Following my post this morning concerning the tragic loss of the young lad in Solomon Islands I coincidentally had a chat with a good friend and learned her husband has been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. He is facing six months of chemo and all the uncertainty that such a diagnosis engenders. That sucks. As I was leaving work I casually mentioned to the boss that this had not been a very good day and told her the bad news I had received during the course of it.
She wondered what the third thing might be. That third thing. Bad news comes in threes. Back to the magical rule of three. The superstition that I first wrote about back when this blog was entitled “Thrice Hanged”.
Of course, I am not superstitious. That is, I don’t believe these things have any validity or power in the real world. Nonetheless I throw salt over my shoulder, touch wood, make holes in egg shells, and don’t open umbrellas inside, as well as a committing a few other laughable practices as part of a series of rituals I learned at my Grandmother’s knee long before I learned my catechism. As I might say “Lord help us” on hearing some bad news. I know, intellectually, that these things have no power, save that they are strangely comforting.
Odd isn’t it.
I should hardly have been surprised to find in my letterbox a letter from the Katanning medical practice saying that my doctor would like me to attend so we can discuss my latest test results. A mere coincidence of course, but the last thing he had said was that he would only call me in if something was wrong.
Bad news comes in threes.
Now I am NOT worried about this at all, I assure you. I am merely remarking on the coincidence. My liver lipids are probably up and I may need to take an extra pill or two.