As the day of the hospital visit approaches, I've been reflecting on my resentment at having to attend this year. Of course, as I've already identified, I'm angry that I am in a position where attending was necessary at all, having been told by both my surgeon and my GP that, had they diagnosed me earlier, I wouldn't have needed treatment or follow-up beyond surgery. So, five years of my life have been held in thrall because "we made a mistake". What could I have done in those five years if I hadn't been so worried about my health, I wonder?
The other reason for feeling less than happy about the situation is, I think, bound up with my visit last year. Having seen the nurse 6 months earlier, I was under the impression that last year would be my last visit. Had I seen the nurse, it probably would have been. However, my story was altered by an encounter with an intransigent consultant, as I've complained several times in this blog. So, back to five years instead of three, putting my life back on 'hold' for another two years.
Particularly annoying, given the press reports of recent suggestions by cancer charities and foundations that these regular visits really don't make any difference and that medical personnel time could be freed up for other things, were the system rather more flexible.
Something to discuss at my appointment next week, perhaps, particularly if I'm again treated like a not-very-bright and very disobedient child!
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