First let me say that nothing I am going to write detracts AT ALL from what I said about how wonderful the NHS is. I told you I would milk it, and I intend to, but none of the little hiccoughs actually made any difference to the care I received.
I was given the diagnosis by my wonderful consultant on the Friday. It was, of course, a shock, particularly since they did not know what the cancer was (and still don't). Foolishly, I had gone alone, convinced that I had a bog standard adenocarcinoma of the breast and that I could handle that. I rather fell apart, I'm afraid. They were exemplary, explaining, gentling, leaving a nurse with me at all times. By the time I left to come home I had a date and time for my CT scan (Monday at 13.15, carefully written down for me by the breast care nurse so that I would not be confused), a date and time for the results of the CT scan, and a date for surgery.
On the way home, I phoned a friend we shall designate as R. I needed somebody there. He was there within half an hour. We played outdoing the gallows humour all afternoon and evening, and had a rather boozy supper. However, before all that, about an hour after I got home, the phone went. It was the CT department.
"We need to make an appointment for your CT scan" said the voice at the other end.
"But I already have an appointment", I said, and read out the date and time on my piece of paper, which I had already shown to R who had agreed to take me.
"No you don't" was the firm reply. "I have nothing on the system. We can see you on Monday at 16.30"Having confirmed with R that he could make that, I agreed and amended the details. However, you will understand that my brain was not at its best. Although I put 16.30 into my diary, my head registered 6p.m. Monday duly arrived and I checked my diary. I was amazed at the time I had put down. That wasn't right. I was sure it was 6. Eventually, I rang the department at about 2p.m. to double check.
"But we were expecting you half an hour ago" said the voice.I have never been so grateful that I had had a witness. Otherwise I would have thought that I was going mad. Happily, they could do me at 16.30 and it all went ahead.
Things moved on. The only thing I as still waiting for was the pre-operative assessment appointment. Eventually, it turned up: for 08.15 the day before surgery. I am not good in the mornings, and the thought of having to be at the hospital that early the day before I had to be there at 0700 for the surgery was uninviting. I rang up. Would it be possible for me to go later in the day, since I live alone and getting there that early was going to present a problem?
"I'm afraid not" said the voice at the other end. "You need to be at the Gynae. clinic since you are having a gynae. operation". PANIC.
"But I'm not" I bleated. "At least, not unless they forgot to tell me something."
"Oh. Just a minute." Long and scary pause. "Sorry, no that was our mistake. Yes, come at 1100 instead."It was at that point that I decided to arrive for surgery with a large placard saying 'Please only operate on my right breast'. Needless to say, this proved unnecessary.
The pre-operative period is a roller-coaster ride: up one minute, down the next. You need lots of company and friends, but no fuss. You need a lot of sympathy, but none of it overt. You also need space, and peace and quiet. I also needed to pray. Above all, I needed people to take charge. I needed them to tell me what came next. The most reassuring words to me, spoken by many a professional in the last few weeks, are "I am going to treat you just like any other patient, because that's my job."
Once again I say, the NHS is a treasure. Do not let us lose it.
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