At the second meeting, I will be told more about what it all means and what they will try and do about it, so there doesn’t seem any point in worrying the folks until I know more. But the diagnosis is still flipping around in my brain, as Bump is in my belly, refusing to lie still and settle, refusing to calm down. So I tell my X, who I am still very close to, even though I’m loathe to as his brother not so long ago died from cancer, and his mother a few months before that. Bad luck comes in threes? Let’s hope not.
I don’t know whether it was my sister or me who cracked the first joke about it. Maybe me. Bad Welsh accent again.
'Do you wanna tuna salad? Or a tumour salad?'
'Ah, I loves a bit of tumour on my salad.'
Sorry - desperate times and all.