The day finally came

The day finally came, pretty much like any other. I had slept pretty well the night before, which was unexpected. And arose without a single symptom of anxiety in sight.

My appointment was 10:45 am, so I grabbed a quick coffee and checked Facebook to see if there was any news from my writing group. At 10 am I set off with what I estimated would be enough time to get me there a little early.

The sunshine had the feel of spring as if warming this cold January morning. It reminded me of when my dad died — when the world seemed to stop still. And when the day, and everything in it, felt crisp and new and bright.

As I drove memories flooded back to me of school. A welling up of grief.

I remembered a phone call with my best friend after I’d left the school. He lived so many miles away. He said, “You better come through. I want to see you!”.

But I never did.

Other friends came to mind and I wondered why throughout these fifty years I have left so many people behind. Always moving on. Never really staying in touch.

‘Why am I so aloof?’ I reflected, ‘Am I just protecting myself from some kind of pain?’

I felt some relief and found myself dancing in my seat — as much as one can when one is driving — to the latest hits. And then I realised I would probably be late.

It’s a kind of self-sabotage for me. On some level I know 45 minutes is possible for this journey, but in all likelihood, it’s going to take more. Nevertheless, I still only allocate that amount of time. And I end up being hit by this feeling of panic and angst as I am helpless to make it up, once something causes a delay.

This time it was roadworks. And a red wagon that kept blocking my way. So I arrived ten minutes late, slightly flustered. But no one cared.

In fact it was another 20 minutes before the doctor arrived to take me through the contract.

You see today I am becoming the object of research — as they analyse how I respond to the pembrolizumab they are about to put into my veins.