By Nicola Davies

This month’s little missive comes to you fresh from a near-death experience… well, not quite near-death but I was on the other side of the fence for a short while and it was a bit hairy, let me tell you.

I won’t bore you with the details (unlike some who are only too keen to tell you about their bowel habits, the amount they drink/chew/smoke, and of course whether the cat has had anything to do with any of the aforementioned unmentionables) but this week I was the subject of a ‘two week’ referral. To be fair, it was more of an exclusion referral than a diagnostic one, but nevertheless, the process was now to include me as a patient, rather than an employee of the giant cog that is the NHS.

Explaining your symptoms to a GP is easy, once I’d decided that actually, I really ought to seek a doctor’s advice and no amount of sleepless nights was really going to help. However, trying not to trip into being that ‘hysterical/emotional/ definitely menopausal’ patient is entirely another matter. We all know someone who has over-dramatised their symptoms (obviously I have an element of the drama queen, but I was almost completely rational… honestly!)… but when we know a little, as we can do in our position, and of course, have the opportunity to find out what Dr Google thinks of our symptoms, we can potentially end up being a dribbling mess (and that’s nothing to do with your presenting complaint!).

So, for the purposes of reassurance, I was duly referred under the 2WW process. “Try not to worry”  the doc said.  “I’m almost positive it’s nothing sinister” she continued. I received a phone call from the booking office within two days. Cue some mild panic – she said it was nothing sinister – if it WAS nothing sinister why are they seeing me so soon? Because you’ve been referred under a very quick, efficient service and that’s the whole point, you dim wit!

Off I trotted to the hospital to await the poking and the prodding and the blood tests and the x-rays and the scans…

I had the benefit of an 8.30am appointment, so after yet another sleepless night, I thought at least the silver lining is I’ll get all the investigations done in one go, early in the day, and fingers crossed with a fair wind and a decent radiographer, I might just get the answers I need before lunch.

The service I received was impeccable – not only was I greeted by the most delightful receptionist who was happy and smiley (despite the showers that have beset Cornwall this last week), I was then offered a coffee by the WRVS lady (and proper coffee at that!) for a small donation, I felt my caffeine levels rise and the day hadn’t got off to a bad start. Within five minutes of my arrival, a lovely nurse escorted me to a cubicle where I had to de-robe and wear something not very fetching for a woman of my advancing years, and advancing waistline!

So, then the prodding started, and the poking. You’ll never get a camera there I thought… ah… yes you can… who knew?! Bloods; of course I’ll give you a pint… other bodily fluids were provided – thank goodness for that early caffeine rush – and then the X-rays. “Any chance you might be pregnant Mrs D?” I bloomin’ hope not! I was turned one way, then the other, manipulated into a scanning machine, told to hold my breath, exhale, inhale, one more time and there… all done.

The lovely nurse returned, advised me to get dressed again (but only because I think she realised that the world was not ready for me in a hospital gown) and parked me back in the waiting room until the consultant had seen all the available info/fluids/film etc. I read through the most awful weekly women’s magazine I had ever seen, full of beautiful people in various states of not being so beautiful on camera, which was somewhat of a revelation (at least it’s not only me who looks that bad without make-up!) and finally, the call…

What followed was a very nice (and short) consultation with a very nice (and short) consultant who stood over the desk looking at the films of my insides. “All looks totally splendid to me…nothing of any concern.” Phew, thank the Gods and whilst I was pretty sure that it was all going to be OK, it’s very good to have that reassurance.

I’m a rubbish patient. (A) because I’m not very patient and (b) because I don’t like being a patient of any kind at any time. However, this made me realise I’m not as invincible as I thought I was; we all have moments of fragility, and can feel vulnerable – and our wonderful docs and nurses are there to reassure us through the myriad of corridors, investigations and medicine that sometimes is essential to our wellbeing.

And tonight, my wellbeing is going to be well looked after as I serve up a very large G&T with a very large bar of my favourite chocolate (Galaxy if you’re buying) and I’ll breathe a sigh of relief at what might have been, but now definitely isn’t.

By Nicola Davies

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