Wednesday, 07th August 2023
It’s a feeling I’ve been expecting, anticipating. I’ve waited long enough. Since March 15th. First, I needed a PET scan, wait six weeks. Can’t have one, there’s no funding. As it happens, I’m moving to Hampshire. Gloucestershire graciously and efficiently hand me over to Hampshire. By the very nature of bureaucracy, and if that word has now become synonymous with inefficiency, with the very nature of administration, there is a delay. Oncology in July, 12th, Southampton. Sure enough, I’ll be in a zapper, but there is a six week delay. Waiting list, rather. I’ll be called two weeks before to go and see the kit, get a feel for the fitting etc.
It’s now August 9th. Two weeks before six weeks. I find a number for Radiotherapy. They put me through to bookings. An answer machine. I wait an hour and ring again. They put me through to bookings. This time a human being. I have an appointment for the 16th. Wednesday.
A week today.
It’s a feeling I’m familiar with. Anticipating.
The numbness.
Seconds later, a feeling I’m not.
An avalanche of a feeling. Frightened. Terror.
Quickly it goes; it’s not suppressed, it dilutes. This is what I’ve been waiting for. A date. A start. Now we’re in play. Vague thoughts can now crystallise into plans.
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