Monday 16th August. Arrive at the
Sit and sip water, hoping to take in a litre over the next hour. At 8am a doctor arrives, opens up the reception office, takes my details and then ushers me in for the scan. By 8.20 it’s over.
It pays to arrive early for scans as many people do not show up for their appointments, and so far I have always got in without a wait.
On the hopper bus back it feels good that the rest of the day is mine to play with, but reaching home feel sudden sadness, a kind of clutching grief, when I remember that the scan will be followed by a letter marked NHS, and a trip to a hot, crowded clinic for an appointment with the consultant who will deliver the results. The results if the near past is anything to go by, will be bad.
Those moments waiting for the consultant to pronounce, are like standing in the well of a court where they dispense capital punishment, staring at the disinterested faces of the jurors, waiting to hear whether you are guilty or not guilty. You suspect gloomily that it's a foregone conclusion.
Cancer patients have to do that again and again, for years.
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