Black Wednesday

The day starts as most days in hospital start. Breakfast (cereal or porridge and a roll & jam) and an extraction of blood that would become an almost daily occurrence for the duration of my stay.
The previous night's chest X-ray had shown nothing untoward so a CT scan had been arranged for later in the morning. I wasn't sure what this entailed - sliding into a long tube on a conveyor belt perhaps?
Actually, you go up to the scanning department (quite nice actually), get about a gallon of stuff to drink. It's sort of aniseed flavour, a bit like the blue or pink liquorice allsorts that are covered in wee hundreds and thousands and you have to drink it over an hour. This isn't that easy when you're feeling lousy, sitting in an uncomfy wheelchair and canny go to the loo! Ah weel, pretend it's pastis and you're sitting in the south of France watching a game of boules. Things could be worse.
Anyway, then it's into the chamber. It's not a tube, just a giant Polo that you slide back and forth through and a robotic voice says "hold your breath" then "breathe easy". The lights whirling round the hoop are quite entertaining. And that's it. Back to the ward having missed lunch (lucky I had my biscuits) and get into the comfort of my electric bed.

Mum came in to visit at 2 o'clock. She was closely followed by one of Dr Shand's docs (he was away for the day). He stood at the end of my bed, looked a bit hesitant and said that he had looked at my CT scan and had the result. All he said was "YOU HAVE A TUMOUR". No frills, no flammery - just the fact.
Now, when I become a doctor, I think I'll break bad news to a patient something like this:
Doc - Hello Mr X - I've got good news and bad news for you.
Mr X - I'll have the good news.
Doc - I've just won £10 on the lottery
Mr X - What's the bad news?
Doc - You've got cancer!

or

Doc - Hello Mr X - I've got good news and bad news for you
Mr X - What's the bad news?
Doc - You've got cancer.
Mr X - What's the good news?
Doc - I've just heard that Preston Lodge RFC have signed Richie McCaw and Dan Carter on 5 year contracts.
(Actually - this would be a pretty good counterbalance except that I'm not sure that they would be too happy about playing in the PL 2nd XV.)

But there's none of that. He just says "You've got a tumour". Clear. Precise. Exact. To the point.
The force of his soft voice and his words are enough to send me reeling back into the bars at the head of my bed. I look at Mum and see that the effect has been the same on her. There's nothing to say, just despair. The Doc is brilliant, as are the staff on the ward. Questions seem pointless but I'm able to ask enough to find out that the tumour is on my liver. Further tests would be required. Any other information isn't required. I can't hear it anyway.
Everybody goes and it's just me and Mum, tears, fears and uncertainty. There's still nothing to say that will comfort either of us. Fortunately, Shelagh was working and as usual was able to come up to the ward, just to be there. As she so often is.
Next problem - how to tell Liesl? There's a small matter that she will be a wee bit later than usual tonight because it's her birthday. Happy birthday indeed! And all I've got her is a wee tube of face cream. Oh aye - and to tell her that I've got cancer. Did I mention that?
So Shelagh and Mum went home. I was on on my own except for the nursing staff, just waiting, crying and being scared. And then Liesl arrived. Happy birthday, then the news and then we were both crying and being scared. Lots of questions but few answers. A liver biopsy was to be arranged for tomorrow and the Staff Nurse did his best to answer anything else.
But there was only one question - why?
And that question's asked by hundreds of folk in the same situation every day. And they don't get a satisfactory answer either.
Hours later, Liesl had to go home. To phone her mum, to tell her the news. To tell friends, family and neighbours. Once she had gone, I felt quite calm. I phoned mum to see how she was. Daft question. At least you get to use your mobile phone in hospital now so you are never cut off. Another call to Liesl before lights out and then it's quiet. The lights are out in Dirleton, Port Seton, Dunfermline and WGH.
And it's really quiet.