In the continuing dreary saga of my genetic disorder there is one appointment that I detest more than others, and today was the big day.
I literally will not go to gynecological oncology unless a minder drags me to the hospital. Thirty minutes before I was supposed to be at Addenbrooke’s I was meandering about the city muttering that I would just skip the whole thing. But in the end, Byron forced to go and sit for hours in a waiting room chock full of people waiting for a death sentence.
When I was finally called in to see the doctor (aka the leading expert in the country) he shook my hand, opened my chart, and said Oh I do apologize. You should have had your scan before this appointment.
He asked the basic questions and I gave cursory responses followed by the comment that I’ve been waiting eighteen months for the appointment. This led to another apology and a scramble to sort out urgent testing and consultation appointments, unfortunately spread over two days next week.
I always jump to the front of the queue when the specialists see my file.
But this means that I’m losing three work days (and imposing on a friend to take the time off to supervise my behavior) for a loathsome test that everyone agrees should have been done two years ago.
The results had better not upset me. I am too busy for surgery at the moment.