At
this stage however it is all so overwhelming. For somebody who has never engaged
with the NHS in any way, bar having a baby, this is all new unchartered territory
which I have explored only with my mother at close quarters but even then for a
woman of 83 she’s done pretty well at steering well away from the inner
workings of the NHS – just dabbling on the outer edges with regular
appointments to see the doctor to confirm she’s still demented and to get her
toe nails cuts all of which I take her to. God what a glamorous life I lead.
Who’d have thought it all those partying, intoxicated, crazy days and nights would
end like this… the selfish, feckless girl who just (allegedly) cared about
herself and her own pleasures would be the one making sure that her mother’s
little bit of memory and her dignity (as well as her toenails) were being kept
intact. Would wonders never cease! Still those are musings for another post…
So
suddenly I am on the mailing list for the NHS and each day the postie pops the
letters through the door and I go, with dread and a heavy heart, to see what is in
store for my frightened body and fairly feeble mind. I start to
yearn for the days of junk mail. Surely someone, somewhere wants to sell me an
awning, double glazing or solar panels. I silently plead for someone to need my
spare clothing for charity, my money for a hungry child somewhere in Africa or indeed to buy up all my unwanted gold. I tentatively turn the envelopes over hoping
that I will need to immediately dispatch a postal order (do those still exist?)
or cheque (can we still use these?) or make three easy payments towards a
commerative coin or plate or a limited edition print of animals in hilarious or
cute poses. But no it’s an appointment letter telling me what procedure is
required to be undertaken, what will happen, what I need to do to make it
happen and where and when it will happen. Oh cruel god of post and its junk mail
disciple. WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME IN MY
HOUR OF NEED?
How
many appointments can or should one person have to undergo for something they
didn’t even know they had a week ago and suddenly is being dealt with in such
speed that my head is spinning and I am starting to fear that things are worse
than I’ve been lead to believe.
I
still can’t get over the fact that I feel absolutely fine. Really well and
although tired from my attempts at trying to have it all and do it all -
relatively healthy. So why are they just not cutting this thing out of my tit
and letting me go on my way? Why all the drama and build up? Why has everything
become about medical procedures and probing? What are they looking for? I
suddenly feel so ignorant to the world of cancer. For someone who thinks they
are pretty well informed I feel overwhelming ignorant. Even though two of my
good friends have been through this, that I lost a good friend to cancer and my
grandmother died of cancer I find myself at 43 years of age knowing absolutely
nothing about this and feeling very much like a lamb to slaughter. I want to
speak to my friends who have been through this but it feels ghoulish and
tasteless - making them pick at the scabs which I am sure have well and truly
covered their wounds just to make it better for me.
I
am scared to inform myself via the wonderful world wide web as I think it may
tell me things I really don’t want to know and that things are indeed worse
than I think. I need to get to a place of understanding that I am comfortable
about and so that I can start to see these medical processes as just steps that
need to be taken to getting me better. If I can see them as building blocks to
recovery then maybe I won’t fear the arrival of the postman. Maybe I will be
less fearful of the procedures ahead of me such as “MRI” or “CT Scan”. Maybe it
will stop this inane need to have an onslaught of junk mail just to make me
feel normal again…
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