My Story

By Dorothy Cole

“This shouldn’t take too long” I thought and since I was in town I would do some shopping and maybe treat myself if I saw something I fancied. I walked through the revolving door and suddenly the seriousness of the situation hit me. My mouth dried up as I stuttered the reason for my visit to the receptionist. A nurse showed me to the waiting room, her rubber soles squeaking on the floor tiles jarred my nerves.

I was amazed to see four or five women sitting knitting. A notice on the wall invited patients to knit blankets for Rumanian orphanages. Once I saw past the knitting I realised that two or three of the women looked only in their twenties. I picked up some knitting, repeating to myself; “In, wool over, through and off”. No-one said anything but their half smiles spoke volumes.

A door opened, a lady with a big smile popped her head round, giving the thumbs up sign. She wished us good luck and off she went. Soon the next lady was called in, after about twenty minutes she also popped her head round, smiling and wishing us luck. The next lady to be called didn’t come back, then it was my turn. 

The consultant pointed out a shadow saying; “We’ll need to do a needle biopsy”. Thoughts were running through my mind like an express train. “What if it’s cancer? Linda McCartney died – all the money couldn’t save her”. “How can I go home and tell my husband, who is waiting for open heart surgery?” “How can I tell the rest of my family, already worried about their dad?”

“Calm down” I told myself “It’s probably benign.” After what seemed to be an eternity a different nurse came to see me. She didn’t need to say anything – she was wearing a Macmillan badge on her uniform.   Surgery, chemo and radiotherapy followed. I made and lost a few friends on the journey.

That was in 1999. I was one of the lucky ones.