Receiving someone else’s bad news

I had a shocker at the hospital the other day.  I was shown into a room and given a piece of paper that told me that my treatment wasn’t working, that my tumours were resistant to the drugs,  and that I was being offered a place on a new trial. I was told that I had 24 hours to think about it.

It was all news to me. It was scary. Dad was there with me. I looked at him, and said, “I’ll do it.” He nodded.

I turned to the lady who presented me with the information. “Anything”, I said. “I’ll do anything… But are you sure this is for me?”

Usually I am greeted with the soothing sight of Tara or Nicole, the two wonderful, unfortunate people at the front end of my moaning and toilet news. There was no Tara. No Nicole.

We also went to a slightly different part of the clinic, turning left instead of right. Plus I wasn’t weighed. I am always weighed.

I questioned whether I was the David Neal they were looking for, and it turned out that I wasn’t.

I’m glad that that was the case, and sad for my fellow Dave Neal. Presumably he was forewarned about his experience and wasn’t being hit with a post Christmas bombshell. I hope he was prepared, and I hope he has good support.

It has shaken me, and it didn’t even to apply to me. For five or ten minutes there I was advanced and not responding to treatment. I was going onto new drugs surrounded by people who I did not recognise. It was scary.

I remember when I first started going to the Ear Nose and Throat clinic, back then I just had a lump. I had about six appointments that I went to on my own. It was only after this many, and after the word tumour had been bandied about that I took along support in the form of my dad.

Dad always comes now, always, and laments when he can’t. When he can’t my wife does or my mum. I can’t drive anymore so I couldn’t go to the Royal Marsden on my own, but I would never ever want to.

It is a caring place that has done me a lot of good, but it also scares me, and stresses me out. The day before an appointment I am not my usual myself, and usually don’t edge back into normal flight patterns until the day after the meeting. This week I can’t shake it. Can’t settle.

I guess it was a glimpse of the future. I don’t think that you can have cancer and not dread bad news. I’ve never worked out how to do that. My treatment is going well, but I don’t know how long its tail is. One day I will have that kind of news broken to me for read. I hope when it comes it is in more familiar surroundings.