The Arden Centre

I had a surprisingly sleepy night. Which surprised me more than anyone.

The Arden Centre is the cancer department of the Coventry and Warwickshire Hospital, where I am being treated. From the outside it looks modern and streamlined, and quiet, like a gravestone on the edge of the hospital.

Inside, I was surprised. The revolving doors lead into a light and open area furnished with soft and comfortable chairs in turquoise and purple chairs. Above, there's gentle purple mood lighting, and under, there's a plentiful open refreshments shop, and plenty of books to read.

The people look normal: most of them are a little older than me, but they all look human and ordinary. This is not what I was expecting: I thought everyone would look like yellowed cadavers which hollowed eyes. People were chatting in groups, although in hushed tones. There is a large screen which puts up names matched with the booths which I suspect are the chemo chairs.

I am called by a nurse and all I need to do right now is give my weight and height and blood pressure reading. My blood pressure is very high at 170/93 (which for me is better than normal) but the nurse assures me that everyone is high because no one wants to be there. She warns me that I will probably not see The Professor, but I will see his second in command and it's almost as good. She also says that a) there will be a long wait and b) I will feel better before I leave.

In fact, I don't have to wait so long, and to my surprise I'm soon called through by The Professor himself. He asks me why I think I'm there, and I tell him, and he agrees.

It turns out that they aren't going to tell me today whether I need chemo. I still have to wait for two weeks while they send off my tissue to America.  But what I do hear is the reason hat if it does come back telling me that chemo is a good idea, then it will be a good idea. It is called the Oncotype DX procedure. It will take the soul-searching away. Also he tells me that if I need the chemo, it WILL be the kind that makes my hair fall out, and they can do a lot about the sickness. But it will only last for four and a half months.

So it was a good thing, today, although I didn't get the answer I wanted.

Bizarrely then when I was having pre-chemo follow-up tests, I was standing in the main hospital entrance and my ex sister-in-law walked in, along with her son and her father, who used to be my father-in-law. The son looked instantly pleased to see me, and smiled. The sister-in-law just looked and walked straight past, and so did the father. I couldn't believe the ignorance level. For all they know, I was there to visit a member of their family, but because of their ignorance, they didn't even bother to come over and enquire.

I had a blood test, which for me was like the very walk through the valley of death. After a long weight my number was called and I had to walk through opened cubicles with people sitting down having their arms pumped for blood, and hearing the nurses shout things like, "Now that's a nice juicy vein!" "Look at all the blood you're producing" and so on. I was allowed to lie down and be pampered.  Then I had an ECG.

But in all, a productive day although it didn't start off seeming so.