Wednesday 16th September 2015 began as a pretty ordinary day. If I overlooked the fact that I felt completely rotten – wiped out, harbouring flu-like symptoms, a headache worse than any hangover I’ve ever had and still trying to rid myself of the mother and father of all cold-sores.
My lovely husband Steve drove me to my doctors for blood tests at 2.30pm, which the nurse ‘hoped’ would be turned around quickly so that the doctor could look at the results when I saw him in two days time.
I dragged my sorry ass home and lay on the couch unable to even concentrate on the Great British Bake Off. At around 9pm my house phone rang – no one EVER calls on this number…..it was an out of hours doctor from the Edinburgh Royal Infirmary.
She proceeded to ask me how I felt, and told me that she was looking at my bloods. “They don’t look too good” she advised. She couldn’t confirm it, however she was concerned that the tests were showing a form of leukaemia.
I was told to pack a bag immediately and go directly to the Western General Hospital, Edinburgh, where they were waiting to admit me. I threw random items into an overnight bag. My mind was in saying – “they’ve made a mistake, they’ve definitely made a mistake and I’ll arrive here and be told just to go home”.
Unfortunately there was no mistake. That call propelled me off the edge of a cliff and onto the conveyor belt which began my cancer journey.