This morning, sitting in the waiting room of the LOC (Leaders in Oncology Care), it struck me how cancer knows no boundaries, not of class, or age or gender. I got there early for my 8.30am appointment with the doctor, but by 8.30 the room was full with people who I later realised were waiting to be called down for their chemo session.
Some were alone, some with their husbands/wives/partners/friends. Being Harley Street, many of them looked wealthy. They were men, women, old, young. They are people I might never have met in my “other life”. But suddenly we are all thrown together in this club that none of us wants to belong to.
I met one of the chemo nurses today and was shown the chemo suite. It’s as good as it could be. But it’s still what it is. Not that it will remain that way tomorrow by the time my sister has her way with it. Luckily, it was quite a buzzy place and certainly not quiet and clinical. Just as well because Lou and quiet have never met!
Had an echo cardiogram. To my darling GP cousin Bev, who suggested they’d struggle to find a heart, thanks, but these scanners are good and underneath everything else, there it was, perfectly normal and doing its job! Had I known anything about football I might have been able to reveal the name of the French speaking footballer who’s just signed for Newcastle and was also at the clinic for a heart scan. It’s all part of the requirement when you’re being bought for millions of pounds apparently!!
In between all my appointments, two of my very dear girlfriends texted me with their latest thoughts. It so happened that they were managing to grab a coffee together at lunchtime. One happened to have a meeting near where the other works. Nice, I thought. But then I started imagining them mentioning me. Not improbable by any stretch of the imagination given that I start chemo tomorrow and that I know they both care a lot.
But suddenly, I had a horrible feeling of no longer being “one of them”. “They” were the normal people. “I” was the friend with the horrible illness. It’s going to be hard for anyone who knows me not to think of me differently in the coming months, particularly as I lose my hair and there are other visible signs of change. But I realised how important it will be for me to try to carry on as normally as possible, and to show people that I’m still me, and I’m still one of them too.
While I’m at LOC tomorrow, I will be one of a sadly not so elite club. But at all other times I just want to be normal old me (albeit with the odd bad hair day!).
